🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter 7
From now on, never show that you’re desperate.
One of a noble’s virtues was composure and refinement. No matter what happened, he must appear calm and dignified—someone other nobles could look up to.
Yuric made that vow firmly.
Just as he was thinking this, Leslie suddenly stood and approached him. Yuric stiffened.
The terrace was connected to the ballroom, and there were no curtains drawn. Everything was visible from both inside and outside.
Which meant that every noble inside could clearly see Yuric and Leslie—and were likely watching, whispering.
And he knew that.
So what exactly was Leslie doing?
Leslie stepped closer, draped an arm over Yuric’s shoulder, and bent his waist as if to embrace him outright.
From a distance, it would look highly suggestive. The kind of scene that gossiping nobles would love to pass around.
Yuric frowned slightly.
Leslie whispered softly,
“Sir Yuric. I’ve wanted to tell you something for a long time.”
“…What is it?”
“You could simply manage your family affairs, yet you also serve as an official at the Imperial Palace. I’ve always admired your brilliance and boldness. I’m only a second son… I’ve struggled with what role I should play in my family.”
“You didn’t need to press yourself this close to say that.”
Leslie’s face flushed deeper.
Then, boldly, he nudged the table aside and settled himself onto Yuric’s lap.
Yuric, exhausted by the audacity, kept the cigar between his lips.
Leslie looped his arms around Yuric’s shoulders, releasing pheromones freely. His face, close enough to be considered handsome, stirred nothing in Yuric.
Blushing faintly, Leslie continued,
“Sir Yuric… for the upcoming victory banquet… I’d be honored if you attended with me. And then… tonight…”
Is he in heat? Yuric wondered irritably.
Many nobles had tried similar tactics before, but his cold rejection had always driven them away.
Where was this confidence coming from?
Yuric turned his head, exhaled smoke, and then placed a hand around Leslie’s waist.
“Sir Leslie.”
Leslie’s eyes brightened with expectation.
Yuric stubbed out the cigar halfway through and leaned toward Leslie’s ear.
“You look cheap.”
“…What?”
“Cheap.”
Without permission, sitting on another’s lap. Unnecessary touching.
Yuric lifted Leslie off his thigh and pushed him aside lightly.
“Don’t behave like this elsewhere.”
“Wh— Sir!”
Leslie’s face turned scarlet.
Yuric stood and walked past him.
Leslie bit his lip and tried to grab him.
Yuric flicked his hand away.
“I understand if you’re desperate, but this makes you look without dignity. No Alpha is charmed by such behavior.”
“Ha! Yuric Windsor!”
“Yes, Sir Leslie Ardemond. Protect your honor.”
“Hey! Stop!”
Yuric Windsor—the Northern noble, the Ice Prince—was known for his cold tongue. He did not spare words when needed.
Ignoring the furious shouts behind him, Yuric left the terrace.
The murmurs inside grew louder, but he paid no mind.
If there was gossip, it would damage Leslie, not him.
Crossing the ballroom, he accepted a glass of champagne from a passing attendant.
Just then—
“Yuri! You arrived and didn’t come find me first?”
Countess Lusterien approached, snapping her fan shut with a bright laugh.
Yuric instantly composed himself.
“It has been a while, Countess. You look as radiant as ever.”
She covered her face coyly.
“Oh, Yuri, you always flatter me.”
“I speak only the truth. Are you enjoying the evening?”
She stepped closer, lifting her own glass.
“I am. It’s a delightful night. But, Yuri…”
He bent slightly to hear her better.
She whispered near his ear.
“I heard a rumor.”
Yuric’s calm expression stiffened ever so slightly.
A rumor?
What rumor?
***
Caron stepped down from his carriage.
The air felt heavy, as if rain might fall at any moment. The wind was rougher than usual.
He glanced at Count Lusterien’s brightly decorated mansion, tossed payment to the coachman, and walked inside.
“Welco—! Oh!”
The butler at the entrance gasped.
“S-Sir Chevinel!”
Caron’s eyebrow twitched.
House Chevinel’s fame was well known, but this reaction felt different.
He said nothing and walked forward. The butler hurried after him.
“Sir Chevinel, Countess Lusterien is hosting tonight. Without an invitation, you should first greet her—”
“Enough. Where is he?”
“E-Excuse me? Who—”
Caron stopped and turned.
His golden eyes, sharp as a predator’s, carried an Alpha’s overwhelming presence.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
“The First Prince.”
The message was clear.
I know he’s here. Take me to him.
The butler swallowed and led him to the private lounge.
Prince Razphel was stretched across a couch, gazing out the window and drinking wine. He had not shown himself in the ballroom.
His attendance tonight was unofficial. Nobles had quietly come hoping to gain favor with the victorious prince.
Razphel, however, simply wanted to escape the palace—and the Empress’s watchful eye—and drink with his knights.
He had not expected Caron.
The lounge door burst open.
Razphel nearly choked on his wine.
“Cough— Ca-Caron?”
“Judging by your expression, you didn’t expect me?”
Caron strode forward.
Razphel wiped his mouth and reclined again, feigning calm.
“I told you to rest. Yet you come running to your superior?”
“The knight order’s duties are finished. You’re no longer my superior.”
“Oh? That hurts, Caron. Didn’t the entire Third Knight Order swear loyalty to me?”
“That’s separate.”
Caron clenched his jaw.
“My father told me. Care to explain what you’re playing at?”
Razphel smiled lazily.
“Ah. That.”
“‘That’?”
Caron’s disbelief was obvious.
Few dared speak so casually before the First Prince.
But in this room, it was only Razphel, Caron, and Razphel’s guard, Ren—who had known them since childhood.
Caron glanced at Ren, then said coldly,
“Marriage. What nonsense is this? I heard you recommended it, Your Highness.”
