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Chapter 27
Erne leisurely sipped her tea, waiting patiently until the focus returned to Derrick’s eyes.
The color was slowly returning to Derrick’s face as he squirmed on the floor.
‘What a waste. I should’ve kicked him harder.’
Now that he seemed fine, it annoyed her even more.
“You… what the hell are you doing?”
Derrick could finally manage to speak.
He gritted his teeth, scowling deeply as he caught his breath.
Erne gave him a mocking smirk, using every muscle in her face to fully express her contempt at Derrick’s shame-reddened expression.
“Derrick. Even if we were once engaged, we’re not anymore—so could you speak respectfully?”
When they were engaged, she’d allowed his casual tone. But now, as they were worse than strangers, there was no reason to put up with his insolence.
Surprisingly, it was Derrick who seemed taken aback by Erne’s cold demeanor.
“W-What?”
“What’s wrong? Do I need to explain it again like you’re a clueless little mutt?”
She held back the urge to say son of a b****,* swapping it for the milder little mutt to maintain her dignity.
Derrick’s face went pale as he realized that Erne wasn’t the woman he once knew.
The pain from her kick still lingered, but even more unsettling was the current Erne—she was no longer the naive country bumpkin princess.
“I am the only heir to the Queen of Nesheld. A princess.”
“……”
“You’re just the second son of the Marquess of Babylon. Don’t you think it’s only proper to use formal speech?”
Where had the innocent princess gone—the one who used to beam whenever he was a little kind?
The one who’d fall head over heels just from the slightest bit of affection?
The fiancée who always tried to accommodate him, constantly watching his moods?
Derrick was confused.
Erne’s entire atmosphere had changed.
Whooosh…
It almost felt like a dark aura was radiating from behind her.
Erne looked at him with cold disdain, as if he were a piece of trash on the street.
Flustered, Derrick shook his head in denial.
‘She must be acting like this because she found out about me and Fashina.’
He couldn’t believe it. He refused to believe it. If he just showed her sincerity and begged pitifully, the soft-hearted Erne would return—he was sure of it.
“E-Erne…? What’s wrong? I-I love y—”
“Shut up.”
“Er—”
“If you say my name with that filthy tongue one more time, I’ll split it into twenty-five pieces.”
The sweet, innocent, naïve countryside princess…
She was gone!
Derrick felt both shocked and terrified.
Her aura was so terrifying he instinctively checked to see if his tongue was still stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Gulp. Derrick’s firm belief shattered into pieces.
“I-Is this about Fashina? There’s nothing between me and her! You’re misunderstanding! I can explain—”
Out of desperation—fearing the possibility of losing the Nesheld throne—Derrick started babbling.
But Erne, nonchalantly picking her ear, didn’t seem interested.
“She seduced me first. I swear! You’re my fiancée! Please, just believe me this once!”
Erne looked down at the groveling Derrick with a disgusted expression.
The fake smile he used to put on when courting her was nowhere to be seen—now he was just whining.
‘Definitely a mutt…’
Especially the type in heat. Erne had no use for that.
Oddly enough, her earlier threat seemed effective, as Derrick avoided calling her name.
That made her nausea subside—slightly.
Though she still felt disgusted.
Watching Derrick act out a one-man tragedy, Erne clicked her tongue.
She had never loved him, but as a fiancé, he had been kind to her.
He’d always used a gentle tone, stayed by her side when she was sick, and shared insights about the Nesheld Kingdom like a big brother or a close friend.
Even if she hadn’t loved him, she had at least liked him as a person.
If it weren’t for his inappropriate relationship with Fashina, she might’ve fallen for him.
‘Thank goodness the ancestral spirits helped me before I did.’
They’d shown her he was trash—and also who else needed to be cut out of her life.
Now, as she looked down indifferently at Derrick, she fell into thought.
Though she personally despised the Queen—her mother—Erne had to admit she admired the Queen’s commanding aura.
That elegance that could dominate a room. The grace that could capture everyone’s attention with a mere gesture.
Her ability to silence enemies with nothing but a look.
Recalling the Queen’s posture, Erne slowly crossed her legs in a manner befitting royal etiquette.
She’d seen it often enough to imitate it decently.
“Derrick.”
Startled by her heavy but firm voice, Derrick—who had been muttering excuses with his face buried in the ground—lifted his head with a jolt.
Erne rested her arm on the chair’s armrest and smiled lazily.
