Should I pretend it’s an accident and stomp a few more times with extra force?
I considered it seriously—but honestly, the decision was already meaningless. During the next round of cultivation dance drills, I ended up stepping on Eric’s foot several more times anyway.
Of course, all unintentionally… or so I claimed.
“…Young Mistress!”
The steward’s scolding voice rang through the hall.
“Tch…”
I sighed and wiped the sweat from my palms once again. Eric noticed and turned to the steward.
“Let’s take a short break.”
Then he gently took my hand, examining it with a furrowed brow.
“Are you alright? Is something weighing on your heart again—like last time?”
Weighing on my heart…?
Ah,
that
time.
I looked up at Eric’s face, seeing the concern written clearly in his eyes.
He was probably referring to that bizarre day I was trapped inside the princess’s strange inner chamber. Come to think of it… he never really questioned why I fainted back then. Not in detail. Odd.
“No, no, it’s just…”
I quickly pulled my hand away from Eric’s and muttered under my breath.
“Just what?”
“It’s just… I’ve never stood this close to a man other than Philip before, so I’m a little nervous, alright?”
I replied sheepishly.
And honestly, that
was
the reason.
Too close.
Way
too close! I’ve wanted to say something for a while now.
Because Eric’s height towered over mine, I kept staring at his collarbone. We were close enough to hear each other’s breath. Meanwhile, the steward kept barking instructions at me like nothing was happening...
This was a complete spiritual crisis.
Then—
“Other than Philip?” Eric frowned.
He bit his lip like something about that didn’t sit well with him. With those dark circles under his eyes lately, he already looked half-possessed. Pity, really...
But still...
He’s got a lustful nature, no doubt about it.
I remembered the gift I’d received from Lady Margaret.
“I’ll take that one.”
From her “cultivation collection,” I’d chosen a photo of Eric calmly drinking coffee, not one of those half-robed, open-chested types.
Margaret had looked at me with admiration.
“Ah, you’ve got an eye.”
“...Huh?”
“Sometimes, what isn’t revealed... can be even more enticing than what is.”
…Let’s leave it at that.
Anyway, I
had
accepted the gift, but I couldn’t bring myself to open it in front of Eric. I’d ended up hiding it out on the balcony instead.
I need to check that thing at some point…
But this house has servants lurking
everywhere
...
I glanced sideways at Eric, thoughts drifting.
What isn’t revealed...
Aaaah! Stop thinking about it! STOP!
I snapped myself back and stammered,
“Y-yeah. I mean, I used to hold hands and hug Philip when we were kids.”
It was true. Philip and I used to hold hands and hug when we were younger.
Ugh, the more I thought about it, the more nauseating it felt.
I gave him a face like I was about to hurl.
Well, it
was
when we were really young. Like, barely in our early teens.
After leaving the Biolrod Merchant Guild, life had been so rough that Philip and I didn’t even have time to argue. We just tried to survive—sharing food, comforting each other when one of us cried. Like bonded siblings cultivating through hardship.
But once I turned fifteen, all that vanished.
Now, if we ran into each other at the Wedgwood estate or on the streets, we’d spit at each other’s feet with a look that said,
what a wretched existence
. That level of disgust is something only those who’ve had an older brother would truly understand.
Still, I
was
a little worried about Philip lately.
Things have been awkward between us for a while now…
My goal was for the three of us—Philip, Helena, and me—to go back to living peacefully, once that cursed “Grave of the Merfolk” business was dealt with.
“…And now here I am, dancing.”
I murmured to myself.
Just then, Eric—who’d looked lost in thought—spoke up.
“Philip… is he not…?”
“Hmm?”
“I mean, Philip’s not a son of the Biolrod clan, is he?”
Where the hell did
that
question come from?
“Of course not.”
Honestly, I look nothing like Philip, right? I clearly take after Helena.
And because of that, Philip used to grumble endlessly when we were kids.
“Why can’t I dye my hair red toooo?!”
I can still hear that whiny little brat’s voice ringing in my ears.
Of course, once he hit the later stages of his teens, he learned on his own that noble ladies preferred golden hair over red, and finally shut up.
While scratching my ear—probably because the memory was making it itch—I noticed Eric deep in thought, his brows slightly furrowed.
I was watching his face when it suddenly hit me.
“Ah.”
Why the fact that we aren’t true blood siblings matters so much to him.
“Don’t tell me…”
My expression twisted as if I’d just swallowed a pill of Spirit-Souring Lotus by mistake.
“…?”
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous of Philip?”
I pressed the tip of my foot down firmly on his. This time, it wasn’t an accident—it was a deliberate strike. Eric winced, his brow twitching, and murmured lowly,
“Why in the heavens would I be jealous of
him
?”
“Because from what I’ve seen, men are incredibly petty creatures.”
You need only look at Philip to know that.
I shuddered.
“To even imagine someone tying me and Philip together romantically—ugh! That’s downright
insulting!
”
“…No, the real question was why I would ever want to monopolize you in the first place.”
Was it?
Well, still…
I mean, I also sometimes get this urge to monopolize Eric, so what’s strange about that? It’s
infuriating
to imagine other women making
that kind
of unspeakable, improper fantasies about him.
