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Chapter 11
“I hear His Highness the Crown Prince has changed since he awoke.
More mature, sharper brimming with wit and clarity.”
“……”
I pressed my lips tightly shut.
I knew why.
Running away wouldn’t undo what had already happened before I returned.
Hiding wouldn’t stop the Crown Prince from pursuing vengeance.
There’s no choice.
I’ll have to face him head-on.
A short while later, after Alfred Layton had left, the Duchess and Aiden finally emerged from the dining room into the grand lobby.
“Heavens… what is all this…?”
Even now, servants were still unloading crates from the wagon and carrying them inside.
“Ah, perfect timing.
Come here,” the Duke of Wentworth called, motioning his wife over to where he and I stood.
The Duchess came, her gaze fixed on the extravagant dresses being hauled in.
“All of this… is for Amelia?”
“That’s right.”
Her lips twitched.
She covered her mouth with her hand and let out a soft laugh.
“Isn’t it a bit… excessive?”
“Excessive?
Listen well.”
The Duke’s tone hardened.
“Our family must never ever be looked down upon.
Do you understand?”
“Ah… yes, of course.”
“If you notice anything missing, add it.
Nothing shabby.
Not a single detail.”
“Goodness, fine, I understand,” she muttered, her reluctance plain as she drifted off to make a show of selecting items.
It wasn’t as though Amelia had been completely without dresses or jewellery.
As the daughter of a duke, she had possessed enough to keep up appearances in public, thanks to her father’s obsession with saving face.
But this time was different.
She was headed to the imperial palace, and the Duke wanted everything perfect.
As if there were any pride to be found in flaunting oneself before the Imperial Family.
From the side, Aiden, who had been watching me with open disdain, finally spoke.
“Do we really need to go this far?
For her?
She’ll be tossed out before long anyway.
What a waste, Father.”
The Duke turned on him, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
“You think this is only about Amelia?”
“Well… sure, it’d be great if she became Crown Princess.
But Father, this is Amelia we’re talking about.”
He jabbed a finger toward me.
Yes.
That Amelia.
Standing right here.
“Father, may I take a closer look?”
“Of course.
It’s only on loan to her anyway.
No harm in you seeing it.”
On loan.
He had chosen his words precisely.
None of this belonged to me.
The moment I left the Crown Prince’s palace or displeased the Duke it would all be reclaimed without hesitation.
Sorry, Father, but I won’t be returning everything.
If fortune smiled and I was cast out of the Crown Prince’s residence, I intended to take a few of the more valuable pieces and vanish, far away.
Because if I ever returned to Wentworth Manor, Vincent’s blade of vengeance would surely cut me down as well.
I lifted the lid of a chest.
Inside glittered extravagant jewels, each stone enormous, each piece ostentatious.
Dresses dangled from racks, every one bright in colour and dripping with frills.
Judging by Amelia’s memories, these were exactly the styles she had loved.
Still… I’ll need something plainer.
The words Please, prepare some modest pieces as well stuck in my throat.
Across the room, the Duke kept insisting on brilliance, splendour, and dominance.
Clearly, any request for simplicity would fall on deaf ears.
Fine.
I’ll handle it myself.
My heart uneasy, I tore my gaze away from the gaudy dresses and toward the open doorway.
Eric was leaning against the frame, nose buried in a book, so quiet he was nearly invisible.
Servants bustled past him, lugging chest after chest inside.
And then.
Caw.
Caw.
A crow’s cry cut through the air.
I flicked my gaze toward the sound, a chill crawling over my skin.
The Duke’s head snapped in the same direction.
“Damn birds always meddling when we’re busy,” he muttered, irritation seeping into his voice.
And sure enough, a crow was circling just outside, wheeling above the entrance.
So this was the sound Amelia had heard so often.
My eyes slid back to Eric.
He hadn’t flinched, either accustomed to the noise… or too absorbed in his book to care.
The crow swooped down and perched at the doorway.
At once, black smoke billowed up around it, curling and swelling until it shaped itself into a man.
A man cloaked in a black robe.
A shiver ran down my spine.
Heavens that scene!
I’ve seen this before!
It was exactly the vision that had flashed before my eyes the night I returned from seeing the Crown Prince.
The instant I realised it, my body moved instinctively.
I stepped toward the entrance just as the black-robed man strode quickly inside.
He hadn’t noticed Eric standing there.
Thud.
Eric’s small body was shoved aside.
He stumbled, and I dove forward, catching him before he hit the ground.
The man froze mid-step, startled.
“Watch where you’re going!
You almost hurt someone!”
I snapped, glaring up at him.
But the words faltered on my tongue.
His face was hidden deep within the robe, yet something about him was chilling.
In my arms, Eric pushed upright.
“Let go.”
I rose with him, checking him over.
“Eric, are you all right?”
But neither Aiden, nor the Duchess, nor even the Duke seemed to care that Eric had been knocked down.
The Duke’s anger was directed elsewhere.
“Waltzing through the front doors in broad daylight have you lost your mind?”
“If Your Grace hadn’t been avoiding the Tower’s summons, I wouldn’t have had to come this way.”
The voice was strange, distorted like the crow itself had spoken.
“Upstairs.
Now,” the Duke ordered, scowling.
He turned and headed up the stairs.
The black-robed sorcerer followed, but halfway up, he stopped.
Slowly, he turned his head and looked straight at me.
“……?”
What was that supposed to mean?
The stare sent a chill down my spine.
He turned back and silently followed the Duke.
A sorcerer, huh…
I couldn’t help but wonder.
Not all sorcerers carried that same ominous aura.
After all, in this story, the heroine who eventually stood beside Vincent was also a sorcerer.
Unlike in other fantasy tales, magic here was considered little more than a parlour trick.
Society viewed it as strange, dangerous, and untrustworthy.
And so sorcerers, frustrated by their treatment, longed for a world where they would finally take centre stage.
That struggle against prejudice was one of the novel’s core themes.
Stop discriminating against sorcerers, more or less.
I glanced back down at Eric, still standing beside me.
“Eric, are you sure you’re okay?
You didn’t get hurt?”
“I’m fine.
You’re the one who isn’t.”
“…What?”
He pointed to my hand with a scowl.
Only then did I notice the skin of my palm was scraped raw, no doubt from sliding across the floor.
“Oh… this?
It’s nothing.”
I laughed awkwardly and brushed the dust from my clothes.
By now, the once-crowded lobby had thinned.
Even the Duchess and Aiden had disappeared.
Eric let out a long sigh, looking at me like I was hopeless.
“Follow me.”
What was he, fourteen?
The arrogant tone was grating, but curiosity got the better of me.
I trailed after him.
Soon I’d be in the Crown Prince’s palace, and who knew when I’d get another chance to speak with Eric?
After all, in both the novel and Amelia’s memories, Eric was nothing more than a faint, fragmented presence.
If I wanted to understand him, I’d have to see for myself.
Eric led me into his own room.
He rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a medicine kit.
Without a word, he dabbed ointment onto my scraped palm with a half-hearted touch.
The gesture was so unexpectedly endearing that I couldn’t help but smile.
“Thank you.”
“For what?
You got hurt because of me.
Of course I’d do this.
”
I studied him quietly, then asked,
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
Eric paused, capping the ointment, and blinked at me in confusion.
“What are you talking about?”
“Just now you nearly got hurt, and nobody even cared.”
“What nonsense.
You’re an idiot, aren’t you?”
This little brat did he just call me an idiot?
