Chapter 130: On My Side
Aracila froze for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly. Part of her wanted to brusquely brush off Frederick’s hand, but she hesitated. With his knights watching from behind, she felt obliged to preserve his dignity as the crown prince.
As she stood still, Frederick’s hand gently trailed from her hair to rest on her shoulder. His warm, guileless smile seemed devoid of ulterior motives. “I told you, Aracila, you’re the most special person to me. Even if you don’t feel quite the same, I’d like you to at least consider me your closest friend.”
“…You and Paula have always been my closest friends,” she replied softly.
Until Frederick had crossed a line, the bond among the three of them had been unshakable. Even now, buried deep in her heart, a quiet longing for the Frederick she’d known at the academy lingered, unbidden.
“If we treat each other well, the three of us can stay the best of friends forever,” he continued.
“…Is that so?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
His firm response was met with an unreadable expression from Frederick. Aracila gently brushed his hand away, careful not to embarrass him, and offered a nod of farewell before heading to her carriage.
“Take care. I’ll be in touch,” Frederick called, his smile radiant as he waved.
Aracila returned the gesture but avoided meeting his gaze. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching her depart for a long moment, like a lover ensuring his beloved’s safe exit.
Unseen by them, others observed from a distance.
“It seems His Highness and Lady Vandemir are closer than I thought,” one noblewoman whispered.
“I heard they were academy classmates, but are they that close?” another chimed in.
“Honestly, even if they’re just friends, it’s a bit much for a married woman to be so familiar with another man,” a third remarked.
The group of noblewomen turned, seeking agreement from one among them. “Don’t you think so, Lady White?”
“…I suppose so,” Nora replied, her smile lukewarm as she nodded in vague assent.
She had come to the imperial palace with a few other noblewomen, accompanying Marchioness Grant to visit Gloria. By chance—or perhaps not—she had witnessed Aracila and Frederick’s exchange outside the magistrate’s office.
“It’s probably not intentional on Lady Vandemir’s part,” one of the women added. “She’s young, and it’s only been six months since her marriage. She might not yet know how to draw proper boundaries, unlike when she was single.”
At first glance, the comment seemed to defend Aracila, but it carried a subtle sting. It implicitly agreed that her closeness with Frederick was excessive, all but declaring that she had failed to maintain propriety.
“I’m sure she’ll adjust with time,” Nora said, her wistful smile softening her words. “I don’t want to think ill of Lady Vandemir anymore.” Her downcast eyes and gentle tone made it seem as though her remarks weren’t meant to criticize.
“Oh, we’re sorry, Lady White,” one of the noblewomen said hastily. “We weren’t thinking about your history with her. That was thoughtless of us.”
“It’s alright,” Nora replied, her smile brightening. “What happened between Lady Vandemir and me is in the past now. It’s better for both of us to act as if it never happened.”
With that, she gracefully ended the conversation and led the group toward Marchioness Grant, who was waiting for them. But sometimes, such interrupted exchanges only fueled curiosity. The unfinished gossip would surely resurface at another gathering, perhaps spreading through the circles these noblewomen frequented.
It wasn’t just the imperial magistrate that was suffocating Aracila.
“Um, my lady,” said Audrey, her maid, who had been pacing anxiously by the carriage while waiting for Aracila. Hesitating, she held out a letter. “This came while I was waiting…”
It was from the Mage Tower.
The letter contained a curt, unilateral notice of an internal investigation into Aracila’s actions.
To Lady Aracila Vandemir,
The Mage Tower deeply regrets the incident you have caused. Causing a disturbance in the sacred imperial palace tarnishes the honor of the Mage Tower and brings disgrace to its affiliated mages. Given the number of injuries and the extent of the damage, the Mage Tower will conduct its own investigation into your conduct. We request your full cooperation to avoid further chaos and harm within the Mage Tower.
They clearly have no intention of defending me, Aracila thought bitterly as she folded the letter.
