Chapter 86
“I’m telling you, it’s true. He went into Lady Angela’s room and stayed there for quite a while before finally coming out.”
In the servants’ dining hall, the footman who had been eating set down his fork with a face that said his appetite was completely ruined.
It was because the pitiful sight of his master from that early morning dawn came back to mind.
The face that had seemed full of confusion when he entered looked utterly shredded and ragged when he emerged from Angela’s room.
It wasn’t the face of the man who was always so strong and unyielding.
“Sigh, can’t someone go and fetch the young lady just one more time?”
The footman, who respected his master—who was even called the true ruler of the empire—spoke in a tone laced with unbearable pity.
Then, another footman eating across from him retorted as if to say, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“If you did that, you’d lose your head to His Excellency Count Florence.”
All the servants in the Bilton household let out a deep sigh together. For powerless folks like them, there was no way to resolve this.
That night, Dominic visited Angela’s room once again. And the next night was the same.
He no longer needed a servant’s guidance. Dominic could find his way without getting lost. His straight steps were no longer wandering but a deliberate visit.
Even so, the servant trailed closely behind Dominic and stood guard in front of Angela’s closed bedroom door. With uneasy eyes staring down the dawn corridor—though he didn’t even know what he was uneasy about—he waited for his master to come out.
* * *
“You’ve returned safely.”
Truga said this to his son, who stood before him dressed in the crown prince’s attire.
For a greeting to a son he hadn’t seen in a long time, it was exceedingly brief.
Truga didn’t ask what he had seen and heard outside the palace, or what he had learned before returning.
That was something the nobles Ian would meet from now on would ask him repeatedly, and Ian would have to recount it whether he liked it or not. Naturally, it would reach Truga’s ears as well.
So, for now, Truga was simply welcoming the fact that his son had returned healthy. The face that looked more mature than when he had briefly returned to the palace last year filled him with paternal pride.
“I’ve missed you so much while I was away. I wanted to see you.”
Ian, understanding this, didn’t add any unnecessary words.
He simply smiled smoothly, exuding the innate dignity and composure of the imperial bloodline, revealing his affection for his father.
Truga chuckled heartily, as if watching a child’s playful antics, and called for an attendant.
“Prepare the banquet for the crown prince’s return to the palace.”
To the attendant who bowed deeply, Ian added a word.
“Make it grand. Let the news of my return spread far and wide.”
It was a statement whose sincerity or jest was unclear. His tone carried a playful note, but the look in his eyes toward the attendant was utterly serious.
Soon, the attendant bowed again, saying he would do so, lowering his waist once more after briefly raising it. After all, the crown prince’s return banquet was never going to be a modest affair.
* * *
“If you have something to say, just say it.”
Angela finally closed the book she had been reading and spoke to Kalian, who had been glancing at her repeatedly for a while now.
She could feel his gaze piercing her cheek, and every time she looked, he’d pretend he wasn’t looking and avert his eyes, which was more than a little distracting.
Kalian, who had been staring off into space for a moment, carelessly set down the documents in his hand. Then, in stark contrast to his hesitant demeanor, he opened his mouth with a bold attitude, as if to say, “Since you’ve brought it up, I’ll speak.”
“Don’t go to the palace for the time being.”
It wasn’t a suggestion; it was an order. Angela just stared at Kalian, not even managing to ask why. She knew her face must be filled with bewilderment. She could tell without looking in a mirror.
“If you absolutely must meet Her Majesty the Empress, invite her to the mansion instead.”
It was utter nonsense. Of course, Anette had once visited the Florence mansion to apologize, but that was an extremely unusual situation. And it had been Anette’s own initiative; it was different from Angela summoning her at will.
Kalian, who must have read all of Angela’s thoughts, met her eyes directly without avoiding them, as if urging her to promise quickly.
“Why on earth are you suddenly saying this… Could something have happened at the palace?”
Angela asked, half-suspecting, because he was acting so brazen after saying something so strange.
“…Yes, so don’t come.”
The answer came after an ambiguous silence. No matter how you looked at it, it was a lie.
“Kal…”
Angela was about to scold him in a stern voice to spit out the truth.
Knock knock.
As if timed perfectly, a knock sounded at just the right moment. Kalian, avoiding Angela’s crumpling gaze, quickly gave permission for entry.
The one who opened the door and entered upon that permission was Mary. She seemed to have something to deliver, as in her hand…
“Kalian!”
“Y-Your Excellency!”
Startled, Angela and Mary shouted at Kalian simultaneously. And for good reason… Kalian had snatched what was in Mary’s hand at incredible speed and torn it into tiny shreds.
It happened in an instant. Angela only realized what had been in Mary’s hand after hearing the sound of it being ripped apart.
“I-It was a letter from the palace…”
Mary murmured to herself in dazed shock, staring endlessly at the letter that had turned into paper scraps in Kalian’s hand.
“The palace?”
Surprised, Angela approached the scene of the disaster from the sofa. In the meantime, Kalian glanced at the fireplace, pondering whether to burn what was in his hand.
Before he could commit that further mishap, Angela quickly approached and extended her hand toward Kalian. Kalian wore an expression that said he absolutely didn’t want to hand it over.
What on earth is that?
“The palace… letter… Your Excellency…”
Mary still hadn’t regained her senses.
“Kalian.”
Angela said no more and simply held out her open palm. It meant to hand it over immediately.
“Count Florence.”
Kalian, who had been stubbornly holding out like a defiant boy, finally placed the torn scraps of paper into Angela’s outstretched hand.