To Derrick, she looked uncannily like the Queen of Nesheld.
‘Her Majesty…?’
No. It was Erne.
But the strange déjà vu sent a chill down his spine as Erne finally spoke.
“I want you to leave.”
“…Eh… Your… Your Highness…”
It was a title he hadn’t used since their engagement began.
Yet now, in this moment, Derrick instinctively felt he had to use it.
The suffocating tension crushed him. His pupils trembled.
Erne, enjoying his reaction, curled her lips in satisfaction.
She might’ve felt like a ruthless queen, but trash should be treated like trash.
That was rule number one in “How Not to Be a Push-Over.”
“Did you not hear me?”
“……”
“Get out of my house. Now.”
Erne gave a deliberate flick of her foot in the direction of the door.
Even then, Derrick didn’t move.
Sighing as if disappointed, Erne spoke again.
“I won’t fail this time.”
She flicked her foot toward the door once more.
Derrick, confused, glanced at the direction her toe pointed.
“Should I kick you again?”
Flinch. Derrick instinctively pulled his legs in.
How could she say such terrifying things with a smile?
Half out of his mind, Derrick bolted from the room.
Watching him flee like a scared rabbit, Erne felt a bit deflated.
“Ugh. I almost ruined my life marrying that pathetic worm.”
Phew. Erne gave a bright smile as if a ten-year blockage had cleared.
Even her rising temper seemed to have cooled completely.
＊＊＊
Aaaaaah! Erne’s gone insane!
Derrick, face pale with terror, ran frantically down the forest path.
It was already dark, and he’d tripped over rocks three times.
His clothes were torn, blood dripped from his limbs, but he didn’t notice—he just kept running.
The road that seemed short when he rode the carriage now felt endlessly long.
He stopped to catch his breath, eyes darting nervously behind him.
“Horse… hoofbeats? I’m saved…!”
He hoped Fashina had come to get him, worried he hadn’t returned.
Derrick’s face lit up in relief.
But as the carriage grew closer and clearer through the dust, his joy faded.
‘That’s not Fashina.’
His legs trembled from exhaustion.
Because he was standing right in the middle of the road, the carriage had to stop, and the horses neighed in protest.
‘Right. I’ll just hitch a ride into town!’
Even if it was shameless, he could tip the driver generously at an inn.
After all, he was the second son of the Marquess of Babylon.
Surely, there was no one in this rural place of higher status.
Or so he thought.
“…What the hell is this?”
The man who stepped out of the carriage was a figure Derrick recognized instantly—someone both familiar and awe-inspiring.
He gasped.
Unlike Derrick, who forgot how to breathe, the man glared at him with murderous intent.
“Duke Douglas! Good evening! I am Derrickcia Babylon, second son of the Marquess of Babylon!”
His savior—he’d finally escaped Erne’s madness!
Derrick bowed his head.
Windsor, who had come with herbal remedies prescribed by Hunter, was on his way to Erne’s house.
He was in high spirits, now having a legitimate excuse to visit her.
If only this bastard hadn’t appeared from the direction of Cheonghak-dong.
Crack. Windsor gritted his teeth.
His bloodshot eyes fixed on Derrick.
“You…”
“Y-Yes, Your Grace! May I ride with you?”
Thinking Windsor’s silence meant approval, Derrick started to rise.
Windsor couldn’t restrain himself. He reached out—
—and grabbed Derrick by the neck, squeezing hard enough to crush bone.
“Guh! K-Kuh!”
A choked scream escaped from Derrick.
“Don’t kill him, Your Grace,” said the coachman, who had served Windsor since childhood.
Reluctantly—annoyed even by that—Windsor tossed Derrick aside without care.
Derrick coughed and sobbed, his face pale from being throttled.
“You better explain what you were doing over there.”
Derrick had no idea why the Duke was attacking him or what those deadly eyes meant.
But his survival instinct screamed:
Don’t mention Cheonghak-dong.
“I… I was just… passing by…”
Tsk. Windsor clicked his tongue.
“Wrong answer.”
He looked down at Derrick with cold contempt.
“There’s no path behind Cheonghak-dong.”
It was something Erne had once told him.
Glaring at Derrick, Windsor gave a chilling smile.
Your life won’t be long, boy.
Then, from behind, a little girl with pink hair popped out and added in a spooky voice—
“Can’t we just kill him?”
