Ch#57
What? She wasn't like that when I was alone with her.
At Camille's party, when Angela gave her this party's invitation, she had clearly looked down on her.
Camille had been the same all along.
Linia smiled awkwardly, and Laslo, glancing at her, rejected Angela's proposal.
“No need to trouble yourself when you're busy. We'll come greet you ourselves.”
Then he lightly bowed his head to them again before dragging Linia deeper into the party hall and vanishing.
Watching their backs, Camille trembled with her fists clenched tight once more.
“Th-that, that rude…”
*Spoils of war*
*Duchess*
But Angela wore a strange smile as she gazed intently at Laslo's retreating figure.
*As proud as he looks. I like it.*
Being ignored herself didn't faze her at all. Conquering a prideful man was far more fun than an easy one.
Truly written by Lemon Frog
“Hahaha! Hahahaha!”
“Haa.”
Every time Dimacus burst into laughter, Laslo's sigh followed.
As expected, Dimacus had started laughing the moment he saw the transformed Laslo. The laughter subsided briefly, but it resumed every time he looked at him.
Yet no one could blame Dimacus for it. Everyone else was just as shocked.
To think that's Laslo Criserus...
- 2 -
.
Dimacus wiped the corners of his mouth and his fingertips with a napkin as he spoke.
Everyone stole glances at Laslo, their thoughts plainly showing in their eyes.
“Anyway, you seem to have been dragged into this against your will, but to be frank, it suits you very well.”
*I knew it'd be like this.*
“This isn't for others' eyes.”
“As if I wouldn't know that. And I don't think you misunderstand my intent either.”
Laslo clenched his molars and endured the embarrassment. Such attention would fade soon enough, and he had no need to exchange words with the others anyway.
But the problem was Dimacus.
Laslo clicked his tongue softly.
Dimacus, who seemed to find his amusement in teasing him, wouldn't let this slide easily.
Daring to click his tongue before the Emperor—anyone else would have been punished on the spot for imperial disrespect—but Dimacus graciously overlooked Laslo's rudeness.
“I'd like to have lunch today with just Count Criserus.”
“Quite generous of you. Thank you.”
“What an utterly unromantic invitation. I must decline.”
“That wasn't for you. It was for my attendant.”
Laslo's change was tantamount to a declaration that he, who had passively accepted Dimacus's one-sided favor, was finally ready to establish himself as the Emperor's loyal vassal.
To become a pillar of power, Laslo himself had to resolve to integrate into noble society, and the first step was acquiring a noble appearance.
Dimacus's voice brimmed with mischief as he insisted on no refusals.
But once they were alone at the meal, Dimacus's expression showed curiosity over mockery.
“It was a hassle, yeah.”
“I doubt you spontaneously decided to shave and trim your hair... Your sister's doing?”
Dimacus chuckled and nodded at the blunt remark.
“The mastermind is Linia Criserus, and the collaborator is Linia's exclusive maid.”
Some might see Laslo's disdain for the Emperor's favor as insolence, but Dimacus knew well what Laslo was giving up.
“Exclusive maid...? Must be the Canyon Count's daughter.”
*What matters most to him is his freedom... He gave that up to come here, so I should be grateful.*
Dimacus immediately guessed the identity of that exclusive maid.
Laslo felt wary of Dimacus every time like this. Beneath that sly, playful expression, just how many pieces of information and thoughts were crisscrossing...?
Dimacus moistened his lips with fortified wine and gazed at Laslo with a complex look.
But as if sensing Laslo's sharpened gaze, Dimacus grinned playfully again.
He had initially taken hold of Laslo out of ambition to raise him as a hunting dog, but in the imperial palace stained with all manner of greed and schemes, Laslo's detached lack of greed was truly precious. Before long, he had come to subtly rely on him.
“Who knew that woman had such uses. Well, no one can match her knowledge in this area.”
There was no hint of sinister plotting as he tore into the roasted ptarmigan leg.
But now that Laslo had resolved to take a seat among the Emperor's noble faction, he would face countless temptations and trials regardless of his own will.
*And the moment he falls, I'll discard him.*
“Won't you have some? Or is ptarmigan not to your taste?”
The fine wine tasted especially bitter today.
“Would a mercenary be picky about food?”
As if reading his thoughts, Laslo tore into a ptarmigan leg following Dimacus's lead and muttered while chewing the tender meat.
“Who knows. More people than you'd think refuse bird dishes because they're scared of birds.”
“Truth is, it wasn't for any grand reason. My sister needs to marry off soon.”
“Hm? What do you mean by that?”
.
