Chapter 131: The Worst Timing
Frederick was reading a newspaper, his posture impeccable—back straight, legs crossed, exuding an air of refined elegance. The front page of one of the empire’s top five weekly publications was emblazoned with a scathing article about Aracila. The press was relentless, each outlet vying to amplify the narrative of a once-promising mage now facing a crisis. Frederick leisurely finished the article and folded the paper, setting it down with a deliberate motion.
Across from him, Marquis Grant, who had been waiting patiently, spoke up. “Sir Vandemir has returned, Your Highness.”
“Sooner than expected,” Frederick replied, clicking his tongue softly. “It would’ve been better if he’d stayed away a bit longer.”
He had hoped to use Damian’s absence to get closer to Aracila, to find a crack in her defenses. But Damian’s return was uncannily timed, as if he had a sixth sense. Truly, Damian Vandemir was a man who never made things easy.
“Still, it’s not all bad,” Frederick continued, his tone lightening. “Our plan is moving forward steadily, and the explosion at Gloria’s party might just work in my favor.”
He tapped the newspaper on the table with his index finger, a sly smile curling his lips. The original intent behind his sister’s birthday celebration had been something else entirely, but the unexpected accident had turned the situation into something far more intriguing and dramatic.
Marquis Grant’s face clouded with concern. “But Her Highness’s injuries, while not life-threatening, are quite serious. If things go wrong, Lady Vandemir could face irreparable damage.”
“That doesn’t matter, Uncle,” Frederick said dismissively. “Aracila’s mistake is her own doing.”
As far as he was concerned, Aracila’s current predicament was entirely due to her faulty lamp. There was no reason for him to waver or feel sympathy. Nor was there any need to reconsider his plans.
“In fact, the bigger the blow, the better,” he added, his lips twisting into a crooked smirk as he crossed his arms. “It’ll make Aracila realize who she truly needs in her life—me, not Damian Vandemir.”
“…”
“She’ll tire of this foolish marriage game and come to me.”
Marquis Grant’s expression grew complex as he regarded Frederick’s confident declaration. It had been months ago when Frederick first approached him for help, not long after Aracila and Damian’s wedding.
“I want to break up the Vandemirs,” Frederick had said. “Help me, Uncle.”
“What’s this all about, Frederick? Why do you want to tear them apart?”
“Aracila Hugo was always meant to be mine. Damian Vandemir overstepped and took her, so naturally, I have to take her back.”
Marquis Grant had been taken aback. Frederick was ambitious, but he’d never been particularly greedy. His desire for the throne was clear, yet he’d rarely coveted anything beyond that. This was the first time he’d shown such intense want, and it was for someone who could complicate his path to power.
“Your mother won’t approve,” Grant had warned. “No, it’s more than that. If word gets out that you’re pursuing a woman with a divorce in her past, it’ll cause an uproar.”
“All it takes is enough power to silence the naysayers,” Frederick had replied coolly. “And I believe I already hold half of it.”
As the empress’s only son and the crown prince since childhood, Frederick’s position was unshakable. He’d lived a life where anything he desired was within reach, which only fueled his obsession with the rare things he couldn’t have. He’d simply never shown it so openly before.
“Even if it costs me, I’ll crush Damian Vandemir and take Aracila for myself,” he had vowed, his smile sharp and predatory, a beautiful mask of ferocity and determination.
Marquis Grant had found his nephew’s intensity both unsettling and, in a way, admirable. Love and desire were powerful motivators, after all. If Frederick ascended the throne, Grant himself would rise to the pinnacle of power alongside him. Better to have a nephew driven by passion than one stagnating in apathy.
So he had agreed to help. He’d schemed to sow discord between Damian and Aracila, orchestrated Nora’s return to society to use her as a pawn, and even arranged for Ken to attempt Damian’s assassination during the western beast subjugation. Every step had been infused with Frederick’s will.
“Lady White is the perfect card to play, isn’t she?” Frederick had mused. “She harbors resentment toward the Vandemirs and has fallen from grace in society. We can use her and discard her without the White family batting an eye—as long as we offer the right compensation.”
Marquis Grant was merely the executor of Frederick’s desires. But as time went on, he began to worry that his nephew was taking on too much risk, pushing things too far. The current plan, for instance, could backfire on Frederick himself, yet he insisted on pressing forward with unwavering determination.
“Frederick,” Grant said, his voice heavy with unease, “is Lady Vandemir really worth all this?”
The question was laced with concern for his nephew. “The crown princess doesn’t need to have extraordinary abilities like magic. Someone who can support you, serve you politically, and pose no threat to your power would suffice. Wouldn’t it be better to keep Lady Vandemir as just a friend, as before?”
Frederick’s lips curved into an enigmatic smile as he nodded. He wasn’t unaware of his uncle’s reasoning—he’d considered it himself. It wasn’t for nothing that he’d stayed by Aracila’s side as a friend all this time.
But once the dam of his heart had broken, holding back the flood was no easy task.
“When I thought no one could have her, I was content to keep my desires in check,” Frederick said. “As long as I was the only man by her side, staying friends meant we’d never have to part.”
If Aracila belonged to no one else, Frederick could have been satisfied. He could have played the role of her truest friend for a lifetime, cloaking his feelings in the guise of friendship, just as she wanted.
