“You should take better care of yourself.”
Pello, who had called us together for an evening drink, frowned when he saw my hand. I offered an awkward smile in response. It felt utterly pathetic to admit aloud that I had worked myself into a frenzy and torn my wound over Isabel. Celine, however, knowing the truth of the matter, pouted in indignation.
“It’s all because of that wretched Isabel.”
Catching herself murmuring the words, Celine cast a cautious glance my way, but I simply turned a blind eye and watched the wine fill my glass. Korkel, on the other hand, reacted immediately to her remark—or rather, to the name Isabel.
“Isabel Wither? From House Wither?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that lady a friend of yours, Scarlett?”
At Trichel's question, I smiled awkwardly, pondering whether I really needed to broadcast the whole story far and wide. Before I could decide, Pello burst out laughing, evidently having caught wind of the rumors.
“Ah, isn’t she the one? Didn't she steal your lover?”
“You know already? Rumors certainly travel fast.”
“Weren’t you dating Elliot from the Order of Knights?”
“They've broken up, apparently.”
I answered half-heartedly as they suddenly took an uncharacteristic interest in gossip, bringing the wine to my lips. As the aroma of alcohol and rich grape filled my mouth, my mood lifted slightly. While I wasn't an avid drinker, I did enjoy an occasional glass. As I savored the flavor sip by sip, Pello chimed in again.
“Wait, is this a recurring habit of hers? Didn't something similar happen back at the Academy? I don’t recall the details clearly, but didn't that fellow end up ditching his original lover—”
“Oh, that was me, too. You mean Jason Sid, right?”
Recalling the face of a man who had acted so meek only to turn around and glare at me as if ready to devour me whole, I spoke evenly. What had Isabel said back then? Naturally, the ever-graceful Isabel wouldn't have put it so crudely. Though with tear-filled eyes, she certainly had a way of delivering blows.
I had spoken quite nonchalantly, but four pairs of eyes, including Celine's, were now fixed on me. Pello let out an incredulous laugh.
“You had your lover stolen by the same person twice?”
“Seven times, actually.”
Since there was no chance of it leaking outside our circle anyway, I frankly laid bare the fact that she had stolen seven lovers from me.
“Are you out of your mind?”
“Scarlett, you shouldn't just befriend anyone like that.”
Pello sounded genuinely concerned about my sanity. Yes, I know. I know I’ve been a complete fool.
Trichel, by contrast, spoke as though coaxing a child.
How was I supposed to know? That she bore such malice—or wait, was it even malice? Had I been the only one considering her a friend for twenty years? That’s even more pathetic!
Pello wore an expression of sheer amusement. Beside him, Trichel looked at me with deep pity, while Korkel wore a rather complicated expression.
Entertaining, isn't it? Well, if it hadn't happened to me, I would've found it thoroughly entertaining too.
Having drained my glass, I poured another, suddenly remembering something that had slipped my mind, and turned to Pello.
“By the way, I only mentioned that they broke up. Why did you assume she was the one who dumped him? Elliot could have been the one to end it, couldn't he?”
“You're the only one who doesn't see it.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
Irritated by his cryptic reply, I took another swig of wine, feeling a slight buzz set in. Ah, the bitter and sweet taste of life. Yet seeing Pello's lingering, knowing look made my brow furrow again. Just then, Celine handed me a cookie, and I popped it into my mouth. A rich, nutty scent spread across my tongue. My mood instantly lifted, and I began chattering away about things nobody had even asked.
“To be honest, I truly thought of her as a friend. She's younger than me, so I felt I should treat her like a younger sister. That's why—”
“You're bright and sharp, but when it comes to things like that, you're surprisingly soft.”
“Things like that?”
What kind of things? Was there a side of me that was genuinely dense?
“You have a habit of being completely helpless around people you're fond of. Whether it's Matilla Clark, that Isabel, or Her Highness the Princess. Once you consider someone on your side, you turn endlessly soft and indulgent. Even if they cross the line, you forgive them. You even convince yourself that they couldn't possibly mean any harm, that they harbor no ill will.”
“Well, that's because it really felt like there was no malice—”
“Of course, most people know better and don't cross that line.”
“But there are plenty who will, so be careful.”
Perhaps Isabel was precisely that type.
Hearing Pello’s parting words, I shut my eyes tight. Ah, he might be right. I certainly had been soft on Isabel. I had tried to give her whatever she wished for, placing into her hands whatever she fancied. Perhaps I did it all just to see that innocent smile of hers.
