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CHAPTER 58…..
Even If You Don’t Remember…
Reina, who had been barely holding back her anger, revealed her true colors the moment she stepped into the drawing room of Dietrich’s mansion.
“How dare you break our agreement? There’s a limit to how much you can make a fool of me!”
Grinding her teeth, Reina glared at Dietrich, who entered the room a moment later.
The line of his neck above his black collar, his broad shoulders that dropped at a perfect angle, and his sharply defined features stood out.
Beneath his black lashes, his red eyes were as dry as a desert.
Expressionless, with no trace of emotion, Dietrich didn’t even bother to offer her tea.
“I don’t know what agreement you’re talking about.”
The clear boundary in his tone made Reina’s whole body tremble in fury.
“I’m at the end of my patience with you. If I tell my brother, that wench will be dead before—”
“Lady.”
Dietrich cut her off.
“If you so much as touch a single hair on Celia’s head, I’ll take your hand off at the wrist.”
“…”
“If you harm her, I’ll take your head instead.”
Dietrich no longer bothered with courtesy.
It was because he had let things slide too easily that she had grown so bold.
He didn’t care if people tried to cling to him.
But if they used Celia to threaten him, that was a different story.
“Dietrich!”
Reina, unable to contain her anger, slammed the table with a bang.
Dietrich, unmoved by her outburst, spoke coolly.
“If you’re looking for someone to warm your bed, I suggest you find someone else. I have… certain standards.”
He jerked his chin toward the door.
“That’s the way out.”
“Hahaha!”
Upon hearing the news, Illeon leaned back and laughed loudly.
His attendant, who had served him for a long time, looked on in surprise—it was the first time he’d ever seen Illeon laugh so hard.
His own sister Reina had been utterly, spectacularly rejected by Dietrich—rejected so hard she’d been left in pieces.
The attendant had expected Illeon to be offended by the report, but instead he laughed uproariously.
The attendant kept stealing glances at him.
“What about the matter I mentioned before?”
“…I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but we failed. Since your coronation, Dietrich hasn’t left his mansion at all. Even feeding the horses today, he had a knight handle it, so bringing a new person into his household is practically impossible at the moment.”
After thinking for a moment, Illeon spoke.
“If we can’t get someone into the mansion, then we just take someone out instead.”
The attendant blinked in confusion at the cryptic remark.
“What do you mean to do?”
“There’s a ball being held in a few days, isn’t there? We’ll send an invitation—to Celia Brillion.”
The attendant frowned.
“Are you saying… only to Celia Brillion?”
“If you send it to just one, the other will inevitably come. There’s no need to invite them both.”
“But without an invitation, Dietrich can’t attend the ball at all. Would he really defy your orders and come?”
“Just wait and see. He’ll come, no matter what it takes.”
The sunlight slanting into the room woke Celia from her sleep.
Rising from the deep slumber, she felt sluggish.
It seemed she’d had a bad dream, and maybe she had muttered something in her sleep.
‘I think… I heard Dietrich’s voice somewhere in the middle.’
But since she’d been sleeping so deeply, she couldn’t remember a single thing he might have said.
‘…Was it just a dream?’
She tilted her head. Perhaps she had been thinking too much about him last night.
Her revenge was what mattered most, yet living with Dietrich had made her vulnerable to pointless emotions.
The deaths of her father the king, her mother, and the anguished cries of her people still felt as vivid as yesterday.
‘Don’t grow complacent. Don’t grow weak.’
It was only because she was worn out—body and soul—that her heart had wandered toward Dietrich.
Her feelings had grown simply because she wanted to depend on him.
“This is… an unnecessary emotion.”
She murmured the words to herself.
Resting her hand on the bed, she looked toward the window.
Birdsong drifted in through the open frame.
The more comfortable her body and mind became, the heavier the guilt weighed on her.
She was the last princess of the Kingdom of Shan.
A tragic princess of a kingdom wiped clean off the map.
The guilt of having survived alone tormented her.
