DYPIOOP Chapter 11

Identity Confirmed

Elonia answered before she could stop herself.

"I'm the estate owner's fiancée."

The man she'd never seen before kept his expression perfectly, serenely unchanged. He studied her with the focused attention of someone memorizing evidence.

"...And why are you climbing the wall?"

She absolutely could not tell him she was returning from secretly feeding cake to a spirit, so she improvised.

"A hobby, I suppose."

"You seem rather unaccustomed to it for a hobby."

"It's one I've only just taken up."

She avoided his penetrating gaze with practiced nonchalance. He was almost certainly the guest Carvel had mentioned that morning.

'He said to behave appropriately...'

Carvel's measured smile surfaced in her memory—the one with the subtle, inexorable pressure behind it.

'He didn't say to make a good impression, now did he? That's right.'

She nodded to herself, interior rationalization firmly in place. Of course, his definition of "appropriate behavior" probably hadn't included being caught sneaking through windows. The man cut through her thoughts without ceremony.

"Confirming whether the identity you've stated is accurate must come first. Would you please come down?"

Beautiful face. Absolutely inflexible personality. The spotless white uniform radiated an exacting fastidiousness that put her immediately on alert. She'd spent enough time in salons to read a face at ten paces—this was a man who reported anything he couldn't reconcile to his superior without a second thought. And his superior, in all likelihood, was Carvel.

The impeccable propriety radiating up two full floors made her grip the rope tighter as it continued its slow, determined slide downward. Sure enough, he pulled off his white gloves and said:

"If you are unable to come down, I shall assist you myself."

He took one step closer to the building. Not a flicker of hesitation. Elonia responded quickly.

"Could I not go up first and then come down?"

"No."

"I'll come down honestly via the stairs. That way my identity can be confirmed too."

"There's a risk you might flee before then."

"Well, since you've seen my face—put out a wanted notice!"

"You're above me. I can't see it."

Ah. Right. She supposed she ought to be grateful she hadn't been accused of being a thief outright. She let out a slow breath and began working her way downward.

Slip.

Her foot slipped. The man moved immediately, grabbing the rope with urgent hands.

"Are you all right?"

"Thanks to this, I'm getting a rather precise measure of exactly how pathetic my physical fitness is."

In an instant, she was dangling—rope clutched in both hands, feet scrabbling against nothing useful. At this height, one wrong movement and her skirts would reveal things that were emphatically no one else's business. She gripped the lifeline with white-knuckled determination and forced herself to look down.

He'd frozen entirely. His ears had gone red—vividly, catastrophically red.

When their eyes met, he dropped his gaze at speed and said, with remarkable velocity for someone who usually measured his words:

"I'm terribly sorry! I've committed a grave breach of etiquette."

"I saw nothing whatsoever. I failed to consider that this would constitute a breach of propriety for a lady. This is entirely my fault."

Still not looking up. He extended one hand toward her instead.

"If you release your grip, I will catch you."

"You haven't closed your eyes just now, have you?"

"I can catch you without looking."

This was somehow less reassuring than Nyx claiming he'd help—and Nyx would absolutely never actually help anyone. Elonia stared at the top of his head in honest disbelief. She had no idea what this man did for a living. What exactly was she supposed to trust him with? Falling from this height probably wouldn't kill her, but a broken leg remained well within the realm of possibility.

And she was running out of options. The strength in her hands was draining steadily—it was becoming genuinely difficult to hold on. She was starting to wonder if she'd always been this heavy.

Then he said, in a voice that didn't waver:

"Please don't worry."

Firm words. A faint flush that had crept all the way up to his nape.

"I wondered where you'd run off to when you weren't in your room."

That voice.

Carvel was striding across the grounds with his customary unhurried confidence, heading directly toward the man in one clean, purposeful line. He was smiling.

"Forgive the belated introduction, Your Highness Lifrey. This is my fiancée, Miss Elonia Devney."

He gestured toward her with perfect courtesy. Elonia tightened her grip on the rope and offered her response with all the dignity the situation permitted.

"Thank you for confirming my identity, Carvel."

"I'm glad to have been of service."

"I'd be considerably more grateful if you'd help me stand on solid ground again."

Carvel laid a light hand on the shoulder of the man called Lifrey.

"I'll take it from here."

Lifrey stiffened as though the words had physically affected him and stepped back—not quickly, just rigidly. Carvel turned and called up to her with warm familiarity.

"If you were trying to give me a fright, you've succeeded, Elonia."

"Then listen without panicking, Carvel. The reason I went over the window was—"

"We'll discuss it later. When we're alone."

He reached up toward her, arms extended.

"Come down first. It's dangerous."

"Can you actually catch me? This dress has one layer, two layers—"

"A few extra layers of fabric don't make a significant difference to your weight."

"There was absolutely no need to be quite that specific about it."

She glared at him. She'd thought she might find some excuse, but it seemed she'd been seen through the moment he opened his mouth. Lately she'd been eating too much cake and hadn't left her room—her body had grown sluggish. If she broke one of his arms in the landing, the consequences would be obvious. She was especially aware of how vital arms were to someone who used a sword.

