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Chapter 68
As soon as Seraphina entered, Clois snatched the letter from her hand as if he were stealing it.
“Your Majesty, surely you could at least say a single word of thanks to your loyal subject for her effort.”
“Very well. You’ve done well.”
“Ah yes, I can hear the utter lack of sincerity in that commendation.”
When Seraphina gave him a fed-up look, the chief chamberlain only smiled and offered her tea.
No matter what Seraphina said, nothing seemed to reach Clois’s ears.
Tearing open the envelope in a hurry, his lips curved in a smile as soon as he saw the round, neat handwriting. It was Ibi’s.
[Hello, Professor! This is Ibi! I have a favor to ask of you.]
“A favor?” he muttered, caught off guard by the unexpected content.
At his words, Seraphina also picked up her teacup and moved closer.
“A favor? Did something happen?”
She had instructed Ibi to tell her first if she ever wanted to ask Professor Sian for something.
Ibi was a clever child; there was no way she’d forgotten. For her to write directly to him instead—surely this meant something serious was weighing on her.
Clois and Seraphina both grew tense as he continued reading quickly.
[Next week the midterms begin, and I chose Reshidic and Arsys as my foreign languages. But there are still many parts I don’t understand. I keep asking the foreign language professor, but…]
Perhaps she had hesitated while writing; blotches of ink marked places where the pen had lingered too long.
[I think I could work harder if I studied with you, Professor.]
At the bottom of the letter, a little doodle of a gloomy-looking squirrel sat forlornly.
“The squirrel is cute.”
“Very cute.”
“I agree.”
Even the chamberlain came over this time, gazing fondly at the drawing.
Then Clois snapped back to reality.
“But why would she ask me for foreign languages—ah, right. The ‘foreign language professor’ disguise.”
He sighed, belatedly recalling Professor Sian Roshen’s cover identity.
Seraphina reacted the same way. She clutched her head with both hands as if she’d never imagined this situation.
“She must have seen the books in your office and assumed you speak all four languages.”
“That’s what comes of filling the place with every volume you could find!”
“I worked hard to decorate the office to look authentic, despite how busy I am! If you scold me for my devotion, that’s truly unfair!”
Feigning tears, she continued dramatically.
“In any case, Your Majesty cannot teach her, so perhaps we should just let her think the letter went unanswered—”
“Why should I not be able to teach her?”
“Why? Because you don’t actually know Reshidic or Arsys very well.”
“What nonsense. Have you forgotten I was once a student at the Academy too? I studied all four languages back then.”
Not out of personal interest, but at his mother’s stern insistence that the heir to the throne should master everything required of an emperor.
“But you’ve hardly used them in years.”
“Hardly? I read diplomatic documents without translations.”
“Still, teaching a student seems… perhaps beyond you.”
“Dean Seraphina, I don’t know why lately you object to everything I say.”
Because, these days, Your Majesty has become as gentle as when Lillian was alive.
…That was what she truly thought, but of course she couldn’t say it. Instead, she smiled vaguely and stepped back.
“By all means, do as you wish.”
If the emperor himself insisted, who could stop him?
“When exactly are the midterms?”
“A week from now.”
“A week, hm…”
Clois pondered for a moment, then returned to his desk and scribbled a short note. Handing it to Seraphina, he ordered,
“Deliver this to Ibi.”
“Since when does a dean double as a courier? Truly, if you want to exploit such a valuable talent as myself, perhaps you could at least lend me another magic stone—ah, never mind, I’ll go.”
Draining her tea in one gulp under his sharp gaze, Seraphina drooped her shoulders and left.
Once she was gone, Clois returned to his desk at once.
“A week until the exam.”
Then he had to finish his duties quickly and go. The sooner he could, the more he could teach Ibi before the test.
“What was the difficulty level of the Academy’s first midterm again?”
His head was already filled with nothing but thoughts of what to teach her.
“The professor said he’ll teach me!”
Ibi lifted a spoonful of chickpeas with glee.
“The professor?”
Across from her, Luska asked while elegantly tearing into a chicken leg.
“Professor Sian Roshen. Ibi’s guardian.”
Arsel answered in her stead, and Luska nodded in recognition.
“Ah, right. You said you went out with him during the seasonal festival.”
“Yes! It was so fun that day. I even won a wooden squirrel figurine from the raffle… I drew it in my letter too…”
Ibi chattered nonstop through the meal.
The other three had already heard this story several times, but none pointed it out. Her expression while recalling the outing was too radiant.
After listening for a while, Irene asked curiously,
“By the way, what does Professor Sian look like? I’ve never seen him.”
“Well, first of all, he’s suuuper tall.”
Ibi stretched her arms high above her head, though her short stature only allowed her hand to reach Irene’s hair.
“And suuuper handsome.”
At that, Luska, gnawing on his second drumstick, raised an eyebrow.
“How handsome? As handsome as me?”
Irene grimaced in disgust at his smug tone, and Arsel wordlessly heaped Luska’s plate with cucumber salad—the one thing he hated most.
“Nope. Professor Sian is waaaay more handsome.”
“…Eh.”
Luska froze mid-bite.
Until now, whenever he’d asked Ibi such questions, she had always declared that he was the best.
But this time she had answered without a moment’s hesitation—stretching out her words to emphasize just how overwhelmingly handsome Sian was.
“T-then is he even more handsome than Arsel?”
Stung, Luska pointed toward Arsel, who was quietly buttering his bread.
Ibi, less decisive this time, thought it over before replying,
“Arsel-nim is pretty. Professor Sian is handsome.”
Clink.
Arsel set down his butter knife and smiled faintly.
At that smile, Luska pressed his hand to his forehead.
Ibi’s judgment wasn’t wrong.
At thirteen, Arsel was often called a beautiful boy, his cold, sharp demeanor lending him an elegance that fit the word pretty more than handsome.
The problem was that Arsel hated such descriptions.
Once, after Luska had jokingly remarked “Haven’t you gotten even prettier?” during a reunion, Arsel had hounded him in the training yard until he was bleeding.
Since then, Luska had learned to guard his tongue…
He won’t do that to Ibi, but…
That smile of his was proof enough that he was irritated.
Then Arsel spoke.
“Ibi, I’d very much like to meet this Professor Sian of yours. To see just how handsome he really is.”
Luska tilted his head. It seemed Arsel was angrier at hearing Sian praised than he was at being called pretty.
“Mmm, I’ll ask Professor later and introduce you all! He can speak four foreign languages, you know, and he said he’ll teach me Reshidic and Arsys!”
Oblivious to the undercurrents, Ibi chattered on brightly about her professor.
Meanwhile, at a nearby table, Isriella clapped her hand over her mouth.
That’s a lie!
In the letter her brother had sent, Professor Sian Roshen’s field was clearly listed as “Geology.”
So why foreign languages?
Who on earth…
Who exactly was this “Professor Sian” Ibi Elden was talking about?
A smile slowly spread across Isriella’s face.
Whoever he was, , Evie Elden would pay dearly for this deception.