Like that Madam Margaret, for instance…
“And besides, Philip treasures you. And you treasure him.”
Treasure
him? That word really doesn’t suit Philip.
He must still be holding a grudge from when Philip threw a punch and made Eric misunderstand something.
“We’re family! You don’t do that kind of thing with family!”
I raised my voice, and the steward coughed loudly from behind us—he was clearly giving me a look that said,
“Are you done resting yet?”
So I lowered my voice and whispered to Eric.
“And Philip is seriously! totally! a rogue! I’m the most proper and decent person in my household, okay?”
“…Hah.
You?
”
Eric squinted at me like I’d just claimed to be the sect leader of a righteous path.
“Yes! Remember that lesson I took with Vivian? Even when she snuck weird powders into my tea or smeared honey in my hair, I endured it all. But Philip? He stormed out in less than an hour, and neither the instructor nor our mother could find him for the rest of the day!”
And then the instructor, who clearly blamed us for the disruption, completely ignored all of Vivian’s bullying afterward.
“Should’ve never accepted that filthy commoner!”
I still remember how she said that just loud enough for me to hear.
Funny how those who cling to the noble ranks the hardest are often former commoners themselves.
“Wait… she put
what
in your tea?” Eric’s brow furrowed deeper.
“Some sort of medicine. Gave me the runs for two days straight. But honestly, the honey was worse. My hair’s already coarse like wild beast fur, and with honey? It turned into a cursed nest.”
Eric’s gaze darkened slightly, his voice becoming low and firm.
“…Why did Vivian hate you so much? Even back at the tailor’s, she was the one who picked a fight first.”
“That’s obvious, isn’t it? A commoner—barely clinging to the bottom of the nobility roster thanks to my mother’s marriage—just didn’t sit well with her.”
Eric’s eyes grew even darker, the light in them sharpening.
“…And for that, she thought it was fair to torment someone?”
He looked down at me with a face that had become frighteningly serious.
Do I really need to answer this seriously? He’s not just naive—he’s practically an unsullied young disciple fresh out of the outer sect.
“What are you so shocked about? Things like art salons, dining rituals, and dance etiquette—they’re all just constructs of the noble clans, aren’t they?”
And to master those noble clan arts, here I am, forced to undergo torturous instruction under the watchful glare of that terrifying steward.
“When a commoner with a fat purse happens to ascend into the ranks of the nobility, the first thing the upper sect does is throw up a wall—‘Our traditions, our culture… you wouldn’t understand.’ And if you can’t learn it fast enough, they’ll say, ‘See? This is why mere commoners will never belong.’ That’s how they guard their place atop the social hierarchy.”
I shook my head, face twisted in distaste.
“…Why do I even have to learn this garbage? I was cultivating just fine without it.”
I shrugged like it didn’t matter and muttered to myself.
Eric, hearing that, grew thoughtful. He chewed on my words a moment in silence, then finally replied.
“…You might be right.”
“Might be? It’s obvious—”
“Even so, that doesn’t mean it’s okay to torment people. Smearing someone’s hair with honey… spiking their tea with poison… things like that—shouldn’t be done.”
“Yeah, yeah…”
But let’s be honest. If I go to another imperial banquet or social gathering, that sort of underhanded scheming is practically guaranteed. Another Vivian will show up. Her methods will just be more refined.
Just as I was thinking that and glanced up at Eric, he spoke again—like he had seen through the haze of my qi.
“You’re thinking it’ll happen again, aren’t you?”
What is this? Mind reading?
I looked away, a little embarrassed.
“No. It won’t happen again,” he said firmly. “I told you. I’ll protect you.”
“…When you said you’d protect me, I thought you meant, like, from assassination attempts or death traps.”
You know, like when your clan head is trying to kill me—that kind of protection.
Eric looked at me, eyes steady and calm.
“That’s included. All of it.”
He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, then added,
“By the way… when Lady Vivian harassed you, what was your so-called teacher doing?”
My teacher?
The one who stood by and watched while Vivian smeared honey through my hair and sneered like I was some kind of stain on her cultivation robe?
‘Filthy commoner…’
Her face had practically said it aloud, even if her lips didn’t move.
But that was just my interpretation. So I gave the only answer that wouldn’t start another fire.
“…Nothing. She did nothing.”
“Why?”
Eric’s brows furrowed deeply.
I tilted my head.
“What could she do? Protect me? The only commoner in the class? The one everyone whispered about behind their fans?”
I couldn’t believe I even had to say it out loud. Sure, I still held a grudge against that instructor, but honestly, even if someone else had been in her place, nothing would’ve changed.
No one—
no one
—would dare go against the heiress of House Cavendish, one of the wealthiest families in the southern provinces, all because of some low-born stray.
“…She should’ve protected you.”
Eric’s voice rang clear and absolute.
“Adults should protect children. That’s just… the way of the world.”
…Ha.
What a relic of a man.
That was the first thought that crossed my mind.
And yet… I couldn’t say anything for a moment.
Because he’d said something so obvious… so simple… but I hadn’t heard it in so long that it almost felt foreign.
How long had it been since someone said something that should be a given, and actually
meant
it?
A hundred years? A thousand?
Maybe that’s why I was feeling so strange right now.
Just as that thought floated through my mind—
Chapter 66