VRGB 17

Chapter 17

“Ah, aaaaah!”

As the Undine spun up and down, the maid could no longer take it and screamed before bolting away.

Claude’s expression was unreadable—whether he was surprised or indifferent was hard to tell.

“…Greetings to Your Highness Prince Valentin.”

“Miss Estelle.”

He gave a slight nod.

Thud! A loud sound made them glance in that direction. It seemed the maid had tripped in the dark forest path.

Soon, the sound of hurried footsteps resumed.

I didn’t want to think too deeply about why a prince and a mysterious maid were alone in the forest in the middle of the night.

I just wanted to get rid of the discomfort quickly.

“Will you not escort her back?”

“She knows the terrain better than I do. She says she sometimes works as a forester.”

“Even so, the forest at night must be dangerous.”

“For example, being ambushed by someone like Miss Estelle, who can summon water spirits?”

Claude replied languidly. I glared at him silently.

He stepped out from the bushes and slowly walked toward me.

With every step he took, Undine glanced between us with curious eyes.

As he came closer, Prince Valentin reached out toward Undine.

Undine, who had been perched on my shoulder and using my ear as a handle, tilted her head.

The prince let out a low murmur of wonder.

“A spirit… incredible. It’s been a long time since I last saw one.”

“You’ve seen spirits before?”

“At imperial events. And from time to time when a spirit mage’s help was needed. Though that was back when I was a child.”

[Human! I like!]

Undine giggled and started playing around his fingers.

I could read her thoughts clearly. This was more or less her mental state:

1. Good thing + good thing = even better thing.

2. Human = good thing.

3. Human + human = the best!

Unlike Undine, I felt extremely uncomfortable with Prince Claude.

“…I won’t bother asking you to keep this a secret. Everyone at the academy will know by tomorrow anyway.”

With that, I nodded and turned my back to leave first.

But the prince didn’t seem inclined to let me go.

The relaxed, vacant smile that I had thought was empty suddenly took on a different tone, smooth and sharp.

“As you know, spirit mages have no place in the Empire anymore. Not since your dear father’s head was lopped off.”

That was a taunt.

“…What did you just say?”

I straightened up. Those were words I couldn’t ignore.

The air turned ice-cold, and Undine fluttered nervously over to me.

Claude looked down at the droplets on his hand, then lowered it and said plainly:

“Did you not hear? I said, since your father was executed. Count Estelle Aluster, the former spirit mage who contracted with the Fire Spirit King.”

“Why bring that up now?”

“I just find it fascinating—the audacity of your bloodline. Even after making the Empire uninhabitable for other spirit mages, you still dare to be chosen again by a spirit.”

This bastard.

His provocation lit a fire in me.

“You saw me summon a spirit from the start, didn’t you?”

I stepped toward Prince Valentin. With each step, my vision turned a deeper red.

“I did.”

He remained in place, watching me approach.

I got right in his face, pointed my finger like a blade.

“Undine is a mid-level spirit. I summoned her on my first try. I have talent. Inborn, undeniable talent! And you’re telling me to cower like some ignorant fool who pretends not to hear the spirits calling, pretending I don’t see what I see?”

“You should have. If you had a conscience.”

“Why?! Why should I? My father was the criminal, not me!”

“There’s such a thing as collective responsibility.”

“How does one inherit guilt through blood?! Does sin flow in the veins? Does evil pass down through a family name like a disease infecting the land? That’s absurd!”

Prince Valentin answered coolly.

“There are births that are crimes in themselves. And I believe such crimes can be inherited.”

“You—”

I barely held back from cursing him.

‘Exalted’ prince.

I took a deep breath, then struck back.

“Then you, Your Highness, may continue your charade of being a frivolous wastrel. But I will not live that way.”

For the first time, Claude Valentin’s expression twisted.

“What did you say?”

“I said I won’t live in shame like you, Your Highness.”

I stared straight into his dull blue-gray eyes, speaking each word clearly.

I’d lived nearly nineteen years in silence and pain, bleeding on the inside.

I would no longer beg anyone to see me, to love me, to believe I’m a good person.

I wouldn’t pretend to be someone else.

“You’re the Crown Prince, yet you act like a carefree fool.”

In the moonlight, his face flushed faintly red.

“What nonsense… You misunderstand me. I’m not pretending. I simply have no interest in politics. His Majesty has other heirs. Why bother with headache-inducing power struggles?”

Most people believed that story.

In truth, the First Prince had always acted convincingly.

He was a better fool than any actor in the capital’s most prestigious troupe.

Long ago, there had been hope for him. Even though he was adopted and the Empress openly disliked him, he was still royal blood.

As a child, he had excelled in both academics and swordsmanship.

But as he grew older, he appeared to abandon his studies and martial pursuits for drink and gambling.

He was frequently found drunk and barefoot in alleys.

People said the easiest way to find him was to go to the loudest bar in the city.

The public’s hope in him faded.

Once, a gambler even stormed the palace gates, demanding repayment of the prince’s debts.

The nobles, who had never experienced such disgrace, recoiled and gave up on him. Some mourned the downfall of a once-gifted genius.

But I—I alone—had always known his fool’s act was a lie.

Because I wore a mask too.

Sometimes, I caught glimpses—moments when he couldn’t hide behind that foolish facade.

The first time was at a palace ball. He was flirting with a maid holding a tray. When she left, he waved playfully.

But the moment his gaze drifted to the distance, I saw it: disillusionment or perhaps regret.

It flickered across his face for only a second. But I noticed—because I stood like a wallflower, no one wanting to dance with the “monster’s daughter.”

Thereafter, when he believed no one was watching, he occasionally let his real face slip.

Back then, I was suffocating under the weight of my own mask as the “good girl,” so I pretended not to notice.

Perhaps I turned away because I didn’t want to see myself reflected in him.

In the end, it was a pitiful end for both of us.

My last memory of him was our gazes meeting—me on the gallows, him seated at the end of the royal family’s viewing row.

“It’s not a problem,” I said. “What’s disgusting is how you hide your true self just to disappoint those who once believed in you.”

Some people go their whole lives yearning for recognition.

No one ever expected anything from me, yet they were always disappointed in me. How odd. I bit my lip.

“You live as if nothing matters. Surrounded by drunkards, romancing commoners and low-ranked nobles. Yet you’re careful never to flirt with noble ladies—lest someone mistake your games for political maneuvering. It’s laughable.”

“Estelle. Shut that mouth.”

He gritted his teeth. I scoffed.

“You insult me freely, but now I say a few things and you tell me to shut up? How generous to yourself, how harsh to others.”

“I said shut it.”

“Well, if the Duke of Camelot insists—oh, wait.”

I widened my eyes dramatically and covered my mouth with splayed fingers.

“How rude of me. You’re no longer the Duke. You’re Prince Valentin of the imperial family now, aren’t you?”

I placed one hand on my chest and pulled my skirt tight with the other, bowing deeply.

“My apologies. You don’t behave like a First Prince at all. I was confused.”

His breath grew ragged. I straightened gracefully.

And aimed my sharpest ridicule at his twisted face.

“Do you wish to return to being Duke of Camelot? What a pity. Both your parents died and left you to the imperial family. If you want to blame someone, you’ll have to dig up their graves and shout at them.”

“Shut up!”

“His Majesty treats you like you don’t exist. The nobles mock you. The Empress detests and still fears you. And in the midst of it all, you survive by pretending to be a fool. Does that feel good?”

“You—!”

For a moment, his eyes turned fierce. It was the same intensity I felt when my own rage boiled over.

For the first time, I saw the real Claude Valentin—the one hidden behind that pitiful, fake smile.