The Mage Tower was filled with people who had been waiting for her to fall from grace. She had half-expected this, but seeing it play out so blatantly left a sour taste in her mouth.
The carriage ride home was eerily quiet. Audrey, sensing her mistress’s distress, kept silent, unable to find words of comfort. When the carriage stopped in front of the estate, Aracila stepped out, her energy drained. All she wanted was to retreat to her room and rest.
“You’re back, my lady,” the butler greeted, bowing respectfully.
Aracila nodded, peeling off her stifling gloves. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to rest, so please ensure no one disturbs me in my chambers.”
“Of course, my lady,” he replied. “But I assume it’s alright to leave the visitor who’s already here?”
Aracila blinked at the butler, puzzled by his cryptic remark. A faint smile played on his lips as he clarified, “The master has returned.”
“What? Damian?”
Her eyes widened in surprise. She had expected him to return days later, so his early arrival caught her off guard.
“Where is he now?” she asked.
“He’s waiting for you in the bedroom, my lady,” the butler replied.
Without hesitation, Aracila turned and hurried up the stairs. She flung open the door without knocking, and there, seated on the sofa, was Damian. The chill of the northern territories still clung to him, evident in the thick red cloak draped over his shoulders. He hadn’t even thought to change out of his travel attire, his focus solely on waiting for her.
Their eyes met, and he sprang to his feet. “My lady!”
In a few urgent strides, he was in front of her, his large hands gently grasping her arms. “Are you alright? You weren’t caught in the explosion, were you? You’ve had a proper examination, haven’t you?”
The questions tumbled out, each one laced with a desperate tenderness that seemed to catch in his throat. His golden eyes scanned her anxiously, and Aracila felt a strange, ticklish warmth under his gaze. She had heard similar questions from others, but Damian’s concern felt uniquely profound.
“I’m fine,” she reassured him. “I wasn’t hurt. I wasn’t even in the hall when the explosion happened.”
“Thank goodness,” Damian said, his face visibly softening with relief. His hair, disheveled from the wind, betrayed the haste of his journey. “You have no idea how worried I was.”
A sudden pang, sharp and tender, bloomed in Aracila’s chest. She hesitated before speaking. “Actually… I was with Frederick at the time. He asked to talk, so we were in the lounge together.”
“With His Highness? Alone?” Damian’s voice was calm, but there was a faint edge to it.
“…Yes,” she admitted, a twinge of unease pricking at her like a thorn under her nail.
Ordinarily, Aracila wasn’t one to care about others’ opinions. Yet, for some reason, she found herself hyper-aware of Damian’s reaction, worried he might be disappointed that she’d disregarded his request.
To her surprise, he smiled softly and gave her shoulder a gentle pat. “You did well. It kept you safe, and that’s what matters.”
“You’re not upset that I went against your request?” she asked, uncertain.
“What does that matter now?” he replied, his voice steady but warm.
On his way back after receiving her letter, one thought had consumed him: Please, let Aracila be safe. The words “explosion” had sent his heart plummeting, and without a second thought, he’d packed his things and set out for the capital. Count Yohim had urged him to wait until morning for safety, but Damian had left at dawn, driven by fear. Aracila’s letter had been so matter-of-fact, detailing only the incident itself, that he’d been unable to confirm her safety, and it had eaten at him. He couldn’t sit still.
Seeing her now, unharmed and standing before him, filled him with a gratitude so overwhelming it nearly brought tears to his eyes. Where she’d been or what she’d been doing with Frederick didn’t matter. His earlier request had stemmed from his own insecurities, but he held an unshakable belief that Aracila wasn’t the type to do anything shameful.
“I’m already grateful and content that you tried to honor my selfish request,” he said. “And I’m even more thankful that it kept you safe.”
Aracila felt a deep, resonant stirring in her chest, a feeling she couldn’t quite name. It was as if, like a child who holds it together alone but crumbles in front of their parents, the weight she’d been carrying burst forth in Damian’s presence. Relief and a strange, aching sorrow flooded her at once.
