TMLOP 89

Chapter 89

The Direction of the Flowing Heart

Senelia flinched for a moment.

‘…Did he just say he hates it?’

Could the emotion that surfaced on Demonic’s face really be described with something as mild as that?

No.

Senelia had once hated someone so deeply she wanted them dead, so she knew.

That kind of feeling could never be called simple hatred.

The emotion in Demonic’s eyes was not the same kind of resentment that people often felt toward rulers who demanded too much of their subjects.

“What I wanted to tell you is that you don’t need to be on guard. I have no reason to work for the Imperial Family.”

Demonic smiled as he explained that he was not someone sent by Clifford or Benelucia to watch over Senelia.

Even though his smile was just as ordinary and kind as always, Senelia couldn’t feel it the same way as before.

“…Then why did you accept His Grace the Grand Duke’s request?”

After a brief hesitation, Senelia asked.

If he didn’t work for the Imperial Family, then it made no sense that Demonic would come to the Grand Duke’s residence just to teach her.

“Well… why do you think I came?”

Still smiling, Demonic raised his teacup.

Senelia’s expression grew strange as she observed him.

Because she had long been scrutinized by Benelucia, who wanted to make her fall in love with him, Senelia had developed the habit of carefully observing people to understand them.

She had thought it before—Demonic’s way of holding a cup, his manner of savoring the fragrance of tea—was different from that of ordinary commoners.

At first, her joy at meeting someone like herself had made her overlook these oddities.

But once suspicion takes root, it knows no end. Now, those little details made her uneasy.

It was as though he had deliberately twisted noble etiquette to look slightly unnatural.

“If you give me a proper answer to my question, I’ll tell you why.”

Demonic’s gentle words were, in truth, a quiet demand.

‘…Isn’t he asking if I hate Ben?’

There was no need to think.

Senelia easily replied.

“I don’t hate him.”

Of course, there had been times when Benelucia had angered her—when he wavered between her and Lucalina, when he ignored his parents’ suffering, when he arrogantly made decisions without her consent.

Yes, he had made her furious many times.

But hate? No.

Because now, Benelucia loved her.

And from now on, things would only get better.

He had even overlooked her deceit.

As long as she could free herself from the magical prohibition placed on her by the Emperor’s wizard, Senelia’s future would not be unhappy.

And in that future, resentment toward Benelucia would serve no purpose at all.

That was why she did not hate him.

At that moment, however, Demonic’s expression shifted strangely upon hearing her answer.

“…So… you don’t even realize it yourself.”

He murmured softly, almost as if to himself.

He didn’t seem to be aware he had spoken aloud.

The words were so quiet that Senelia didn’t quite catch them.

“I’ve heard your answer. That will be all for today’s lesson.”

But his eyes wavered visibly.

As though trying to hide it, Demonic abruptly stood without looking at her.

Suddenly, he was clearly shaken.

“Demonic?”

Senelia called in surprise.

But he kept his head lowered, gave a brief bow, and hurried out of the parlor.

His retreat was swift, without a moment’s hesitation.

Senelia could only stare blankly at the firmly shut door that denied her the chance to follow.

“Celly, what are you thinking about?”

Benelucia clung to her the moment her lesson ended, as if to make up for the time he had been chased away earlier.

Though he often couldn’t manage anything beyond a certain degree of physical affection, he was good at sticking close to her.

Preparations for the hunting festival were in their final stages.

Senelia was checking through the last list of supplies for the event.

Since Benelucia insisted on leaning on her shoulder as she worked, she found herself half in his embrace as she read the documents. She suddenly turned to him and asked:

“…Your Highness, when people accidentally speak their thoughts aloud, what language do they usually use?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… when you think, in which language—of the ones you know—do you usually think?”

“Hmm…? Well, since I’m most used to the Imperial tongue, I’d think in that, of course.”

Though puzzled by her abrupt question, Benelucia answered sincerely.

Lately, he tried to respond to as many of her questions as possible.

He had learned that the more he talked, the more Senelia would also begin to speak—even if only a few words.

Thus, among the servants, it was said that His Grace became unusually talkative whenever he was with Her Grace.

“…Right. People would think in the language they know best, wouldn’t they?”

Murmuring to herself, Senelia fell silent again, sinking into thought.

She remembered Demonic’s mutter earlier.

Though she hadn’t fully caught it, the words he let slip unconsciously had definitely been in the Imperial tongue.

Yet in front of her, Demonic usually acted as if he were more comfortable with Korean than the Imperial language.

But when his thoughts had spilled out without restraint, he used the Imperial tongue.

Something about that was wrong.

For eight years, Senelia had lived in constant suspicion of everything.

Now, that unease planted a seed of doubt inside her.

‘…What if Demonic isn’t actually a Thorn of Chlorakean like me?’

There was only one reason he would pretend to be familiar with Korean.

To convince her that he had once lived in Korea—and thus make her believe he was also a Thorn of Chlorakean.

“Celly? Celly?”

Benelucia shook her shoulder lightly when her expression turned grim.

“…Ah.”

Senelia blinked in surprise as she realized she had been lost in thought right in front of him.

She hadn’t expected to make such a mistake.

Quickly regaining her composure, she masked her discomfort.

Seeing her return to calm so swiftly, Benelucia sighed inwardly.

“What could you have been thinking about, to make your face look like that?”

His tone was filled with worry.

He knew full well that everything surrounding Clifford—and even himself—could easily trouble her thoughts.

Yet Benelucia only wished to ease her burdens.

In truth, he wanted to handle everything for her.

He still vividly remembered the Senelia who had once looked ready to throw herself to her death at any moment.

He restrained himself only because he recalled her anger when he had said he’d gladly wage war just to free her from Clifford.

His best might not be her best.

“That’s…”

Senelia hesitated.

If she spoke of her doubts, what would Benelucia do to Demonic?

What if Demonic had done nothing wrong, yet Benelucia cast him aside simply because of her suspicions?

Even as she thought Demonic’s words might have been lies, she could not dismiss him entirely.

Because—Demonic was the only person in eight years who had truly understood her.

“Celly, if you don’t want to tell me everything, then don’t. I’ll only do what you ask. Nothing more.”

Benelucia soothed her softly.

His lover always thought too much.

If she hesitated to speak, it was because her countless thoughts kept her lips sealed.

Of course, he wanted to know all her thoughts. But if she wouldn’t say them, he preferred to bear the frustration himself.

If he pressed too hard, her cautious lips would only close completely.

And this time, his restraint was the right choice.

Her tense shoulders finally relaxed.

After a moment’s hesitation, she spoke.

“…Could you investigate Demonic for me?”

She knew Benelucia’s men had surely investigated him before letting him into the Afron estate.

But if Demonic really was someone hiding his true identity with intent to deceive, then his past might have been fabricated.

Reinvestigation was troublesome, but Senelia wanted certainty.

“If you wish it, of course.”

Benelucia agreed without hesitation.

He didn’t even ask why she wanted it.

Instead, he looked rather pleased that she had requested something of him.

Immediately, he contacted his subordinates through the communication sphere and ordered a reinvestigation of Demonic.

It meant another long night’s work for his men.

At last, the day of the hunting festival arrived.

Preparations were flawless.

And yet Senelia could not shake her unease.

Because until this very day—Clifford had done absolutely nothing.

As though he had been waiting precisely for today.