Riscal stumbled over his words at the gentle question.
“I—I’m different from Ricador hyung.”
“Are you?”
“About hyung, actually…”
After a long moment of deliberation, Riscal made up his mind. He would tell Risideon the entire plan and ask for his help.
His pride stung at the thought, but the way things were going, he might never find the right moment to apologize to Riersha. Not in this lifetime.
Riscal dropped his gaze to the ground.
“Riersha wants to win a wish token.”
“…A wish token?”
“Yeah. I said a lot of terrible things to her, so I want to help her win this time. Hyung, please help me.”
Riscal looked up with desperate eyes. Risideon seemed to weigh the request for a moment — then tossed something over.
It was one of Ricador’s treasures.
The object traced a clean arc through the air and landed at Riscal’s feet. He stared at it, then lifted his eyes to Risideon in disbelief.
“From this point on, I won’t be looking for anything.”
“…!”
“That should do it, shouldn’t it, Riscal?”
Riscal felt a sharp sting behind his nose. With Risideon stepping aside, he actually had a chance.
“Hyung.”
“Mm?”
“You’re honestly an angel.”
Every thought he’d had about Risideon being terrifying — he took it all back.
⁂
Meanwhile, at the same moment.
Ian Charlotte stood at the edge of the forest, gazing up at the sky.
The hourglass floating overhead told him the treasure hunt was nearly over.
“It seems Lady Riersha has managed to pull it off after all.”
He smiled faintly and was about to move on when —
“Count Charlotte. What are you doing here?”
Someone stepped out from behind him, making their presence known. He turned to find Rosinante standing there.
“Lord Rosinante. Good day to you.”
Ian greeted him with a polite incline of his head. Rosinante offered nothing in return but a pleasant smile — though his sharp gaze, framed by a monocle, swept over Ian from head to toe.
“What brings you to this area? I believe it was announced beforehand that entry into the forest is restricted.”
Rosinante gestured toward the no-entry sign posted at the forest’s edge.
With the household still unsettled over the recent incident involving Oberon, the scrutiny in that gaze was unmistakable. Ian broke into a cold sweat inwardly.
He raised both hands and stepped back.
“There’s been a misunderstanding. I only came to check whether Lady Riersha was doing well. Nothing more.”
“That’s understandable. You are her tutor, after all — of course you’d want her to do well. I can appreciate that.”
“I knew you would understand, Lord Rosinante.”
Rosinante nodded as if accepting the explanation, and Ian’s expression brightened.
But then Rosinante fixed him with an expressionless stare.
“The lady is doing quite well on her own. So you may continue on your way, Count Charlotte.”
“…Yes, of course.”
“I’ve been ordered to keep watch outside while the game is underway. Given the recent unpleasantness, I ask for your understanding, Count Charlotte.”
Rosinante added the remark deliberately — to make clear that he held no personal grievance against Ian.
But Ian saw through it at once. The words were not entirely sincere.
Ian hesitated for just a moment before letting a light smile settle on his face.
“I see. I, too, feel deeply troubled by what happened with Lord Oberon. …Why do you suppose he acted the way he did?”
“You find it difficult to understand as well, Count Charlotte?”
“…”
“So do I.”
Rosinante tilted his head as if genuinely puzzled.
But his eyes were ice-cold.
The meaning behind them was unmistakable.
Even Oberon turned out to be untrustworthy. So why should you be any different?
Ian felt as though he had wandered into the wrong place at entirely the wrong time. A cold sweat seemed to prickle across every inch of his skin.
“Count Charlotte.”
“Yes, Lord Rosinante.”
“Do not grow closer to Lady Riersha than is necessary.”
“…”
“I trust you understand what I mean.”
Rosinante was warning him — a man who was, after all, merely a tutor — against showing Lady Riersha any undue familiarity.
It was a common concern in great noble households. There were cases where an heir became so dependent on a particular individual that they could no longer function without them. That kind of attachment was precisely what noble families feared most.
It was, in fact, the very reason such households made a practice of cycling through tutors at regular intervals, no matter how talented those tutors might be.
“Yes. I overstepped. I will take that deeply to heart.”
Ian bowed his head. Only then did the rigid line of Rosinante’s mouth ease into something almost like approval.
⁂
Isierd had changed into fresh clothes, looking thoroughly presentable.
The servants who had offered to assist with his bath seemed bewildered by his sudden cooperativeness, but fearing he might erupt into chaos again at any moment, they had hurried through the process before he could change his mind.
The room that had been in total disarray was now spotless.
“…Strange kid.”
Isierd muttered under his breath.
By nature, he had never intended to simply go along with Pernoa’s suggestion that he become Crown Prince.
What was there to trust about that person?
The moment he became useless, Pernoa Arachrene would discard him like garbage — just like everyone else had.
But…
“So is Isierd okay?”
“…”
“My heart feels heavy. Papa brought Isierd here because of me, so I’m really, really sorry.”
He had been fleeing through the corridors, dodging servants trying to catch him, when he slipped into a room along a side passage — and stumbled into the middle of a conversation.
The moment he heard those words, it felt as though something had struck him clean across the head.
Looking back, that girl had been strange from the very beginning.
She’d walked up to a complete stranger and asked to be friends — right out of nowhere — then offered him food and promised to protect him.
Maybe she was only being kind to him because she needed something from him too.
After all, that was exactly why that woman had tormented Isierd so relentlessly and caused him so much pain. Because he was useful to her.
He was still young, but some things he understood by instinct alone. What those people feared was Isierd’s very existence.
That was why they had gone to such lengths to erase him, to hide him away, to sever every connection he had with the world.
The title of “imperial prince” had been the thing that tormented him — and yet, at the same time, it was the lifeline that kept him breathing.
Isierd looked into the mirror.
Not a trace of the filthy, ragged figure remained.
The hair that had been matted with grime had reclaimed its true color — pale gold. His skin, too, had changed, smooth and clear thanks to the expensive bath products the noble household kept on hand.
Isierd studied the unfamiliar face staring back at him, his expression blank.
So this is what I looked like.
Dressed now in fine, costly clothes that suited the image, Isierd looked every bit the son of a high-ranking noble house to anyone who laid eyes on him.
Even the servants who had been grimacing through the task of attending him seemed stunned by the transformation — the difference between before and after was that stark.
The sharp, upswept lines of his eyes and the vivid blue of his irises felt somehow out of place with everything else around him, and Isierd stood before the mirror for a long time without moving.
“Lord Risideon will be returning shortly. Please prepare yourself for your lesson.”
“…”
“Then I’ll trust you’ve understood and take my leave.”
The servant retreated with a resigned expression, tidying up the last of the room before stepping out. No matter what anyone said to Isierd, he never opened his mouth to reply.
Isierd was currently staying in Risideon’s castle.
Until more permanent accommodations could be arranged, he was to live here alongside Risideon Arachrene.
Objectively speaking, the people around him were not particularly warm — neither in attitude nor in tone. But Isierd found it more than adequate.
At least they didn’t lock him in a basement or toss him stale bread that was barely fit to eat, the way the Kineart Ducal House had.
I wonder when I’ll see her again.
It was the first time in his life that Isierd had ever wanted to see someone again.
