That slipper—you know, it’s from that sensational serialized novel that's all the rage in the broadsheets lately. The one about the dramatic union between a noble and a commoner.”
Princess Ella laughed lightly, gesturing toward my glass shoes.
At that moment, the royal handmaiden who had escorted me leaned in to whisper something to the princess. Ella frowned slightly in thought before murmuring a soft reply.
“I see. It appears I must take my leave.”
The attendant departed first.
The princess glanced between Eric and me, clicking her tongue.
“Ah, how unfortunate. Just when it was getting good, and I have to miss the rest of the performance.”
“What nonsense are you saying now?” Eric replied flatly.
Ella remained unfazed by his rudeness and spoke with a teasing smile.
“I may be going now, but should either of you need advice on…
that matter
that comes after the marriage ceremony, don’t hesitate to send for me.”
That matter?
I turned to Eric in confusion, but he kept his gaze fixed on the princess, refusing to meet my eyes.
“As if that would ever be necessary—”
“Oh, and about that glass slipper,” the princess interrupted, pointing again to my feet. “You must wear them to the wedding ceremony. It would be such a delightful touch.”
I furrowed my brows. “These?”
“Yes. Why, don’t you want to?”
“No, I just wondered why…”
These cheap things, to a marriage rite?
I mumbled to myself. But the moment I said it, Ella widened her eyes, covered her mouth in mock shock, and gasped.
“…?”
What’s with that face?
Before I could figure out her expression, she pointed directly at me and exclaimed as if she’d seen a phoenix hatch in her tea cup.
“Heavens! That’s the first time I’ve ever been talked back to by a low-ranking noble! Normally, when I say ‘die,’ they pretend to drop dead on the spot!”
“Ah…?”
My face contorted in disbelief.
Even as I reeled, she continued to act like she’d just witnessed a relic from the ancient era—a dragon reborn in human form.
“How dare you talk back to me? This is
fascinating!
”
Okay. I take it all back. Earlier, when I thought she might be a decent person to get close to? Cancel that. This is exactly why you don’t get chummy with high-borns. They see low nobles like me as bugs on the path.
“Lady Emelline Wedgwood is… a special case. Best not to bother,” Eric said, trying to pacify her.
Tch. You’re the special cases. Spoiled heirs born into the duchies and royal bloodlines, steeped in privilege since birth…
The princess tilted her head, murmuring to herself with a look of genuine interest.
“Yes. She certainly seems…
different
. To think she actually talks back to a princess. Isn’t this like a mouse lunging at a tiger? Fascinating, truly…”
Oh spirits.
Please stop finding me fascinating.
I glared at both the princess and Eric in turn—or at least I tried to. But when I turned toward the princess, the overwhelming pressure in her azure gaze made my head drop instinctively.
“A-All right. I’ll make sure to wear the glass slippers to the wedding.”
“Wonderful. I look forward to it.”
Look forward to what?
Before I could ask, she was already striding out of the secret chamber.
Once we were alone, Eric reached for my hand.
“Let’s head out for a bit.”
“…?”
I stared down at our joined hands, frowning slightly. Noticing my reaction, Eric spoke with unexpected formality.
“Ah—my apologies. From now on, I expect I’ll be holding your hand often without asking. I hope you’ll grant me permission for that kind of contact.”
“Pfft, I’d permit even worse.”
Honestly, I was just surprised his palm was drenched in sweat.
Nervous, huh?
Even if he doesn’t show it, handing over your clan’s hidden secrets to the royal family is no small feat. Of course his hands would be clammy from nerves.
More than anything—he’s about to become my husband, so what’s the big deal about holding hands? Someday we’ll have to rub lips together too, won’t we? Honestly, when I changed earlier, I even checked that my lips and the inside of my mouth were perfectly clean.
I flashed a confident smile. Eric looked down at me, then, for some reason, tugged at the hem of his robe and muttered to himself.
“…No, I can’t do that.”
And just like that, our hands drifted apart.
I looked up at him with a twinge of disappointment.
“So? Where exactly are we going?”
Eric answered seriously, his expression grim.
“…That photograph. The one they plan to send to the publishing guild.”
“Oh, the one of us in the inn room?”
I asked casually, and Eric clenched his jaw. Holding his palm out like he was facing a demonic beast, he said,
“Let’s get something straight. Without mutual consent, the only physical contact allowed is holding hands. If another photo like
that
gets taken again…”
He buttoned his robe again like he was reliving some kind of trauma. That’s when I finally remembered—right, in the inn room, I’d stripped off his robes without permission. Guilt flickered through me.
“I won’t ever do that again without asking.”
Eric looked me up and down like he didn’t quite believe me, then let out a long sigh.
What, does he think I’m some kind of beast?
I know how to restrain myself too, you know.
“Anyway, if a photo is to be submitted to the guild, wouldn’t a proper one be better?”
Oh? So, a picture to prove that Eric and I were already cultivating a relationship? Not a bad idea.
“The princess’s plan, isn’t it?”
I asked, and Eric flinched.
Knew it. There’s no way that kind of sly thinking came from him.
“So then, what counts as a ‘proper’ photo?”
I mean, lovers being together at an inn isn’t exactly scandalous.
“For example, something like a couple taking a peaceful walk at night.”
Just then, the secret chamber door creaked open—and a familiar face appeared. I stared in disbelief at Lily, dressed not as a handmaid, but in full knight’s regalia.
“Enter, Dame Lily,” Eric said smoothly.
“…Dame Lily?” I echoed.
Unbothered, Lily pulled a spirit-powered camera from her robes.
