IWAPUF 28

“I didn’t receive it.”
I frowned and shook my head. No message had reached me from him. If I’d known he didn’t want
I wouldn’t have bothered making the trip.
“Damn it!”
My answer clearly irked him; he let out a low curse under his breath. I widened my eyes in shock.
This wasn’t the Crown Prince I knew—the one who always spoke with elegance and treated
others with impeccable manners. The man standing before me looked like a stranger wearing the
Crown Prince’s skin, rough around the edges like some back-alley ruffian.
“Is something wrong?”
“It seems the First Empress has started to make her move.”
“Make her move?”
He didn’t reply, just fixed his gaze on me. His eyes held mine as he exhaled slowly, evenly, as if
tamping down some inner turmoil.
He’d been raised as the Crown Prince his whole life, molded into the future Emperor. He’d
mastered the art of controlling his emotions and bending others to his will. No one was better at
restraint than he was. And just like that, in a heartbeat, he slipped back into the polished facade of
the Crown Prince.
“Could you explain it in a way I can understand?”
“Someone interfered with the message I sent you.”
“And that someone is the First Empress?”
“Few people knew I’d be away from the palace today.”
His sudden appearance had startled me so much I’d nearly forgotten, but now it clicked—the
The Empress’s attendant had indeed said the Crown Prince wasn’t at the palace today. I studied him
with fresh eyes. If he’d been away and rushed back the moment he heard I’d arrived, it meant he’d
come straight to me.
Why? Was he worried I’d fall prey to the First Empress? Or was he afraid I’d get tangled in her
schemes? I couldn’t begin to guess his motives.
“Given the circumstances, there’s no helping it. Beonne, you’ll have to compromise.”
“Compromise on what?”
“Your coming-of-age ceremony.”
I knitted my brows. Why bring up my ceremony now, out of the blue?
“What do you mean, compromise on my ceremony?”
“I mean, we’ll have to hold it.”
His words didn’t add up. He’d told the First Empress the Emperor was already preparing for my
ceremony, yet here he was, saying we needed to hold it. A suspicion flickered in my mind, though
it didn’t seem like him—he was usually too upright, too rigid for such games. Still, I tested the
waters.
“Wait, was what you told the First Empress a lie?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he let out a faint smirk. That alone told me everything. I was so stunned.
I couldn’t even speak.
“It’s your ceremony, Beonne. Of course, it wouldn’t happen without your consent.”
My face must have betrayed too much, because he chuckled under his breath.
“…That was an outrageous lie. The Erharak Hall, of all places. How do you plan to clean this up?”
“It wasn’t entirely a lie. His Majesty did intend to hold your ceremony there.”
My expression stiffened. So the Emperor had planned to bundle my ceremony with a wedding,
just like before. Was I doomed to marry him again, against my will? Seeing my reaction, he let out
a quiet sigh.
“Beonne, as I said earlier, nothing will happen without your permission.”
He looked at me, his face serious now.
“I know you’re reluctant to hold the ceremony—or rather, to have the wedding with me.”
His golden eyes darkened as they locked with mine. I hadn’t thought he’d be blind to it. He was
sharp, quick to read people. My resistance to the ceremony had probably given him all the clues
he needed about how I felt.
But his knowing didn’t change a thing. I didn’t want to marry him. I met his gaze unflinchingly,
offering no reply.
“So how about a compromise? You give a little, and I’ll give a little in return.”
“If I compromise on the ceremony, what will you give me?”
“I’ll grant you what you want.”
His offer caught me off guard. I narrowed my eyes at him, wary, but his face remained unreadable.
“Will you break off our engagement?”
“That’s not possible.”
His response came fast and firm, like he’d seen my question coming a mile away.
“You said you’d give me what I want. I want to end the engagement.”
“You know as well as I do that’s impossible.”
A crease formed between his brows. I could feel the frustration simmering beneath his calm
exterior.
“Ask for something feasible, Beonne. I’ll do my best to make it happen.”
I said nothing. There was only one thing I wanted—nothing else mattered. But his reaction made it
clear that it was a dead end. I hadn’t held my breath for it, but the disappointment still gnawed at
me.
“Ugh, you’re unbelievable!”
He opened his mouth to say more, then snapped it shut. With a frustrated groan, he raked a hand
through his hair, his silver strands tumbling into disarray.
“Fine. I give up. I can’t break the engagement, but I can push the wedding back.”
His voice was taut, almost strained. Instinct told me this was the most he could offer.
The venue still bothered me—he’d already named the Erharak Hall in front of the First Empress,
and backtracking now would be tricky. He’d yielded as far as he could. I decided to let it go, for
the moment. At least there’d be no wedding. That was enough.
-“Understood. Let’s each take a step back.”
The Crown Prince stared at me intently, his gaze piercing. His face was a tangled web of emotions,
subtle and complex, as though he were wrestling with an unsolvable riddle.
“Is there more you wish to say?” I asked.
“You’re quite an odd person, Beonne,” he replied.
“I think I’m rather ordinary,” I countered.
He laughed softly at my words, shaking his head in a way that sparked a flicker of irritation in me.
I hadn’t lashed out with the foul temper I’d shown before, nor had I stirred up any particular
trouble. In my mind, I’d never once acted in a way that shamed the dignity of a noble lady like
Beonne Rossa Eliont, daughter of Marquess Eliont. Wasn’t that ordinary enough?
