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CHAPTER 39:
Éclairean (1)
Illeon glanced sideways at the knights. Jeremy’s men would memorize every detail of this scene and spread the rumors outside.
That’s why he couldn’t just let these faithful supporting actors of this little play die.
“It was just a conversation to confirm some suspicions.”
Illeon replied with a friendly smile.
“The woman famed for her beauty—why would she choose to become His Highness the Crown Prince’s concubine? I suspected there might be another scheme involved, so I approached her myself to find out.”
Someone audibly swallowed. Illeon didn’t care if it was a knight or Jeremy himself.
He continued, stroking his chin.
“But when I voiced my doubts, the woman said this: she didn’t want to be Your Highness’s mistress.”
The knights’ eyes filled with bloodshot fury. A single sentence was enough to turn resentment into hatred.
“She said it was already unjust to be imprisoned for the emperor’s assassination, and now, after being released, to suddenly become the Crown Prince’s concubine—it was too humiliating.”
“……”
“She asked for my help. She must’ve been desperate, telling a stranger like me. But as I stand with Your Highness, I refused.”
Jeremy’s expression twisted with every passing second—first rage, then betrayal.
“My mistress… really said that to the duke? That she didn’t want to be mine?”
“Why would I lie to Your Highness?”
Jeremy ground his teeth. His violet eyes blazed.
He had already thrown everything within reach, leaving nothing left to toss. Mad with anger, he gripped his golden hair and yanked at it.
Clumps of hair fell to the floor.
“Duke, do you know where my mistress is right now?!”
“I saw her just before arriving at the palace. She seemed to be heading toward the mansion where Duke Calypso resides.”
Jeremy’s patience crumbled. Gripping his face, he shouted at the knights:
“I’ll only say this once. Go to Dietrich’s mansion and drag Celia here. If you want to cling to your miserable little lives, that is.”
The knights felt their blood boiling with rebellion.
Seeing this, Illeon subtly signaled them not to provoke the prince.
“At once, Your Highness.”
All the knights, including those cleaning the room and those waiting in the corridor, left.
“Duke, I must move up the imperial coronation ceremony.”
“How soon are we talking?”
“One week. And fix my face by then.”
Jeremy said with a crazed expression.
“If you succeed, I’ll reward you handsomely.”
“Your Highness, may I offer one suggestion first?”
“Speak.”
“If Your Highness continues to show your face in this state, public resistance will only grow. Until it’s fully healed, how about wearing a mask?”
A mask. Jeremy murmured the word.
He’d seen his reflection briefly—it looked like something out of a nightmare. But maybe it would be bearable with a full mask… just until his face returned to normal.
“Can you prepare one for me?”
Illeon bowed.
“As you command.”
“Now leave.”
At Jeremy’s command, Illeon stepped back silently.
“Worry not, Your Highness. You have not only me on your side but also Her Majesty the Empress.”
Jeremy said nothing.
The bait had been cast. Now all that remained was to wait.
Illeon left the Crown Prince’s palace with light steps.
So simple… it had been this simple all along.
If only his ancestors hadn’t sworn to never take the throne, their descendant wouldn’t have to work this hard now.
Illeon felt like grabbing them by the collar.
What was the point of being called “more emperor than the emperor,” when only those of royal blood could claim the actual throne?
“Celia Brillion.”
Thanks to that woman killing the emperor, everything fell neatly into place.
A beauty that could pull you in like a whirlpool, and yet underneath… a deep, unfathomable darkness.
What had made her harbor such deep shadows?
Leaving the Crown Prince’s palace, Illeon strolled through the garden where he first spoke to Celia.
His flowing sleeves danced with every step.
Filled with roses and gladiolus, the garden was beautifully maintained by the royal gardener.
He could still see her face, smiling brightly under the fireworks.
“I belong to no one.”
How could she smile like that, despite her desperate situation?
If only she had taken his outstretched hand, she would now be under his warm protection.
Illeon couldn’t understand why Celia chose the harder path.
So he blended truth with lies. In reality, Celia had never asked him for help—but he made sure the Crown Prince believed otherwise.
