IARV 20

Chapter 20

“Guh, Good even—ngh. Viscount Butteree.”
Iba clenched her teeth so hard it made her jaw ache as she forced a greeting. She barely restrained the overwhelming urge to flee.

“Wait, Lady Iba. Don’t you smell flowers?”

What a load of crap.

He hadn’t realized she was the one behind the black cat mask.
There was no need to remind him. She replied vaguely.

“There are flowers all over the ballroom, so of course it smells like them.”

“No, not that kind of common floral scent. This one is… incredibly seductive.”

Probably the stench of your unwashed philtrum.

“Sniff sniff, sniff sniff sniff.”

Butteree exaggeratedly sniffed the air to demonstrate what he meant. His nostrils flared wide.
Unable to endure the disgusting sight, Iba turned her head away—

Only for an unpleasant gust of breath to hit the back of her neck.

“Wh-what…!”
Startled, Iba raised her voice, then quickly lowered it, afraid of drawing attention.

“It was your scent, Lady Iba. Ha ha ha!”

Is this guy seriously using pickup lines from the ’90s? Her fists clenched involuntarily, but she forced them to relax and shielded her neck.

“Please don’t get so close.”

“Huh? Come now, I barely did anything. Besides, you’re the one spilling that fragrance around.”

Is there fat growing inside this guy’s ears or what? How is he not getting it?

She badly wanted to go full bulldozer mode like when she wore the cat mask—but she had to endure.
It’s not that I’m scared of stepping in shit. It’s that it’s disgusting.

“In that case, I’ll excuse myself.”
She turned to walk away from him.

“Wait, I’m not done talking. How dare you try to leave?”
Butteree grabbed her hand to stop her, spinning her back to face him.

“Let go.”

“Your hand is so soft, Lady Iba.”

“Let go.”

“If your hand is this smooth, the rest of your skin must be… heh heh.”
His lecherous eyes slowly scanned from her hand to her shoulder.
The way he looked at her sent a shiver of revulsion down her spine.

“Let go of me now!”

She finally raised her voice, trying to push him away. But he was too large to budge with a single shove.
Then she thought: maybe she could stomp on his foot with her high heel—

“How dare you raise your voice at—UGH!”

“Is this another form of greeting I’m unfamiliar with, Lady Iba?”

A large hand reached past Iba’s shoulder and tightly grabbed Butteree’s wrist.

“Aaack!”
Butteree yelped and immediately let go of Iba’s hand as if it burned him.
He stumbled backward, frantically checking his wrist—only to find it completely fine.
Then he looked past Iba to the towering figure behind her.

“L-Lord Brigitte. Y-you shouldn’t grab someone’s wrist so hard like that!”

“I merely did what you were doing—gripping Lady Iba’s hand tightly.”

Butteree shrank under Brigitte’s quiet but heavy tone.

“I-I was just…”

“Just? Why not finish your sentence? Lady Iba, did I interrupt another type of greeting?”

Brigitte turned to Iba, voice suddenly soft—unlike the coldness he had shown Butteree.

“No. Grabbing someone’s hand without permission isn’t a greeting anywhere. Especially not if the other party doesn’t want it.”

He was all bravado with her, then shriveled up as soon as someone bigger showed up.
Iba scowled hard in his direction.

“I was just—hmph.”
Butteree looked like he was about to protest but shut his mouth the moment he glanced at Brigitte.

“I hope there will be no more disturbances.”
Iba whispered a warning, aware a few people had turned their heads toward them.

“I didn’t even do anything, jeez.”
Butteree slunk away, avoiding a proper apology. But after a few steps, he froze and looked back at Iba.

“Wait. That red hair… I’ve seen it before.”
Hair the color of rose petals. Green eyes that stared him down without flinching.
He was sure they’d met.

Butteree stood there, staring at her back for a long time.
But Iba, unaware of his gaze, walked away with Brigitte.

“Thank you for helping. That was… pretty bad.”

She hadn’t expected Brigitte to come to her aid while she was in the middle of her mission: Operation Make Brigitte Laugh.
It was helpful—but also a bit startling.

“You helped me earlier too—when I was about to receive a questionable kind of greeting.”

He was subtly referencing the kiss on the hand from Julian.
So he had been bothered by it. She was relieved she had defused that one.

