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“I’m Looking for the Runaway Princess” Chapter : 9
“On the entrance-side flower vase, your name—Elizia—is written on it… I knew you had ambition, but I didn’t think you’d go as far as wanting to be the school representative.”
He spoke teasingly as he lightly lifted a rose. The flower would later be used as a “ballot” when choosing between roses and lilies.
Elizia’s stiff expression relaxed.
“It would be stranger if I didn’t have ambition. I am the heir to the throne.”
A sigh—she wasn’t sure whether of relief or something else—slipped out.
She couldn’t tell whether she was grateful that he was smoothing things over, satisfied that he hadn’t sided with Beth, or simply glad that he was speaking to her instead of Beth.
Lacan tilted his head slightly and looked at Beth.
Now, the playful air was gone. With a rather indifferent gaze, he spoke lazily.
“Elizabeth Marche. Stop there.”
It was a simple command with no unnecessary words.
But Beth stiffened, took a step back, and then gave a rigid nod, as if forcing her stiff neck to comply.
Elizia was the one who felt strangely flustered by her reaction.
She really stopped just because he said so?
For someone who had been acting so sharp and arrogant just moments ago, it was an unexpectedly obedient reaction.
‘Is it because Beth senior likes him? Is that why she can’t help but act so carefully around him…?’
Her mouth suddenly tasted bitter.
In any case, thanks to Lacan, the situation seemed to be calming down. She had been wondering how to end this, so this was a relief.
Elizia, looking tired, grabbed Sophie’s arm and gave her a glance—meaning they should leave this unpleasant place.
“Then I’ll be going now. Beth senior, I hope you have a pleasant time.”
Before leaving, she did not forget to offer a polite farewell.
She didn’t like it, but rules were rules. She didn’t want to be criticized for disrespecting a senior.
Beth glanced at Lacan’s expression, then reluctantly replied with a short, “Yes.”
Music flowed through the air like it was part of the atmosphere. The earlier disturbance already felt like a dream.
As Elizia walked slowly, she casually looked around.
Other students pretended not to have seen anything—eating finger food or chatting about unrelated topics.
But there was no way they hadn’t seen what just happened. They had clearly been watching with full attention.
What kind of gaze would she receive tomorrow?
A “brash princess.”
An “ungraceful princess.”
“That princess who threw someone to the ground.”
Such comments were inevitable. The nanny had always insisted she behave like a proper royal.
But Elizia quickly pushed the thoughts away.
“…Well, it can’t be helped.”
She could ignore attacks directed at her. Beth’s actions hadn’t shaken her at all.
But dragging Sophie into it was something she couldn’t overlook.
Even if she went back in time, she would have done the same.
In any case, it was already done and could not be reversed.
She sat in a quiet corner and took a bite of cranberry pie. Her previously agitated emotions finally began to settle.
She glanced toward Beth’s location. Beth stood among noble girls who were cautiously watching her, biting her lip.
Lacan’s gaze fell on the vase engraved with Elizia’s name.
“Elizia, I don’t think you would have applied for something like that.”
“…Well, it just happened.”
Elizia brushed it off vaguely.
She didn’t want to say, “Someone applied for it on my behalf—probably that nasty Beth senior.”
Chandelier light shimmered above Lacan’s head.
Watching his golden hair glow like something out of a dream, Elizia suddenly thought of the imperial prince. A blond man like Lacan.
He was somewhere in this crowded party hall.
But she didn’t bother looking for him. Instead, she looked at Lacan again.
He held his glass, eyes lowered toward the table.
Light from the chandelier scattered along the tips of his eyelashes like an afterimage.
He was just drinking water, yet somehow impossible not to look at—his appearance was truly dazzling.
Then she suddenly felt a flicker of concern.
‘What if Lacan senior gets on the bad side of the imperial prince?’
She was a princess of an enemy nation, while Beth was a princess of an allied kingdom.
In a conflict between the two, it wouldn’t be hard to guess which side a citizen of the Empire like Lacan should take.
Yet he hadn’t sided with Beth.
That could be considered reckless.
What if he got scolded by the prince, or accused of colluding with an enemy nation? The thought left her uneasy.
He might be a disagreeable senior, but she had apparently grown attached to him.
Perhaps he noticed her gaze. Lacan lifted his head and stared directly at her—then, as if suddenly remembering something, called over two men nearby.
They had been chatting not far away.
“Frederic. Nigel.”
Soon, the two men approached from about ten steps away.
Elizia didn’t know them personally, but she had seen them from a distance before, often alongside Lacan.
Lacan placed his hand on the shoulder of the brown-haired man after setting his glass down.
“Elizia. These are Frederic and Nigel, my seniors and close friends. Frederic, Nigel—this is Elizia Wader Ortigia, my direct junior.”
“Hello, I’m Elizia. Nice to meet you.”
She greeted them calmly despite the sudden introduction.
She recognized Frederic—he was Sophie’s boyfriend, her roommate.
Frederic had soft curly hair and bright, intelligent eyes. He looked quite sharp-minded.
He smiled warmly at Sophie before greeting Elizia.