“I’ll capture it well. Smile, won’t you? The photo turns out better that way.”
Her tone was steeped in the discipline of a seasoned cultivator-soldier, and I let out a dry laugh.
I turned to Eric and glared.
“You said you were honest… you said your outside matched your inner core!”
✵
✵
✵
Princess Ella was striding briskly through the palace’s inner chambers when she suddenly came to a halt.
Tall frame. Striking appearance not befitting a man with a fully grown son. And even from this distance, that unmistakable pressure—
Aura.
Ella’s lips curled slightly as she watched Valdeck Orléans approach from the end of the corridor.
Though she detested anything involving physical exertion, she’d been trained since youth to be sensitive to spiritual currents—be it sword aura or qi flow. And right now, she could clearly feel Valdeck’s cultivation circulating beneath the surface.
The rumors said the Duke had long since laid down his sword, but anyone operating at that level of aura discipline clearly hadn’t stopped refining his path.
What a cunning fox,
Ella thought, masking her displeasure as she resumed walking.
Valdeck smiled gently the moment he saw her and bowed with impeccable grace.
“Your Highness. It’s been some time.”
“Oh, you’re late,” Ella said dryly.
“My apologies. I was invited, but I was momentarily delayed on the way…”
“That wasn’t a comment about your tardiness to the banquet,”
Princess Ella looked down at Duke Valdeck with a frosty expression. He tilted his head, visibly puzzled. Ella nodded toward a chamber behind him.
“I’m talking about Lady Margaret Beaufort. You’re already too late.”
Valdeck paused for a moment, then gave a polite smile.
“Indeed. She had once hoped to collaborate with our family’s leather business, but it seems she’s already in talks with Your Highness for a new venture.”
“Just leather?”
Ella scoffed with a slight curl of her lips. Valdeck’s face stiffened.
“I heard you also proposed a steelworks project. A massive foundry in the southern lands, wasn’t it? I wonder where the land and spiritual power for such an enterprise will come from. Could it be… Lady Helena Wedgwood, your soon-to-be bride, happens to own lands in the South?”
Ella prodded him with intelligence gathered by her shadow servants, watching closely for a reaction.
“The steelworks are not yet a concrete project,” Valdeck replied. “And even if they were, one wouldn’t necessarily require lightning-imbued current. There are still plentiful reserves of spirit stones buried in the land left behind by our ancestors. And as Your Highness knows, the continent is blessed with many skilled arcanotech cultivators.”
Yes… such as the
Grave of the Merfolk
.
Even after the invention of affordable and efficient electric power, the highborn cultivators still turned their noses up at it, clinging instead to arcane artifacts powered by spirit stones. That was due to the common belief that spirit stones were a
nobler form of energy
—more befitting of those born to the upper realms.
Ella looked at Valdeck with cold, calculating eyes.
“I must say, I’m rather disappointed, Duke. I always assumed you stood firmly in my faction. Competing over business is one thing, but to contact Lady Beaufort behind my back? Had you spoken plainly, perhaps I might’ve yielded.”
Of course, she never would have. If she had any intention of yielding, she wouldn’t have covertly reached out to Lady Beaufort herself to secure the rights.
“My loyalty has always belonged to Your Highness. Surely the fact that even my son aligns with your views speaks for itself.”
Valdeck used the convenient but nebulous term
loyalty
—pleasant to hear but ultimately empty. Ella pressed further, determined to draw him out.
“Speaking of your son… Prince Eric has reached a fine age. What say you to offering him to me, to further deepen the bond between House Orléans and the royal line?”
Valdeck’s expression hardened.
If rumors proved true and Ella and Eric were truly to be betrothed, the Orléans dukedom would be dragged firmly into the royal faction. Their private enterprises would then become joint endeavors with the Crown—a future Valdeck had every intention of avoiding. That’s why he’d chosen to back Robert instead. Robert might be after the throne, but he’d happily let the royal coffers bleed to fund his ambitions.
But to Ella’s surprise, Valdeck responded with unexpected ease.
“If my son desires it, then I will of course pursue the engagement with Your Highness.”
Ella narrowed her eyes.
‘If my son desires it…’
That phrasing revealed a great deal. What Ella heard was:
‘My son would never desire something I don’t approve of.’
Valdeck truly didn’t know. Or perhaps he was only pretending not to know—that his son had already slipped beyond his grasp.
Ella thought back to the moment Eric had handed her the royal petition himself.
That boy… he’s deceiving his own father. How amusing. Today just keeps getting more and more interesting…
Then, her mind drifted to Emelline Wedgwood.
That southern bumpkin who trembled like a leaf in the throne room. And yet in the secret chamber, she’d cast off her mask and confronted Ella with sharp eyes and measured words. A woman clearly well-versed in disguise and negotiation.
Was it that woman who corrupted Eric? Or did Eric see something in his father’s treachery that made deceit the only option?
Whichever it was…
“Well then,” Ella said, brushing past Valdeck with a smirk. “Let us talk again after your wedding, Duke.”
She gave his shoulder a light pat and continued walking until she reached the chamber where Lady Margaret waited. Her hand paused on the doorknob. She glanced back briefly.
The duke had already disappeared down the corridor.
“…Such a loathsome man.”
The princess stood for a long while, gazing down the corridor where the duke had vanished. Then, she turned and opened the door.
Wearing the most insincere smile in all the lands, she looked toward Lady Margaret Beaufort, who was reclining on the sofa, and spoke with a voice sweet as poisoned honey:
“How does it feel, Madam, to have seized the sturdiest spiritual lifeline in the entire continent?”
Chapter 26