Chapter 120: A Golden Opportunity
When Aracila proposed participating in the Kingdom of Silin’s Founding Festival project, Damian agreed. Though Frederick’s involvement grated on him, he couldn’t deny it was a good opportunity. Besides, since the proposal was directed at Aracila and not him, Damian reasoned there was no malicious intent behind it. After all, if Frederick wanted to eliminate anyone, it would be Damian, not Aracila. Still, the thought of the two spending time together, even for work, left a bitter taste in his mouth, stirring irritation and unease.
I need to remember the trust she’s shown me, he thought. He didn’t want jealousy, that ugly emotion, to ruin the project Aracila had been so diligently planning.
Frederick, for his part, seemed to have his own motives. Under the pretense of preparing for the festival, he visited Aracila almost daily, yet he was careful not to provoke Damian directly. He avoided the Vandemir estate, where he might run into Damian, and instead met Aracila at the mage tower’s laboratory or other neutral locations. In truth, since Damian was in charge of external affairs for the project, it would have been far more efficient for Frederick to discuss matters with him. But Frederick insisted on working with Aracila.
“For the Founding Festival, I’d like to install lantern lamps along the streets,” Frederick said. “Special ones for places like the imperial palace or the temple.”
“Do you have a specific design in mind?” Aracila asked.
“I was thinking tulips, the national flower of the Setron Empire.”
“Oh, that’s a great idea!”
Aracila diligently jotted down Frederick’s requests in her notebook, her focus as intense as a student in a lecture hall. Afraid of missing even the smallest detail, she scribbled “Tulip-shaped lanterns!” with a star next to it. Frederick watched her closely, his gaze lingering, before speaking abruptly.
“This reminds me of the old days. Back at the academy, we used to spend time like this, just the two of us.”
“Oh, right,” Aracila replied. “Back then, you and Paula were my only friends.”
She hadn’t had many options for companionship, so she’d alternated between dragging Frederick and Paula to the library every other day. Frederick let out a soft chuckle, his eyes tinged with wistful melancholy.
“Sometimes I miss those days,” he murmured. “I couldn’t wait to grow up back then, but now I find myself longing for that carefree time.”
Aracila, who didn’t share his nostalgia for their academy days, listened quietly without chiming in. Frederick propped his chin on his hand, studying her intently before asking, “What about you, Aracila? Don’t you ever wish you could turn back time to before you were married?”
“Hmm, I haven’t really thought about it,” she replied.
“I guess married life with Sir Vandemir isn’t so bad, then.”
A faint, almost mischievous smirk played on Frederick’s lips. Aracila shrugged, pointing to herself with a casual grin. “As you can see, I’m doing just fine.”
“Still,” Frederick said, his tone softening, “I think I’d prefer it if you could go back to how things were before. You don’t quite seem like the Aracila Hugo I used to know.”
His words carried a subtle edge, and his expression darkened slightly. Aracila paused, meeting his gaze. His eyes, clear as a summer sea, were so transparent that it was sometimes impossible to discern the emotions they held. Like now.
Frederick studied her, trying to gauge her thoughts. Is she even a little swayed? he wondered.
“Of course I’m different,” Aracila said, exhaling sharply and shaking her head as if scolding a wayward younger sibling. “I’m Aracila Vandemir now. Did you forget my last name changed?”
She pointed her pen at him, her tone firm and deliberate. “And no personal talk during work. You keep bringing up the past, wallowing in memories like some old grandfather. Save it for later, okay? After work.”
With an exasperated wave of her hand, she dismissed the topic. To Aracila, dwelling on the past was a habit that grew with age. For now, while they were young, she believed it was better to look toward the future. Frederick’s gaze lingered on her, a complex mix of affection and faint resentment in his eyes. She was always so stubbornly herself, never bending to his will—a quality he both adored and resented.
As she organized her notes, he leaned in slightly, his voice low. “Just remember one thing, Aracila.”
“What?”
“No matter how much you change, I won’t. The time we spent together will never fade, not even in death.”
Aracila snapped her notebook shut and met his gaze calmly. “Oh, please. You’ve already changed.”
Frederick had once been bright and kind, like sunlight, but lately, there was something darker, almost brooding about him. To Aracila, he’d changed far more than she had.
“If I’ve changed,” he countered, “it’s because you changed first.”
“Don’t blame me, Frederick,” she shot back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a firm edge to her voice. “It’s not a good look for a crown prince to point fingers.”
“…Fair enough.”
Sensing it was time to back off, Frederick offered a faint smile. Aracila nodded curtly, standing to gather her things. As she did, Frederick rose as well, muttering under his breath, so softly she couldn’t hear, “But it really is someone else’s fault, and I can’t help it.”
***
“Miss, the lord and lady are calling for you.”
Nora, who had been staring blankly out the window, turned in surprise at the maid’s sudden announcement. Since the public confession incident, she hadn’t set foot outside her room, confined by her parents’ orders. She had long passed the stage of feeling restless; now, resignation had settled in, and gazing out the window had become her daily ritual. The unexpected summons from her parents caught her off guard.