“I thought you were talking with the others. Why were you out here?”

“I stepped out for some champagne and saw you in trouble, so I came over.”

“Thank you again. I guess we both helped each other once.”

“Indeed. How about we celebrate that with a glass of champagne?”

Since she’d just been helped and needed to impress him anyway, Iba smiled and nodded.

“Of course. I’ll go get it.”

She walked over to where the champagne was laid out.
Brigitte followed at a calm pace—until a chilling shiver crawled up his spine.
It felt like a wild beast had its fangs bared at his nape.

He moved only his eyes to scan the room.
It didn’t take long to find the source.

“So the black wolf doesn’t only live on the battlefield.”

Rai Castro.
From between the crowd, Rai was glaring at Brigitte with a murderous intensity—as if he’d charge at him any moment.
Jealousy, anger, and a sense of failure to protect Iba flickered in those eyes.

Brigitte responded with a smug grin that only Rai could see.
Rai clenched his fist in return.

“Here’s the champagne.”

“Thank you.”

Iba handed him a glass with a cheerful smile.
So he does smile, she thought. He had looked like a robot during the performance.
Unaware of everything, she simply hoped her mission was progressing smoothly.

“Nice to meet you, Lady Iba.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

They clinked glasses. A clear, crisp chime echoed between them.
They both took a sip.

“Are you enjoying the party? Is there anything lacking?”
She tried probing for his opinion, unsure of what he felt.

Brigitte took another sip, pausing deliberately.
Iba held her composure, hiding her nerves.

“There’s much to see—but I wouldn’t say I’m enjoying it.”

Her eyes twitched.
No good. He has to be enjoying himself, so I can get my reward and get out of this job.

“May I ask why?”

He looked into her eyes.

“I wanted to talk with you.”

“Huh? Me?”
Completely unexpected, she pointed to herself.

“Why me?”

“Everyone thinks His Highness is running the show, but in truth… you are.”

This is bad.
The mission was to show off Claude’s excellence, but the truth had already been exposed.
Her face betrayed the panic she couldn’t hide.

“Don’t worry. Everyone else is focused solely on His Highness.”

She quickly scanned the others. Just as he said, they seemed genuinely engaged and happy.

So what? The most influential one here—Brigitte—is standing beside me.

“When did you realize?”

“After meeting so many people, I’ve developed a sense. His Highness often glanced your way.”

“Ah.”

“And at the end of every glance, you were always there.”

He can even read Claude’s poker face? No wonder he became envoy leader at such a young age.

“His Highness entrusted me with overseeing the event, but he—”

“I know.”
He gently cut her off, sparing her from making excuses.

Seeing her crestfallen expression, Brigitte nearly chuckled at her adorable reaction.

“But it was refreshing to see things from a new perspective. Usually, we only hear about a country’s history and achievements.”

“That’s how it usually goes.”

“One time, they even showed us a bear—half butchered—claiming it was freshly caught.”

The mental image made both of them grimace.

“But this—this felt like a party truly prepared for us. That sincerity made me want to speak with you more.”

“I see.”

“I was hoping you’d join the conversation, but you stayed on the sidelines. It was a bit disappointing.”

Brigitte took another sip and stared at her—calmly, but intently.

“I had a lot to manage, so I stayed out of the way.”

“That’s fine. Now we get to talk one-on-one.”

The intensity of his gaze made her flinch, but she stared back, not backing down.
Was this a staring contest? She wasn’t about to lose.

As she gazed up at him, she was struck by his eyes.
Green and gold shimmered together like rare gemstones.

“Your eyes are beautiful. They look like marbles.”

“Haha. Hearing that from someone as beautiful as you makes me happy. Would you like a closer look?”

“Pardon? N-no, that’s not nec—”

Before she could finish, he leaned down, face coming even closer.
“Now you can see them better.”

He was right. With their eye levels aligned, she could see clearly.
Those eyes were mesmerizing—like magical orbs—and she forgot to feel overwhelmed.

“They really do look like jewels…”

“P-Princess!”
A scream rang out from the crowd.

“What’s happening?!”
Iba, jolted from her trance, rushed into the crowd.

“Get a doctor!”

Julian lay collapsed on the floor, pale and unconscious.