“…Honestly, I’m not okay,” she admitted impulsively. “The lamp exploding—it’s shocking. I feel resentful that Princess Gloria was hurt, and if I’m being honest, I feel wronged too.”
The raw truth she hadn’t dared share with anyone close to her spilled out. “I didn’t make the lamp dangerous, I swear. But it’s still my lamp, so I have to take responsibility. I just came back from being questioned at the imperial magistrate.”
“That must have been tough,” Damian said softly.
“A little,” she admitted. “And now, on top of the magistrate, the Mage Tower is launching an internal investigation too.”
She handed him the letter from the Mage Tower, almost as if tattling. Damian read it silently, his expression darkening.
“The tone is awfully coercive,” he remarked. “Doesn’t the Mage Tower protect its own mages?”
If they’d chosen neutrality, they could at least have used a more courteous tone. But the letter was imperious, treating her like a criminal already.
“Exactly,” Aracila said. “Or rather, they have no intention of protecting me. The higher-ups who’ve always had it out for me are probably having a field day.”
Since the explosion, Aracila had been temporarily barred from the Mage Tower. She didn’t need to be there to know exactly how things were unfolding behind closed doors.
It was obvious that the mages who had long wanted to see her fall were seizing this opportunity, banding together to orchestrate her downfall.
“Of course, it’s my fault for making the lamp, so I can’t really say anything…” Aracila murmured, her voice heavy with resignation.
“Don’t say that,” Damian interjected firmly. “I don’t believe you made the lamp incorrectly.”
Aracila’s eyes widened in surprise. He was the first person to say such a thing. “You… don’t?”
“There must be another reason the lamp exploded,” he said with unwavering conviction.
“But what if I really did make a mistake?” she pressed, her voice tinged with doubt.
Damian’s gaze held hers, steady and unyielding, like an ancient tree standing firm against a storm. “Do you truly believe that?”
“…”
“Did you actually make a mistake when crafting the lamp?”
His voice was low, resonant, and resolute, and Aracila slowly shook her head. The lamp for Gloria had been crafted with meticulous care. It was designed in a way that made an explosion highly unlikely—impossible, even.
“Then that’s enough for me,” Damian said. “I trust you. If you say you didn’t do it, I’ll believe and think the same.”
“…”
“Your word is my measure of truth.”
Every word Damian spoke was free of deceit, and that realization sent a tingling sensation through Aracila’s fingertips. She drew in a breath, her exhale trembling slightly. Her lips parted, moving slowly.
“…Thank you. Really.”
“There’s no need for thanks,” he replied. “It’s only natural for a husband to trust his wife.”
As always, Damian didn’t make a show of his support. His steadfast demeanor eased the weight on Aracila’s heart, drawing her closer to the depth of his sincerity.
She placed a hand lightly on his arm, her expression clouded. “But everyone else thinks I made a mistake. The Mage Tower, the imperial investigators—they’re going to scrutinize our entire business.”
Her words carried the grim implication that the enterprise they had poured their hearts into could collapse. No, it was almost a foregone conclusion. Once the investigators tore through their operations, their business would be left in ruins. With public trust already eroded, rebuilding would take years of effort and resources. External investments would likely dry up entirely for some time.
But Damian didn’t hesitate or falter. “Don’t worry,” he said without missing a beat. “We’ll prove your innocence before it comes to that. And even if we can’t, we’ll start over from the beginning.”
“Is it really that simple?” she asked, her voice laced with skepticism.
“If it’s difficult, we’ll face it as it comes,” he replied. “I’ll do everything I can to make it less so. Just trust me and let go of your worries.”
The corners of his mouth curved into a gentle, reassuring smile. Aracila found herself unable to look away from his face, from the warmth in his expression.
Had she ever met someone who stood so wholly by her side? Her parents and siblings, bound to her by blood, had given her trust and faith, but what she felt from Damian was entirely different.
To have someone unrelated by blood stand so completely in her corner—it was a feeling that set her heart racing in a way she hadn’t anticipated.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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