Was it my fault in the end…? But I had been with her since I was five years old. I spent most of my life being her friend.
After downing about four glasses of wine, drunkenness washed over me. Making no attempt to shake off the haze, I simply closed my eyes and surrendered to sleep. Vaguely, I thought I heard voices nearby murmuring things like, ‘How do we carry her?’, ‘Should we just leave her?’, ‘She’ll catch a cold,’ and ‘I’ll go fetch His Grace!’ But I didn't care. Everything was too bothersome, so I just kept my eyes firmly shut. And then, it was morning.
Birds chirped outside. Sunlight streamed into the room. It was the familiar, warm bed where I had been staying, with the blanket neatly pulled up over me.
Clutching my head against a sudden wave of a hangover, I sat up, only to freeze. How did I get back here? How did I actually get in? Looking around in confusion, I pulled the service cord by the bed. A moment later, Marina opened the door and stepped inside.
“Marina, how did I get back last night?”
“His Grace carried you in his arms, My Lady.”
“Oh… really?”
Hahaha.
Damn it.
I buried my face in my hands. I thought I had overheard something like that last night, but naturally, I assumed it was just a dream. How on earth was I supposed to know they would actually bring him here? Celine, you little… Just because I spoiled you, you've completely lost your senses! Just wait until I show you what a nightmare of a superior I can be!
“Would you like your breakfast served in your room?”
“…No, I think I'll skip breakfast.”
Was I really in any state to eat breakfast right now? What was this overwhelming sense of humiliation? I hadn't done anything wrong, yet I felt utterly mortified. Clutching my burning face, from the moment I sank into the bath until I got out, even while applying various lotions to my face, my mind churned over how on earth I was supposed to face Duke Prodiad.
We had just parted on such an ambiguous note before, and now he carried me back to my room! Celine, you should know when to draw the—no, what kind of tact was Celine even reading? Just how did things look between the two of us to them?
My mind spiraled into a tangled mess. Cruelly, however, my feet refused to heed my thoughts, and before I knew it, I found myself standing right in front of the Duke's room. To be precise, it was the office he used for official business.
“Ugh… honestly. I'm going to die of embarrassment today.”
I stood before the door and muttered under my breath. But it was fine. If I thought about it calmly, it was really no big deal. It was perfectly normal for someone not to want to see another person injured, and well, people get dead drunk sometimes. Besides, I didn't have any troublesome drinking habits. Right, I was completely harmless. It sounded like an excuse, but it was the truth. I truly hadn't done anything wrong to him.
Still, doing nothing wrong and feeling embarrassed were two entirely different things.
Shut up.
Battling an inner turmoil that felt on the verge of madness, I raised a hand to knock on the door. After that delicate atmosphere yesterday, he hadn't given me an answer. And then getting drunk… Wow, what a complete disaster. It was like something straight out of a third-rate romance novel. Of course, since we weren't actually seeing each other, the context was a bit different. Celine, I swear I'm going to kill you.
“Ah, Lady Dirnant.”
Just as I raised my hand to knock, heart pounding furiously against my ribs, a knight I had spotted on occasion called out to me with a cheerful expression from a short distance away. He was the one who had glared with murderous intensity at the Lord of Sorel when the man was kneeling on the floor. After racking my brain for a moment to remember who he was, I parted my lips.
“Sir Ver.”
“Good day, My Lady.”
“Goodness, hello. Have you not returned to the military camp?”
“I am currently in charge of His Grace's Personal Guard.”
Does that man even need a personal guard? The question flashed through my mind, though I brushed it aside almost immediately. Because he was so ridiculously strong, I had momentarily forgotten that, in terms of rank, he held an esteemed station comparable to my mother's, standing right beneath the King himself. Blue blood, an exalted body. And last night, I was carried in the arms of such a man… Ah, no, the shame was washing over me all over again.
Completely oblivious to my inner turmoil, Sir Ver walked over and asked with a remarkably bright smile,
“Are you looking for His Grace?”
“Yes. Is Duke Prodiad inside?”
“He stepped out to the military camp for a moment. He needed to devise countermeasures for the command situation and various issues regarding tomorrow's departure.”
“Ah, then I'll return another—”
“Oh, please go ahead and wait inside.”
“Would that be alright? It feels rather presumptuous.”
“His Grace should be back shortly. He specifically instructed that if Lady Dirnant should happen to come by, I was to escort you into his office straight away.”
