COARV Chapter 19

Kallis Haneton looked as though he had come running in a great hurry. He, too, went rigid the moment he spotted Lesche.

Lesche lifted one eyebrow slightly.

"Why are you here?"

"I've come to fetch the Saint."

"The Saint? Why is she here again?"

"…That, I don't know either."

Just thinking of that elusive Saint left Lesche feeling nothing but weariness now. No report had come to him that she'd arrived at this annex. But leaving Seria and the Saint together in one place could bring nothing good. And he had no idea why that Saint kept turning up wherever Seria was.

Lesche made to go inside directly. He would have, if Kallis's words hadn't caught him by the ankle.

"Grand Duke Berke. When exactly do you intend to divorce Seria?"

For a moment, a short laugh escaped him. Lesche turned back around. His eyebrow ticked upward. His red eyes, carrying open displeasure, fixed on Kallis.

"Divorce?"

"Your Highness. Seria was my fiancée."

"Whatever Lady Stern's past may have been, she is my wife now."

"Your Highness!"

Kallis ground his teeth.

"You haven't even received formal approval from the Imperial Household, have you? Until that approval is granted under imperial law, Seria is not Grand Duchess of Berke—she is Seria Stern. I am truly grateful that you saved her life. I will repay that debt fully, in the name of House Haneton."

"How amusing. Why would you be the one to repay a debt owed to Lady Seria?"

Lesche's tone dripped with mockery.

"You and Seria are nothing to each other now, aren't you? Which means there's no reason for you to be repaying anything."

At the words "nothing to each other," Kallis's face went rigid. He clenched his fist. His dark eyes, working to swallow his fury, only irritated Lesche further. Was the man about to throw a handkerchief down right here? If there was ever a farce, this would be it.

"I intend to divorce the Saint. And I am the only man who has received formal marriage permission from Marquess Keliden. If I may be so bold, Your Highness—have you sent word to Marquess Keliden separately, on your own account?"

Notify him? To hell with that. It had been a marriage thrown together to save a life in the first place—as if anyone was thinking about that kind of thing at the time.

Lesche found the man standing in front of him newly detestable. Wasn't this the very man responsible for tangling everything into the mess it now was? A man distracted by the Saint. A man who'd already exchanged vows with her.

"You shoved your fiancée's life face-first into the mud, and now all that's left alive on you is your mouth."

"Grand Duke—!"

Kallis's fury-laced words never made it to their end. The atmosphere inside the annex had erupted into noise all at once.

There were only two people in Seria's annex capable of raising their voices like that.

Seria, or Lina.

Without another word between them, the two men went inside together.

"No matter how lovely she is, her mother was nothing but some vile, low actress, wasn't she?"

A single line, mentioned exactly once in the original novel.

There had been a certain noble young lord who'd been caught gossiping about Seria Stern's birth mother at a ball. The original novel's Seria, whose fuse already burned dangerously short to begin with, had been especially sensitive on this particular subject.

No—let me correct that. Sensitive was an understatement. She went utterly berserk, thrashing around like a crazed young colt. A dog with actual rabies would have behaved with more restraint, no question.

And this young lord had been caught gossiping behind that very Seria's back…. For the record, the novel didn't merely describe wine being thrown in his face—it described him being plunged headfirst into a freshly-opened oak barrel.

After that, he'd retreated to his country estate and never again set foot in capital society, or so it was said.

Was that why?

Despite having been the one transported into Seria's body, whenever I encountered someone bringing up her birth mother, or anyone from House Keliden, I simply could not master my own anger. My whole body trembled, as though I truly suffered from some genuine disorder of rage.

Only in those moments did I feel as though I'd truly become Seria.

Since arriving at Berke territory for the wedding, it had never once happened. And once I became Marchioness of Haneton, it would happen even less—I'd been quietly hoping, deep down, that I'd never have to go through it again for the rest of my life.

And yet….

"Seria, I like where you come from! So what if your mother was a commoner? I'm technically a commoner too, if you trace it back, and…."

'Because it was a world without nobles or royals or anything like that….' Lina murmured under her breath.

"So that means we're from the same background, right?! So—Seria? What's wrong? Why does your face look so scary—"

"…."

My whole body had begun to tremble.

Lina, catching my gaze head-on, flinched. Already too late. My hand was already rising, past my own will, toward Lina's face.

Lina squeezed both eyes shut.

The hand, poised to fall against her reddened cheek—sharp, merciless—struck my own cheek instead. That was all.

"…."

Silence filled the room. I let out a long breath, replaying the shock that had left stars bursting behind my eyes. My cheek, struck with everything I had, hurt terribly.

"Lina?"

"Yes? Yes!"

"Your tutor said that to you?"

Her tutor would be Baron Aison.

Sensing something ominous in my question, Lina pressed her lips shut. Clear tears welled up thick in her large eyes.

"He must not have taught you that this is the one story I hate hearing most."