“But when I realized that Aracila could be claimed by someone…” His voice trailed off, a shadow crossing his face. “Being her closest friend stopped being enough.”
She had declared her intent to become the Master of the Mage Tower, vowing never to marry, and Frederick had respected that boundary. He could have pressured the Hugo family to secure an engagement, but out of respect for her wishes, he’d held back.
And yet, without so much as a word to him, Aracila had suddenly married Damian.
It was a clear betrayal.
Since she had broken his trust first, Frederick felt no need to restrain himself any longer. If she’d chosen to let someone else claim her, he’d take her back—even if it meant breaking her in the process.
“It’s all Aracila’s fault,” he said, letting out a regretful sigh. “If she’d kept her word, I would’ve kept mine to stay just friends.”
Marquis Grant, still unable to hide his unease, spoke cautiously. “Then you intend to proceed with the plan as is?”
“Of course,” Frederick replied, his smile bright but his eyes cold as they fixed on the marquis. “Just do what I ask, Uncle. I’m not interested in your personal opinions.”
“Understood, Your Highness?”
The unspoken pressure in his gaze made Grant stiffen. Those crimson eyes were a clear warning not to overstep.
“…Yes, I understand,” Grant said, setting aside his familial concerns and bowing respectfully. “I’ll contact the White family immediately.”
Frederick’s expression softened with satisfaction. Humming a tune, he murmured with anticipation, “I hope my plans create some good synergy with this incident.”
Damian threw himself into uncovering the truth behind the explosion with a fervor that made it seem like his own life depended on it. Aracila found an unexpected comfort and strength in his dedication. Knowing someone cared about her predicament as much as she did was profoundly reassuring.
“How soon do we need to find the truth to minimize the damage to you?” he asked.
“At the very least, I need to prove it wasn’t my mistake before the Mage Tower’s internal investigation concludes,” she replied.
The likelihood of severe punishment was high. Even if the explosion wasn’t intentional, she had injured a direct member of the imperial family and tarnished the Mage Tower’s reputation, stirring public outrage. The mages who had always resented her were undoubtedly sharpening their knives, and the consequences would not be light. To avoid punishment, she needed to clear her name as quickly as possible.
“Understood,” Damian said. “I’ll make sure your innocence is proven.”
“Thank you, Damian. But don’t push yourself too hard,” she cautioned.
“Yes,” he replied, but the fire in his eyes suggested he had no intention of holding back.
He seemed even more determined than he’d been when facing his own troubles.
Suddenly, Aracila noticed an eyelash stuck to his cheek. Leaning forward, she reached out to brush it away. “I’ll start by finding a way to access the exploded lamp. Maybe I can ask Prince Lucas for help…”
Damian froze as her warm fingertips grazed his skin. He looked at her, startled by how close she’d come. The eyelash was proving stubborn, and Aracila leaned in closer, her face inches from his.
Her gentle touch on his cheek, her breath so near—it sent a flush creeping up his ears and face. His gaze kept drifting to her full, soft lips, and the heat in his cheeks only intensified.
Caught between wanting to move and being unable to, Damian held his breath. Finally, Aracila removed the eyelash and looked up at him with a smile. “Oh, you had an eyelash stuck there…”
Before she could finish, Damian abruptly turned his head, covering half his face with a large hand, his expression hidden.
Did I upset him by touching his face without asking? Aracila wondered, a touch of embarrassment coloring her voice. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I make you uncomfortable by touching you?”
“…It’s not that,” he mumbled. “You were just… too close.”
“What?”
“Your face was so close… it’s embarrassing,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.
Aracila blinked, realization dawning. She’d been so focused on the eyelash that she hadn’t noticed how near she’d gotten—close enough for anyone watching to mistake it for an intimate moment.
“…Oh.”
She pulled back quickly, her own face heating up. Through the strands of his hair, she could see Damian’s ears burning red, his cheeks flushed beneath his hand. Despite the winter chill approaching, a sudden warmth made her fan herself with her hand.
The air between them felt charged, strange. They avoided each other’s gaze, staring into space, their fingers twitching with an odd, unspoken tension.
Just as Damian opened his mouth to speak, a knock—somewhere between a polite tap and an urgent bang—echoed through the room.
“Commander, it’s me. May I come in?”
It was Colin. Damian cleared his throat softly and granted permission.
Colin burst in, his usually calm demeanor replaced by visible anxiety. “Something urgent needs your attention,” he said.
“What is it?” Damian asked.
“A newspaper, published an hour ago. You need to see it.”
Colin strode forward, his trembling hand offering the paper while casting a wary glance at Aracila.
A prickle of unease ran through her. Colin had never looked at her like that before.
Damian took the paper and scanned the front page. His face hardened instantly.
An uncomfortable, heavy silence filled the room. He stood frozen, as if caught in a spell, clutching the newspaper.
“What’s wrong, Damian? What’s going on? Another article slandering me?” Aracila asked, her voice tinged with frustration.
“…”
“Damian.”
No matter how she called, he didn’t respond.
Growing impatient, Aracila snatched the paper from his hands. He reached to stop her, but it was too late—she’d already read the headline on the front page:
“Exclusive: The Secret Relationship Between the Crown Prince and Lady Vandemir! Are They Lovers?”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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