Hurrying to make herself presentable, Nora headed to the first-floor parlor where the Marquis and Marchioness of White awaited. “Mother, Father, you called for me…?”
She cautiously opened the door, only to freeze at the unexpected sight within. Across from her parents sat a stranger, and the unfamiliar presence threw her off balance. Hesitating at the threshold, she faltered until the Marchioness rose abruptly, grabbing her wrist and pulling her inside.
“Come now, don’t just stand there—come in and greet our guest! My apologies, Marquis Grant.”
“No, no,” the man replied with a hearty chuckle. “It’s only natural for Lady White to feel a bit shy, seeing as we’re meeting for the first time.”
Drawn by her mother’s firm grip, Nora settled between her parents, her mind swirling with confusion. The Marquis of Grant was none other than the Empress’s brother—an esteemed figure whose presence in their home was utterly perplexing. As far as Nora knew, the House of White had no particular connection with the House of Grant, which only deepened her bewilderment.
The Marquis of Grant took a slow sip of his tea, set the cup down with a gentle clink, and spoke. “I heard about your unfortunate situation, Lady White, and my heart went out to you. That’s why I asked to arrange this meeting.”
“My… unfortunate situation?” Nora echoed, her brow furrowing in puzzlement.
During her confinement, she had spent countless sleepless nights wrestling with her thoughts, finally coming to terms with the bitter truth: her misery was entirely of her own making. Neither Aracila, nor Damian, nor anyone else bore the blame. It was her own choices that had led to this. Yet, the Marquis of Grant seemed to dismiss the fault she had so painfully accepted.
“Young hearts can be reckless, falling for a married man without thinking,” he said, his tone gentle but firm. “We all make mistakes as we grow, don’t we? Why, back at the academy, there were always young students smitten with their teachers. It’s not so different, is it?”
“Uh… but Sir Vandemir is different. I was the one who—” Nora’s words were cut short as her mother jabbed her sharply in the side. Her mouth clamped shut instinctively.
In her heart, though, she rejected the Marquis’s analogy. To call her feelings childish was unfair—she was a grown woman, not a naive girl. Young, yes, but not a child. Besides, Damian wasn’t some distant authority figure like a teacher; he was a peer, a young man her age. And more than that, what she’d done wasn’t a mere mistake—it was a deliberate wrong. She had known it was forbidden, yet she’d let her emotions run wild, unable to rein them in. But in this moment, it seemed Nora was the only one who saw it that way.
“The Vandemirs have been utterly heartless,” the Marquis continued, his voice tinged with indignation. “They could have handled it quietly, with a gentle word, but instead they made it a public spectacle, ruining the bright future of a noble young lady.”
The Marchioness of White was quick to agree. “Exactly! Do you know how much our poor girl has suffered? She’s been so heartbroken she hasn’t left her room since!”
She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, seizing Nora’s hand in a dramatic show of sympathy. The Marquis of White, his expression grave, wrapped an arm around his daughter’s shoulders. Nora, caught in the midst of this performance, felt a wave of disorientation wash over her. It wasn’t her choice to stay locked away—her parents had forbidden her from leaving. If they lifted the ban, she was ready to move forward, to carve out her own path without being tethered to Damian or Aracila. She harbored no hatred or anger anymore.
“They must seem despicable to you,” the Marquis of Grant said, his tone heavy with implication.
“Honestly, yes,” her father replied, his voice thick with resentment. “Seeing them live so happily after ruining our daughter’s life—it makes my blood boil.”
“I understand your feelings, Marquis White,” the Marquis of Grant said, nodding. “That’s why I’m here to offer some comfort.”
But the conversation unfolding among the adults was veering in a direction completely at odds with Nora’s intentions. She felt lost, unable to grasp why the Marquis of Grant was saying these things or what her parents were thinking by entertaining him.
“Don’t you want to give them a taste of what they’ve done to you?” the Marquis of Grant asked, his question vague yet loaded, omitting the subject and object. From the context, though, it was clear who he meant: Did she want revenge on Damian and Aracila?
Nora shook her head. “No, I—”
Her words were cut off as her parents’ grips tightened—one on her hand, the other on her shoulder. Their intense gazes bore into her from either side, radiating expectation. A cold sweat trickled down her back under the weight of their pressure. Her parents wanted her to accept the Marquis’s suggestion, to seek vengeance against the Vandemirs.
“You foolish girl,” her mother whispered sharply in her ear. “You’ve stained our family’s name—now you must make it right.”
“Repay the debt for all we’ve done for you, Nora White,” her father added in a low, insistent murmur.
The words shattered her resolve, leaving her defenseless. “…I want to do it,” she said at last, nodding weakly, unable to withstand the pressure.
A silent smile curved the Marquis of Grant’s lips. “Well thought, my dear. If you let people walk over you, they’ll only see you as weak.”
“What should my daughter do?” the Marchioness asked, speaking for Nora, who kept her head bowed.
The Marquis of Grant leaned back, his tone calm and measured. “For now… let’s just say it’s time to set things back to how they were.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
buy me a coffee here to support the translation 🤗🤗🤗