As she returned to the sofa table, ready to piece together the fragments like a puzzle, something shifted.
“Those.”
Strangely, Kalian, who had been so unyielding, seemed to snap back to his usual self, as if a spell had lifted. He spoke calmly, his voice steady in an instant.
“It’s an invitation to the crown prince’s return banquet.”
The crown prince? His return?
“Ian’s back?”
Angela’s eyes widened as she asked. Kalian, barely suppressing the vein throbbing at his temple, answered curtly, “Yes.”
He knew, of course. Kalian was well aware that the way Angela called Ian’s name was no different from how she called others.
It was the same tone she used for Jo, for Hilda. The same as for Emmet, for Tristan.
But Kalian was different. When Angela called his name, she let slip that he was especially precious to her, her voice softer, warmer than usual.
“Kalian…?”
Yes, exactly like that.
Even though he knew the difference clearly, Kalian found it grating that Ian’s name clung to Angela’s lips.
“Is that why you’ve been acting so strange? Because Ian’s back?”
“…”
“You’ve always disliked him, haven’t you?”
Ian, Ian. Stop calling his name.
Kalian swallowed the plea he couldn’t bring himself to voice.
* * *
That Kalian had always disliked Ian?
It wasn’t entirely untrue. Kalian did dislike Ian. But if you traced it back, it was Ian who had disliked Kalian first.
It started from the moment they met. Ian had tormented Kalian relentlessly, and in his heart, Kalian always screamed:
Just hit me, you bastard.
The first time Kalian saw Ian, who had come to the Bilton ducal training grounds with Dominic, he was fascinated. It was his first time seeing someone from the palace.
Ian’s healthy, gleaming lavender eyes, his shimmering silver hair cascading softly, his glossy, radiant skin—Ian, the crown prince, was a boy who exuded an unmistakable air of nobility at first glance.
And the very first thing Ian did upon seeing Kalian?
“You’re my first kiss.”
A kiss.
Striding boldly across the training grounds toward Kalian, who was in the middle of practice, Ian grabbed him by the collar and pressed his lips against his.
Shocked, Kalian swung a fist at the imperial bloodline he was seeing for the first time. As everyone around them gasped in horror at the sight of the crown prince sprawled on the ground, Ian alone pointed at Kalian’s flushed, furious face and cackled.
Ian brushed it off as a prank, so Kalian escaped punishment, but instead of feeling relieved, Kalian ground his teeth, thinking that if Ian weren’t the crown prince, he wouldn’t have let it slide.
Those lips had kissed Angela… and now they were tainted. That night, Kalian rinsed his mouth repeatedly, scrubbing furiously to erase Ian’s mark, rubbing his lips raw with the back of his hand.
The next day, when Angela noticed his chapped lips and soothed him with a gentle, “Oh, what happened?” it finally felt like he’d been cleansed.
But it didn’t end there. After that, Ian took every chance to pull Kalian into hugs or plant kisses on his cheek, indulging in bizarre antics. And when Kalian bristled with rage, Ian only grew more delighted, reveling in his discomfort.
Today was no different. While Kalian was in the palace armory, inspecting armor, swords, spears, and arrows, someone crept up behind him.
In an instant, Kalian seized the sword at his side, spun around, and aimed it directly at the approaching figure.
“It’s me, it’s me.”
The man, raising both hands with a good-natured grin, was none other than:
“Long time no see, Count.”
Crown Prince Ian.
Kalian had hoped he’d never return, but here he was. And the moment he came back, he was already sneaking up behind him. Kalian stared at him with a rigid, stony expression.
To others, it might have seemed merely impassive, but Kalian was purely, intensely repulsed by Ian.
“It’s been a while, Your Highness.”
His tone was clipped, abrupt. It might sound polite and proper to some, but it was thick with disdain for Ian. Kalian hoped Ian would notice.
But.
“How’s Angela doing?”
Ian, with a casual expression, turned Kalian’s stomach upside down.
Kalian kept his lips tightly sealed. If he opened his mouth, nothing but curses would spill out.
“…”
As his cold silence stretched on stubbornly, Ian let out a carefree laugh.
“Alright, alright. I get it. Relax, Kalian. I’ll see Angela myself at the return banquet, won’t I?”
With that, Ian retreated, saying they’d meet again with Angela later. Kalian wanted nothing more than to grab any weapon in the armory, toss it at Ian’s feet, and challenge him to a duel.
A wanderer, they called him? Someone who couldn’t stay in one place for long? Traveling the world outside the palace?
What a laugh.
Until six years ago, before Angela and Kalian’s engagement, Ian had been perfectly content living in the palace, claiming it suited him just fine.
And then, out of nowhere, he developed this so-called wanderlust? It was nothing but the aimless drifting of a young man who’d failed at his first love. Kalian was the only one who knew.
Why would someone who wasn’t even attracted to men suddenly kiss Kalian? It was clear in the way Ian looked at Angela. He gazed at her with the same eyes Kalian did.
Kissing Kalian, claiming him as his “first kiss,” was revenge for Kalian having kissed Angela. All those other infuriating touches followed the same logic.
But Kalian couldn’t bring himself to tell Angela this. He didn’t want her to realize Ian’s feelings. Ian might be a deranged creep to Kalian, but to most, he was a rather decent man.
For one, his status was worlds apart from Kalian’s. Ian was destined to become the ruler of the Phaelon Empire. Add to that his striking looks and vibrant personality, which drew people’s attention effortlessly.
He’d look picture-perfect standing beside Angela.
So, Angela, please—never find out that a man far better than me is looking at you.
