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Chapter 12
“…Ah, thank you.”
I reached out absently toward the red flower.
At that moment, all I could think of was escaping from Seria before she noticed anything.
But then, the Grand Duke’s voice whispered from inside my hat.
“Don’t take it. Say it’s a gift.”
Huh? Why…?
“Just do it.”
I didn’t understand why, but since Rishid said so, I had no choice but to obey. There had to be a reason.
“High Priest, please take it. It’s a gift!”
I am an avatar, I am an avatar.
Chanting like a mantra, I pushed the flower back into the High Priest’s hand. His golden eyes widened slightly in surprise, then softened with a faint laugh.
“…How strange. I find myself increasingly curious about what goes on inside your head, Lady.”
His golden gaze curved beautifully—toward my hat.
Gasp.
I grabbed the brim in a panic.
No! Don’t you dare get curious about what’s inside my hat, you damned priest…!
On top of Irele’s head, Rishid tried to make sense of the situation.
“She said she liked me, and now she’s staring at the High Priest like that?”
He frowned, watching through the tiny hole in the hat.
The man was Erkael, the youngest High Priest in history—praised everywhere as the incarnation of an angel.
Yet Irel Blandice… was blushing over him?
“We don’t even look alike.”
If Rishid’s sharp eyes gave him a cold, intimidating presence, Erkael’s gentle smile and soft features were the very opposite.
Polar opposites, in fact.
Still, when irel had faced the High Priest, her breath had quickened. Her shoulders had trembled.
“And she’s never done that around me.”
He still remembered how she used to yawn right in front of him.
That yawning mouth, wide open enough to show her molars, haunted him vividly.
“Or make those ridiculous noises…”
He grimaced, recalling her zombie-like groans.
“Or slap herself in the face for no reason.”
She used to flail about, hitting her own cheeks until they turned red.
“If she really liked me, shouldn’t it be the opposite?”
Something was definitely wrong.
Irel used to blush and flutter her fan shyly whenever he walked by.
Now, she acted as though he were a household pet.
“It must be because of this ridiculous puppet form.”
The thought irritated him.
Sure, sometimes her nostrils flared adorably when she was excited, and she still brightened up with sparkling eyes when she chatted with him… but—
“Maybe I should test it.”
He wanted to see just how flimsy her supposed affection was.
If her heart had truly shifted elsewhere, she might discard him entirely one day.
And that would be troublesome.
So when the High Priest approached again, pretending to have dropped a flower near Irel, Rishid gave his command.
“Say it’s a gift.”
Giving flowers to someone of the opposite sex was a clear sign of affection.
‘I don’t like the High Priest. I like the Grand Duke.’
If she truly meant that, she’d say so.
But instead—
“High Priest, please take it. It’s a gift!”
She shouted it loud enough to shake the hall and actually placed it in his hand.
“Who gave her permission to do that?”
That flower was part of his design—the hat was his idea!
He had picked the materials himself!
“And she gives it away? To him?”
She had given him ridiculous floral pajamas, yet she was handing a handcrafted bloom to that priest?
Rishid ground his teeth, his red eyes blazing.
Meanwhile, Irel seemed oblivious.
“Grand Duke, where should we go now?”
“…”
“Grand Duke?”
“…”
“Don’t tell me you’ve fallen asleep again!”
She shook her head wildly, making Rishid clutch the brim to keep from being flung off.
“You’ll regret this, Lady.”
His stomach churned, his patience wore thin. But before he could scold her, he heard whispers from nearby guests.
“The Duke of Eppenterion won’t attend the welcoming ceremony, they say…”
“Then the rumors about the western subjugation must be true…”
Rishid’s eyes narrowed.
“Lady, eleven o’clock direction,” he murmured.
“Oh! You’re alive!”
“Circle around Baron Bayers. Hide behind the third pillar on the right.”
“Uh… Who’s Baron Bayers?”
She really knows nothing about politics.
Suppressing a sigh, Rishid adjusted the hat’s direction, turning her head accordingly.
“The bald one over there.”
“Ah, I see.”
Following his commands precisely, Irel wandered through the hall, eavesdropping here and there.
And soon, Rishid pieced the rumors together.
“So… apparently, I was gravely injured during the western monster subjugation and fell into a coma?”
A dry laugh escaped him.
“Ridiculous.”
He tapped her head twice.
“Lady.”
“Yes?”
“I think I’ve figured out who cursed me.”
Irel froze.
What did he just say?
He’d found the one who cursed him?
I swallowed hard. My fingers trembled as I stammered, “W-who is it?”
From inside the hat came a subtle movement, followed by his calm voice—
“The Emperor.”
“…What?”
I blinked blankly.
The Emperor?
I mean… that’s… me.
Rishid, that’s completely wrong!
“You don’t think it makes sense?” he asked, his voice low.
“N-no! I was just… surprised.”
“Surprised?”
“Yes. It’s just that what you said was… quite unexpected.”
Then a thought struck me.
Wait. This could actually work out for me.
If I agreed with his suspicion, it might divert his future doubts away from me.
And it even made a twisted sort of sense.
After all, Rishid’s uncle, Emperor Ferdic, had stolen the throne from him.
Years ago, on the very eve of Rishid’s coronation, the former Emperor and Empress were found dead—both having committed suicide on the same day.
Despite lacking the formal title of Crown Prince, Rishid had been the obvious heir. But the discovery of a “suicide note” changed everything.
It revealed that Rishid wasn’t their biological son at all—merely an adopted child.
And the court seized that excuse like starving dogs.
The ministers, already uneasy about Rishid’s red eyes (unlike his parents’ clear blue), summoned palace doctors and servants to testify.
Most of them turned up dead or missing. The few survivors claimed that the Empress’s pregnancy had been faked from the start.
And just like that, the council rushed to enthrone Ferdic—the late Emperor’s younger brother.
Rishid had no time to grieve his parents. He was stripped of his birthright and banished to the distant duchy.
So maybe, just maybe… blaming the Emperor isn’t such a bad idea after all.