But Carvel's face had gone still, the usual lightness replaced by something harder.

"Trust me. I haven't trained so sloppily that I can't catch one person."

Firm. Decisive. Unlike his usual expression, there were lines between his brows—and his eyes, sharp with focus, were fixed entirely on her.

'Right. Either way, falling is falling.'

After a moment's hesitation, Elonia shut her eyes and let go.

The strange sensation of dropping. Then a powerful force closed around her.

She was afraid to open her eyes. In the dark behind her eyelids, a low voice settled just above her face.

"Thanks to you, I nearly had the entire estate put on alert."

She cautiously opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was a sharp jawline. She shifted her gaze—and met his shadowed gray eyes directly, unexpectedly close.

The realization arrived a moment late: he was holding her.

Elonia's skin prickled with goosebumps. She squirmed slightly. Carvel set her down gently, and she finally felt solid ground beneath her feet again. She rushed into explanation.

"I wasn't on my way out—I was on my way in. Truly."

"Secretly. Evading everyone's eyes."

"That is, well... The maids have been watching so intently for me lately. Yes! That's it. Absolutely."

She nodded with the grave conviction of someone stating an established fact. Carvel sounded entirely unconvinced.

"For a moment, I thought you'd run off because the prospect of marriage disagreed with you, with the imperial visit approaching."

"You're hardly the sort to play the tragic male lead in a melodramatic romance novel."

"True. If it were me, I'd have prevented any possibility of escape beforehand."

He smiled at her pleasantly.

'So this is a warning—brace myself if I ever think of running.'

A chill traveled down her spine. Lifrey, who had been watching the whole exchange from a short distance, bowed briefly in greeting.

"It's been a while, elder brother."

"Indeed it has, Your Highness."

Carvel acknowledged this with a tilt of his head that bordered on arrogant. Elonia, mindful of the suspicious look Lifrey had leveled at her earlier, offered a proper greeting.

"Let me introduce myself properly. I'm sorry for the confusion at our first meeting."

Carvel made the introduction with practiced ease.

"His Highness Lifrey of Latiae. My younger cousin."

The surname Latiae confirmed what she'd half-suspected—he wasn't an Espidia imperial subject. The Kingdom of Latiae was the former Duchess's mother's family. She recalled reading that the connection was close enough that when the former Duchess had been pregnant with Carvel, she'd traveled all the way back to the kingdom for care.

A brief image surfaced—a glimpse from late at night, through the Nymph's touch, of a young Carvel and the former Duke and Duchess.

'Come to think of it, the former Duchess in that vision had platinum-blonde hair.'

Looking at Lifrey now with that in mind, the resemblance to the former Duchess was striking. Particularly the large eyes with their lack of sharp angles, and the soft lines of the face—a direct contrast to Carvel in every respect. Sensing her appraisal, Lifrey accepted her greeting with measured courtesy.

"Allow me to properly introduce myself at last. Second Prince of the Kingdom of Latiae—Lifrey."

The Haelton ducal genealogy unfurled rapidly in Elonia's mind, that vast architecture she'd been force-fed over weeks of study. Lifrey's name was in there. And the most arresting detail about it: he was a mage of considerable renown.

The moment that registered, Elonia drew a quiet breath.

'He didn't even need to tell me to come down, did he?'

No wonder he'd declared he could catch her without looking. He was someone who could have pulled her down with minimal effort at any point he chose. And catching someone climbing the walls of his cousin's estate—no one would find that strange at all. With the pleasantries concluded, Carvel spoke as though he'd been waiting for exactly this moment.

"Had you sent word a little earlier, I could have arranged a more fitting introduction. A shame."

"I stopped by on my way to the imperial palace. I heard you'd recently become engaged, elder brother."

"The Prince Lifrey I know would send word a week in advance."

Carvel's smile remained as he made the observation. Lifrey inclined his head briefly—a short, unhurried acknowledgment—and Carvel continued as though he understood the full picture:

"It seems my uncle was most eager for news. To have sent Your Highness all this way."

The only person he'd call uncle was the King of Latiae. To an unfamiliar ear, it might have sounded like warm family conversation. But there was an undercurrent beneath it—subtle, unmistakable once you knew where to listen. Elonia had spent a month in the ducal estate. She caught it immediately.

'He's smiling. That means he's displeased.'

Lifrey caught it just as quickly.

"You did announce it rather abruptly, elder brother. My father had every reason to be surprised. As was I."

"I even sent word explaining it was for health reasons. His impatience hasn't changed at all, I see."

At the familiar jab, Lifrey's blue eyes slid briefly toward Elonia. He'd watched her climbing walls. There was no particular reason to believe the health excuse. Yet Carvel remained remarkably unyielding—turning toward Elonia with the ease of a man who had never once second-guessed himself.

"Fortunately, it seems she's recovered considerably. The worry I've been carrying all this time..."

The absolute nerve. Ha.

Elonia managed an awkward smile and nodded.