Maybe that was why she’d felt too reassured knowing Dietrich was from Inata, an allied duchy.
If the emperor she’d killed wasn’t truly her enemy, and if the three dukes really were the ones, as Dietrich had said—then she planned to unleash her powers on all three at once, and afterward go somewhere no one knew her and die quietly, alone.
For her, emotions were nothing but a luxury.
She slowly closed and opened her eyes again, her green irises shimmering like stars beneath her lashes.
Then—
Knock, knock.
Dietrich’s voice came with the knock.
“Celia.”
His tone, when he said her name, was unnecessarily gentle.
“Mm. Come in.”
The door opened.
When she saw Dietrich enter, Celia’s eyes widened.
He was carrying a tray piled high with food.
Bread spread with butter, juicy steak, hearty vegetable soup, crispy bacon, a fruit salad drenched in dressings, and lavender tea.
She looked from the tray to him, clearly wondering what this was about.
“I thought you might be really hungry.”
Speaking offhandedly, Dietrich set the dishes out on the table one by one.
The smell of fresh bread and grilled steak was enough to awaken even a dormant appetite.
Then he pulled a chair over to her bed, scooped a spoonful of soup, and held it to her lips.
“I can eat by myself.”
At her words, his brows drew together slightly.
She found his vaguely displeased expression puzzling.
“Why?”
“…”
After a pause, he asked:
“Are you sure you can really eat by yourself?”
The way he spoke, as if addressing a baby, left her feeling awkward.
Yes, he had fed her before—
‘Come to think of it… he’s always been the one feeding me.’
In the prison, in the mansion…
It was frightening how easily one grew used to things.
She had gotten so accustomed to receiving food from him that she hadn’t realized how strange it sounded until now.
“From now on, you don’t have to feed me.”
Her declaration made his face darken immediately.
Scowling, he looked at her with undisguised displeasure.
Before he could object, she snatched the spoon from his hand.
“Thanks. I’ll eat it all, it looks delicious.”
“…”
“Dietrich?”
He let out a deep sigh.
“About last night—I owe you an apology.”
“For what?”
“For making decisions on my own without talking to you first… and for other things.”
She shook her head.
“There’s nothing for you to apologize for. We’re nothing more or less than a contractual arrangement. You don’t need to say sorry to me.”
Her firm dismissal cast a shadow over his face.
She had no idea why he looked so sad.
“Why that face, Dietrich?”
“Don’t you remember anything from last night?”
“?”
“What you said to me, in your sleep.”
She shook her head. She had no idea what he was talking about—truly, she remembered nothing.
“…Did I say something to you in my sleep?”
He didn’t bother to hide the hurt on his face.
But it was gone in a moment, replaced with his usual impassive look.
“If you don’t remember, then that’s fine.”
He stood abruptly from the chair.
“Even if you don’t remember, it’s enough that I do.”
With those words, he turned and left the room.
Click.
Celia stared blankly at the closed door for a long moment.
The next few days passed with strange tranquility.
Unlike before, nothing much happened—no incidents, no accidents.
Illeon, now emperor, seemed busy with various state affairs. Valt and Arthur were nowhere to be seen.
The only real change was between Celia and Dietrich.
Unless it was strictly necessary, or to bring her food, he didn’t come to her.
Before, they’d often chatted in her room for no particular reason, but now that never happened.
In the stillness that felt like the calm before a storm, Celia pondered whether the three dukes were truly her enemies.
But no matter how much she thought about it alone, there was no answer.
In the end, she decided to visit Dietrich’s room.
Knock, knock.
At her awkward knock, his voice came from beyond the door: “Come in.”
She stepped inside.
Dietrich was reclining at an angle on a long sofa, one arm on the armrest, holding an invitation in his hand.
The paper was crumpled, as if it had been clenched too tightly while reading.
“What’s with the invitation?”
He handed it to her.
“It’s from Illeon—to you. An invitation to a masquerade ball.”
