BTMLP 20

Chapter 20

“Uh, how…?”

Wasn’t that an important document? Weren’t you such a workaholic that you’d work every morning even when out of town?

“Ophelia.”

The way my name fell from his lips was unbearably sweet. He looked at me meaningfully, as if he were instructing a maid of the Count’s household who was hiding behind the guise of a little chick.

“Are you saying you want to try this with me?”

“Ugh.”

C’mon, don’t chicken out. I’ve already received the curse twice as strong—what worse could possibly happen?

“Beep! (Yes! Let’s try it!)”

So instead, I defiantly perched my wings on his plump waist and met his gaze provocatively.

“My Ophelia is sharp-witted. You don’t need to suffer under that authority too. I’ll put off work for the time being. Go on out, Cassis.”

Wait, what?

Cassis’s eyes shone as if about to overflow with something, but without a word, he trudged out. What the… now I feel bad.

“I roughly understand what you’re thinking. But if you thought I’d give up on you because of that, you’re mistaken.”

I stepped back to avoid Clements’ hand. The emotion in his amethyst eyes… it was exactly…

“Interest?”

It felt like he was enjoying this situation.

“Beep… (Crazy….)”

“If I were going to yield to such a little tantrum, I wouldn’t have cursed you in the first place.”

Before I realized it, I might have become the first chick in a romance fantasy to engage in a battle of wills with the male lead.

I tugged at his hair from above, scratched his forehead with my claws as if by accident—and he just laughed.

“Your Highness, breakfast has arrived.”

The servants’ voices accompanied by a knock gave me an idea.

No matter how much of a perfect crown prince Clements was, he would care about his reputation. He wouldn’t stand by and let a mere triviality insult him in front of the Count’s servants. No matter how much he liked me.

“Chick, we brought something for you to eat as well.”

“Well done.”

And then it happened. I, arrogantly perched on the table where the crown prince was about to eat, kicked the bowl of feed that a familiar servant carefully placed in front of me.

Clang!

Countless oats arced through the air in dazzling trajectories. Some fell into Clements’ food, some onto his hair and clothes, and a few even hit his face.

“….”

“….”

The chill in the air was exactly what I wanted.

The servants, my coworkers too, were at a complete loss in front of the crown prince, with fifty counts present, witnessing this unexpected event.

Sorry, Rasmin. Sorry, Chef, and Farmer Sir and Madam.

This is all your fault, Clements. Now, surely you want to chase me away, right?

“My chick has a lively personality. No need to stiffen yourself.”

Apparently not.

Are you really not mad? Not even now? Not even now?

I deliberately tipped over Clements’ water glass, grabbed his white bread and ate it while scattering crumbs everywhere.

The servants watching turned pale, nearly blue, but Clements maintained the same calm smile as before.

That’s when I realized—this guy had gone completely soft, smiling like that.

“Take your time eating, Ophelia.”

His voice was as sweet as honey. From that point, Clements even gave up his meal to pick the soft inner parts of the bread for me.

I had no idea how else to torment him. I gave up midway and just picked up the crumbs he offered, sighing all the while. That’s how breakfast ended.

I could already guess what the servants, who seemed to have so much to say, would whisper after leaving. How devotedly the crown prince cared for the chick. Even after outrageous behavior, he treated her kindly. By tomorrow, the gossip would spread throughout the estate; in a week, all over Honwood.

Damn it!

Even setting aside the problem that Clements was crazier than expected, there were mountains of other issues to deal with. And they were all now packed together in the same room.

“Your Highness! It’s such an honor to have you here. Though the capital has far more sophisticated and glamorous salons, I wanted to show Your Highness the Honwood salon in particular.”

Count Seleucus Monahan, desperately trying to attach Clements to his sister, chirped like a sparrow.

A small hall in the Count’s annex was decorated in Honwood’s traditional style with lace, old tapestries, and borrowed ornamental fabrics to give it a grandiose feel.

Having worked here for eight years, I can assure you—this hall wasn’t originally like this. It was just a normal, sunny hall.

“In our Monahan estate, we invite wandering poets to this ‘Bronze Hall’ every week. Hahaha, I wouldn’t dare brag, but local artists rely solely on Monahan support.”

“I see.”

“Their songs recount unimaginably old legends. Among them, poems praising the ancestors of the Dussingen imperial family are not uncommon.”

“I see.”

“This is a salon only possible in Honwood, where tradition and ancient magic are best preserved in the Empire.”

“Is that so.”

Bronze Hall? That name doesn’t exist here. It’s just ‘Annex 2nd Floor Hall’ or ‘the round-ceilinged room’. Every week? I’m hearing about this for the first time.

A vintage melody played on strings and flutes, but the weary expressions of the musicians showed no sign of generous support from the Count.

At this hastily created salon, the most conspicuous position was taken by Bella.

Her chair, an artifact of the Monahan family, had probably been gathering dust in storage for over twenty years. In front of her was a large unfinished embroidery on an easel. Bella, dressed elegantly, held a needle and glared at the frame with a resolute expression.

“My sister Bella embroiders here while listening to music every week. Hahaha, though I tell her to stop such old-fashioned work to compare with ladies from the capital, she never listens.”

Bella hated embroidery the most.

The embroidery on the frame was indeed her work. She really hated it, but if told to do it, she stubbornly complied.

Bella was the beginning and end of my problems. If she were happy, that would suffice. And right now, she looked utterly miserable, thanks to her vain older brother.

The Count begged Clements to pay attention to and praise Bella.

“From the sketch, I can sense boldness. Lady Monahan, what will you embroider?”

Cassis, obediently saying exactly what the Count wanted, did so with perfect eloquence. But the one who wanted to hear that was not Bella, but Count Monahan.

Seeing her brother’s grin, Bella stiffened, while Count Seleucus smiled and grimaced repeatedly at her lack of response.

“My dear sister, be more lively. Look, the crown prince has also come.”

Probably, the Count wanted Clements to speak to Bella more than Cassis did. What was Clements doing? Stroking me while sitting.

The cushion I sat on was made from fabric passed down through the Monahan family line. Sitting there made me feel ridiculous. What was the point of all this?

Servants carrying refreshments and musicians waiting for their turn whispered about me.

“There, that chick! Next to the crown prince!”

“I heard Your Highness spent five million crowns on that chick. Very rare breed.”

“She wouldn’t be traded for a kingdom.”

“Her name is Ophelia Maria Estellation Dussingen III, right?”

No. No, all of that is wrong.

I had expected rumors, but this was ridiculous.

Meanwhile, keen-eared Clements leaned toward me and whispered.

“That name seems fine. What do you think?”

“Blech (Don’t.) Blech-blech. (Before I actually hit you.)”

Reading my cold refusal, Clements straightened again, a subtle smile lingering at his lips, very irritating.

How am I supposed to handle this mess?

“Your Highness.”

The Count, giving up on disciplining Bella, approached me.

“Count Monahan.”

Taking advantage of Clements’ gaze not reaching me, the Count glared. Wait, is he still planning to kill me?

Whenever he met nobles from other regions, he raged over some minor insult to Monahan. Though he had never actually sent an assassin, perhaps he still hadn’t given up on me. I hid slightly in Clements’ hand.

His fingers twitched briefly but then closed gently, letting me nestle comfortably.