"No—no! Don't be angry at him! It was my mistake, so be angry at me instead, Seria—"

Lina's trembling, tearful figure was pitiable and utterly guileless. Beside her, my own reflection in the mirror looked, at a glance, every inch the villainess. Just a few days ago, if this composition had settled into place, I would have gasped and fled from it. Now, I wasn't so sure.

How long was I supposed to keep bowing my head and stepping back?

The female lead and the sub-male-lead kept handing me shit endlessly, and if I endured it, and endured it, and endured it, and it still wasn't enough….

Wasn't it about time this villainess got to be angry too, without breaking any laws?

"Lina. You said to be angry at you instead, correct?"

"Yes? Yes…. Be angry at me, Seria. I'm truly sorry. My tutor did nothing wrong, so—"

"Very well. In that case."

I said, fingering my cheek, which had already begun to swell.

"I'm going to go see the Marquess of Haneton now. And then the priests. And then His Highness the Grand Duke of Berke."

"…What? Why would you go to them—"

"Because you need to inform them that you insulted me, don't you?"

"Insulted… you? What do you mean?"

"Didn't that fine tutor of yours teach you how grave an insult it is to touch on a sensitive matter of family history among nobles? Ah, or perhaps you'd rather duel my knight to the death over it instead? I'd be more than happy to oblige—assuming you don't mind if my knight kills him."

Something in my final line must have landed with particular force, because shock spread across Lina's eyes. Her clasped hands trembled, fine and unsteady.

"My tutor didn't do anything wrong! I just—I just didn't know any better—!"

"Didn't know any better?"

I stared straight at Lina.

"Lina, whatever Kallis insists about it being temporary, you are Marchioness of Haneton, the Saint, and a Stern the same as I am. Do you still not understand that someone in a position like that, running her mouth carelessly, puts everyone around her in an impossible position?"

"Seria, I—!"

"You aren't a three-year-old child, Lina. Hasn't the time come for you to properly grasp your own position?"

"—!"

Setting aside whatever circumstances made it impossible for me to feel warmly toward Lina, I could understand her, on the surface at least. It was only natural to feel lost when the entire world had suddenly turned upside down on her.

But to the female lead Lina, in this world so perfect that everyone—even the man who had once been my own fiancé—showered her with the most tender concern and protection, who would dare treat her carelessly, if not the villainess already condemned to that role from the start, as I was? Was I simply supposed to stand there and let the female lead's guileless blade drive itself into me?

Lina needed to grasp, directly, on her own, the position she occupied—the weight her words carried.

This time I had drawn on the very last of my patience and ended it by striking my own cheek instead. But next time, I might genuinely strike Lina's. A situation that made my whole body shake with fury like this—I sincerely did not wish to endure a second one.

"Shall I go recite exactly what you said, word for word, to the Marquess of Haneton?"

Tears welled thick in Lina's eyes. She shook, and finally mumbled, "I don't want to. I'm sorry..." before bolting from the room.

"Well, well. Making the mess and refusing to take responsibility for it—rocked in silk and coddled from the cradle, was she?"

Begonia's tongue-click brought me back to myself, a beat too late.

Begonia, who hated losing her elegant composure more than anyone, had gone full beast-mode, her own head boiling over with fury. My anger hadn't fully subsided, but I took a breath and steadied myself first. I was straightening my disheveled hair, about to apologize to Begonia, when something cold touched my cheek.

Begonia had pressed some kind of silk pouch against my swollen cheek. She spoke in a crisp, practical tone.

"What's inside is snow-crystal—a semi-precious stone that gives off a cold similar to ice. Extremely useful for exactly this kind of situation."

"…You had something like that on hand, Begonia."

"Any client who's about to wear this Begonia Salon's finest work, male or female, cannot show up with a swollen face. Consider it a sort of emergency medicine."

"Is my cheek that badly swollen?"

Begonia gave a perfunctory smile of confirmation, then said,

"If you follow my instructions from here, Miss, you should just barely be able to make it to the ball."

"What should I do?"

Begonia, having fixed the pouch of snow-crystal in place against my cheek, spun my shoulders around.

"Now, go and get a good hour's worth of Berke territory's winter wind. The rest can be covered with a bit of technique and some cosmetics."

I pulled my cloak's hood down to my nose and stepped out the door. I made a point of avoiding the knights' eyes. There was no way they hadn't noticed the commotion inside, but I saw no reason to go out of my way to show them my swollen cheek.

I trudged down the annex's long corridor, eyes on the floor, and let out a breath. I'd only just realized I'd taken a wrong turn.

My head still full to bursting with unspent anger, I'd been walking wherever my feet led, and had somehow wandered into an unfamiliar, secluded stretch. The annex allotted to me at Berke Castle was large and spacious enough that wealthy merchants might have used it as a summer villa. With so many branching doors, taking a wrong turn seemed only natural.

I let out a heavy sigh, spun around sharply, and was about to walk straight ahead when—

I slammed into some hard, solid chest. I stumbled back with a gasp, and a firm hand caught my arm.

"…What are you doing?"

I looked up, startled.

"Your Highness?"

Had I just walked straight into Lesche? He was looking down at me with a strange expression.