“Nice to meet you, Princess Elizia. Since rules are rules, may I speak casually? I’m Frederic Watts, eldest son of the Watts ducal family.”
“Yes, nice to meet you. I’m Elizia, princess of Ortigia.”
“I’ve seen you a few times passing by, but this is the first time properly greeting you like this. I look forward to getting along.”
A pleasant person—gentle first impression and warm voice. Quite likable.
Next was Nigel, a red-haired man.
Large and sturdy build, with calloused hands that clearly showed he wielded a sword often.
He spoke bluntly, the smile he had earlier while looking at Lacan completely gone.
“Nigel Travis. Second son of the Travis ducal family.”
“Elizia Wader Ortigia. Princess of Ortigia.”
“….”
Elizia gave a short reply, her gaze clearly saying, “What kind of second son of a duke is this?”
Nigel raised an eyebrow slightly, but Elizia didn’t care.
After greeting Elizia, Frederic moved to Sophie and gently placed an arm around her shoulders, whispering something.
Sophie looked uncomfortable with the public display of affection.
She glanced nervously around, then met Nigel’s eyes and quickly looked down again.
Nigel stared at Sophie as if she were something insignificant passing by.
An arrogant gaze typical of someone raised in the upper aristocracy.
Elizia immediately sensed the subtle tension between them.
Nigel disliked both her, a princess from an enemy nation, and Sophie, a commoner from the Empire.
There was no reason to stay somewhere where she was unwelcome.
Elizia gave Nigel a sideways glance and then approached Sophie.
Sophie had been fidgeting with her clasped hands, eyes lowered.
“Senior Sophie, let’s go over there and have fun.”
“…Yes. Okay.”
Sophie nodded cautiously, looking almost relieved to leave.
Frederic looked slightly disappointed, but it couldn’t be helped.
“Have a good time at the party, seniors. It was nice meeting you.”
After a brief farewell, Elizia turned away.
It was time to leave this place and join her friends.
Her dress swayed as she walked away.
Lacan watched her back for a moment, then shifted his gaze to the rose on the table. It was the same color as her pink lips.
The lively music had already softened into something quieter.
Starting with the principal’s speech on the school’s history, ballet and musical performances continued.
The atmosphere grew warmer, laughter rising in volume.
Time passed.
Eventually, the soft music stopped completely. All lights went out, and a bright spotlight illuminated the stage.
Students talking, couples dancing—all turned toward the stage.
The principal of the Neutral School stood there.
Dressed in blue, stroking his white beard, he smiled proudly, clearly pleased with the event.
Even though everyone was already watching, he tapped his glass twice with a stick—clang—then gestured toward the left entrance.
The light shifted to four vases.
[Frederic Watts.]
[Daren Valery.]
[Elizabeth Marche.]
[Elizia Wader Ortigia.]
These were the names of the rose and lily candidates.
Elizia narrowed her eyes. Seeing her own name there felt unfamiliar.
Soon, the principal’s voice rang out with a smile.
“Now, we will begin selecting the school’s Rose and Lily!”
The voting had begun.
Bright lights filled the once-dark hall, and lively music returned.
Her heart thumped slightly.
‘I don’t really care about the vote,’ she thought—but she was still nervous.
She wasn’t usually concerned with others’ opinions, but public defeat felt different.
Especially since she hadn’t even applied for this—because of Beth.
‘Still… my roses, Sophie’s, and my friends… they’ll probably vote for me, right?’
She nodded slightly while twirling her hair.
That should be enough—despite however many roses Beth’s vase might have.
Beth was the first to move.
She gracefully placed a rose into her own vase labeled “Elizabeth Marche,” then added a lily into the lily vase.
Voting wasn’t a formal line; students simply approached casually while eating, dancing, or chatting.
Elizia watched the timing, waiting for her turn.
Then—
A shadow fell beside her.
Lacan’s low voice came.
“Do you know something, Elizia?”
“What?”
She looked up at him. The chandelier light poured over his head like a halo.
Strangely, his eyes looked gentle.
“I think I can properly act as your direct senior today.”
“Direct senior role?”
“Yeah. I haven’t been a very good senior so far.”
“I appreciate the self-awareness.”
Elizia watched him curiously.
Instead of explaining, he tapped the rose in his hand.
“I’ll be back.”
He walked toward the vases.
Everyone’s attention followed him—students, professors, guests alike.
Even those pretending not to look stole glances.
Lacan arrived at the vases and placed his rose inside.
Tap.
The stem touched the water.
He had chosen Elizia’s vase.
The hall began to murmur.
People glanced at his profile, whispered to each other.
But Lacan didn’t care. He simply picked up a lily and placed it into Frederic’s vase.
Elizia suddenly remembered his words:
“I’ll act as your direct senior.”
So that’s what he meant.
A strange warmth spread in her chest.
One vote didn’t matter much against Beth’s hundreds—but still.
A small smile formed at her lips before she quickly bit it back.
Lacan turned around after finishing.
Others followed his lead, approaching the vases.
Elizia tried to smile awkwardly as he walked back toward her.
But then she saw it.
Her smile disappeared.
“…What is going on?”
Behind Lacan, everyone who approached the vases was placing their flowers into Elizia’s vase.