In a situation with no escape routes, Illeon decided to simply watch what Celia would do next.
As he entered the depths of the garden, a man appeared as if waiting for him.
“How did it go?”
Illeon asked without even turning around.
“She noticed the tail before reaching the harbor and changed course, but I made sure to finish her off.”
“She was once a first-class knight, but age always catches up.”
Illeon laughed, eyes crinkling.
“And the ruby I gave?”
“She clutched it in her hand until her final breath.”
“Perfect.”
His subordinate tilted his head, unsure of what he meant.
Instead of answering, Illeon plucked a red rose from the garden.
The petals crumbled in his hand and blew away in the wind.
But once the wind stopped, the petals dropped straight to the ground. Staring at them, Illeon gave a new order:
“Celia Brillion. Find out everything about her.”
“……”
“All records before she entered the palace. Even what she did before joining the Brillion family.”
“As you command, Master.”
Interlude
“In the end, we didn’t see Duke Calypso at the banquet.”
Gabrielle looked up wistfully at the towering imperial palace. Her mother, Hariel, patted her on the shoulder.
“If he’d seen you, even that stone-faced duke would’ve fallen for you.”
“Oh, Mother…”
Gabrielle smiled and wrapped her arm around Hariel.
“By the way, Celia’s gained a lot of weight lately. Must be eating and sleeping well. How lucky that His Highness took her in.”
“Truly unfortunate. He didn’t even make her his consort—just a mistress. He must think she’s just a toy to play with.”
Gabrielle’s cheek twitched.
Even though the banquet had ended the night before, the mother and daughter didn’t return to their barony.
Instead, they stayed at the most expensive inn near the palace and spent the day sightseeing in the capital.
Unlike their remote estate, the capital was brimming with attractions.
Gabrielle’s eyes lit up when she spotted a pink sign that read Éclairean.
“Mother, that’s the boutique I told you about! Even the daughter of Duke Grederick gets her dresses made there!”
“Oh my, then let’s get one made too!”
The two entered the boutique, chatting happily.
Ding-a-ling!
“Welcome—”
Hearing the bell, the boutique owner came out, expecting a scheduled client. But when she saw Gabrielle and Hariel, her face stiffened.
“I’m sorry, but Éclairean only accepts a select list of clients. Even they must make appointments in advance—otherwise, entry is not permitted.”
Gabrielle pulled out a pouch filled with gold coins.
“What about now, madam?”
Having earned the money from auctioning off Celia to noblemen, Gabrielle had no hesitation in spending it.
“If that’s not enough, I can give you more.”
“……”
“Would you show us your dresses?”
The owner, her eyes lined with age, hesitated. On one side was her policy; on the other, enough gold to equal several years’ revenue.
Éclairean catered only to the elite of the elite—each piece custom-made with the finest materials.
Though the boutique was renowned, most of the profits went back into sourcing the best fabrics.
After a moment, the owner spoke firmly:
“I’m sorry, but I recommend you try another boutique.”
She kindly offered directions to a respectable alternative.
But her words fell on deaf ears.
“I don’t want a dress from anywhere else. I want one from here.”
Hariel arrogantly tilted her chin.
“Do you even know who my daughter is, madam?”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“She’s the famous Angel of Brillion.”
The owner’s face froze.
The Angel of Brillion. Everyone’s first love.
She had heard of the beauty’s fame, but everything—the hair, the eyes, the features—was completely different from the portraits.
“Is this young lady truly the Angel of Brillion?”
“Of course! If you design a dress for her, it’ll bring you far more profit.”
Hariel shamelessly pretended Gabrielle was Celia.
But Gabrielle, being more perceptive, quickly corrected her.
“Mother’s just joking. The real Angel is my younger sister, not me.”
“Ah… I see.”
Only then did the owner’s face relax.
Gabrielle remained composed, but inside, her stomach churned.
No matter where she went, she was always living in Celia’s shadow.
All the more reason why she had to get a dress from Éclairean.
That’s when something caught Gabrielle’s eye…