“Well, that’s not what matters right now,” he said, his tone shifting. “Beonne, try to avoid the First
Empress as much as you can. She’s a woman like a viper—venomous and cunning. You’re not
ready to deal with her yet.”
“I’m merely the daughter of a marquess,” I replied. “I don’t have the power to refuse the First.
Empress’s summons.”
And it was true—when the Empress or the First Empress called for me, as they had today, I had no
means of declining. At my words, he let out a faint, amused huff.
“My, my, my fiancée is quite the humble one,” he teased.
He stepped closer, his expression alight with mischief.
“You’ve got quite a knack for riling up the First Empress, though,” he added.
“You were listening?” I asked, caught off guard.
“They say there’s nothing more entertaining in this world than watching a fight unfold,” he said
with a grin. “Why spoil the fun by stepping in too soon?”
His smile widened as he leaned toward me, his face inching closer as if he meant to kiss me. But
the moment his breath brushed my skin, I drove my right heel down onto his foot with all my
strength. For this very occasion, I’d ordered heels far higher than my usual fare.
“Ha! I won’t fall for the same trick twice—ow!” he yelped, his bravado cut short.
My shoes weren’t just lofty; they were sharp-toed, crafted precisely to my specifications. I knew
the Crown Prince had keen reflexes—better than most. That he let me land the blow without
dodging meant he’d held back, sparing me out of some misplaced chivalry. Unlike those earlier day
when I’d worn modest heels, today’s were towering, perilous enough to snap an ankle. I’d fully
expected him to evade me. Worse, his leniency grated on my nerves. If I was going to strike, I’d
rather catch him completely off guard and feel the satisfaction of it.
I lowered my right foot to the ground, planting it firmly, and in the same motion swung my left leg
forward in a swift kick. He hadn’t anticipated the feint, and the blow landed true. He grimaced,
clutching his shin in pain.
“I don’t repeat the same tricks either, Your Highness,” I said coolly.
—
“You’re so beautiful, sister!”
Lant’s eyes sparkled as he gazed at me. I sat still, letting the maids fuss over my hair, and
beckoned him with a wave of my hand. He scampered over eagerly, his small steps pattering
across the floor. I reached out and pinched one of his cheeks—soft and pliant as rice
cake—stretching it between my fingers.
“Didn’t I tell you to stop talking like some chattering swallow?” I scolded. “You’re quick to obey
everything else I say—why can’t you fix that?”
“S-stop…” he mumbled, his voice muffled by my tugging.
“‘But’ what? What’s with the ‘but’? Where did you even pick up that sappy tone?”
His tender, elastic cheek stretched further as I pulled, yielding under my grip. Lant didn’t dare
push me away; instead, he let his head sway with my movements, helpless under my teasing. The
more I thought about it, the more I was convinced his speech was a product of his surroundings.
All his tutors were ancient, relics of a bygone era. We’d sought the finest minds in every field, but
that had somehow left us with a collection of old men teetering on the edge of their final days. The
youngest among them, Sir Tilt, had retired from active service years ago—needless to say, the rest
were even more decrepit.
“Heh, keep that up, and the young master’s cheeks won’t last,” came a voice, laced with laughter.
“Anasha,” I said, turning to her, “do you know anyone—anyone at all—who’s young and
competent enough to teach him?”
“Hmm,” she mused, “I’ll see what I can find.”
Anasha approached me with a warm smile, a velvet box cradled in her hands. She lifted the lid
with care.
“This is called the Dawn of Morning necklace,” she said. “I thought it’d be perfect for your
coming-of-age ceremony.”
Inside gleamed a diamond necklace, its dozens of stones—each the size of a fingernail—catching
the light in a dazzling cascade.
“It’s my gift to you for the occasion,” she added.
She stepped forward and fastened it around my neck herself. It paired with my dress as though
they’d been made for each other.
“And this,” she continued, “is from Evan. He was terribly disappointed he couldn’t give it to you
in person.”
She held up a pair of teardrop earrings, their red diamonds glinting with a translucent fire, and
gently fixed them to my ears. They, too, blended seamlessly with my dress, completing the
harmony of the ensemble.
The dress itself was a vision in white, its bodice fitted snugly like the trumpet of a morning glory,
while the skirt flared wide from my waist. Rather than baring my figure, the upper half was draped
in fabric from neck to wrists, adorned with delicate lace and creamy pearls. The skirt began
crimson at the hem, its hue fading upward in a soft gradient until it melted into pure white at my
waist. The designer had explained that the tiny pearls scattered across it were meant to evoke
purity and grace.
When I’d announced my plans for the coming-of-age ceremony, Anasha had arrived with a small
entourage—key figures from Luisha, her burgeoning enterprise. Luisha was still in its infancy,
unknown to the wider world, but Anasha intended to change that. She saw my ceremony as the
perfect stage to unveil it to the public. In the past, Luisha had stirred attention through other means,
but there was no need to cling to old strategies. I’d given her plan my blessing.
Everything I wore now—the dress, the necklace, the earrings—was a product of Luisha’s
craftsmanship. They’d spared no effort in adorning me, their hands shaping every detail from my
hair to the tips of my toes.
“I knew it’d suit you perfectly, my lady!” Anasha exclaimed, her voice brimming with pride