DYPIOOP Chapter 17

Don't Use Perfume

'Does Carvel even have imperial connections?'

Among the personal information she'd been forced to memorize alongside history—Carvel included—she'd found no mention of Aselir's name. The files had listed his close associates and even the knights stationed at the Haelton estate. She'd learned far more than she'd wanted to know about her supposed fiancé, including such riveting details as how his clothing was most casual when he visited the training grounds in the morning, or that his aide Greythur had suffered a bout of gastritis three years ago. The point being: they'd documented these utterly useless tidbits while leaving Aselir completely unmentioned.

'If she's visiting the estate, shouldn't they be close?'

From Carvel's behavior, this was absolutely not a comfortable relationship.

'Don't tell me Aselir is the only one who thinks they're close...'

Even as the thought formed, Elonia shook her head slightly at the absurdity. Aselir lacked for nothing. Perfect appearance, background as the next in line for the imperial throne, the reverence people voiced in unison. Rumors circulated openly that the Emperor favored her for resembling the Imperial Consort so closely.

'She really lives life on her own level.'

According to the information she'd memorized, even someone this flawless didn't believe in spirits. Most people didn't, so it wasn't particularly strange. As she covertly observed them with darting eyes, Elonia felt an odd prickling sensation on the side of her face. When she turned her head, Lifrey's aquamarine eyes were boring into her. She recalled how he'd told her to request help at the ducal estate. He might suspect the engagement itself. Elonia ran a quick mental checklist.

'Hair's fine, dress is perfect, the frail act is...'

That's the problem! No wonder Carvel had told her to collapse if uncertain. That had been genuine advice. Elonia gathered her very soul to channel a sickly emotional register.

As she concentrated, someone's voice called out.

"I heard Lady Devney is a spirit mage. The Empire's glory."

Aselir, who'd been greeting Carvel beside her, was now watching Elonia with expectant eyes. To think even Aselir—whom she'd never expected to encounter in this lifetime—would say such things. It drove home just how extraordinary the position of spirit mage truly was. Aselir added warmly:

"How do you find this ball held in your honor?"

Everything about the woman was perfect. Her speech, her manners, even her comportment—flawless, yet kind besides. She seemed gentle but never weak. Somehow, despite appearing infinitely delicate, she projected strength.

'I suppose someone discussed as the next Emperor really is different.'

Elonia swallowed her questions and replied:

"I'm grateful for such a warm welcome."

"I worried so much it might not suit your tastes."

Had previous spirit mages thrown tantrums about disliking balls? Otherwise, this question made no sense. Having never attended enough balls for comparison, she couldn't say, but at least everything she'd been taught at the ducal estate had been present. Aselir smiled brightly and asked:

"I've been so curious what kind of person you are. When did you first see spirits?"

"Not terribly long ago."

"How fascinating. Did spirits suddenly become visible to you?"

"Yes, exactly. I first encountered one in an unknown gentleman's beard."

She couldn't very well say it was a magistrate's beard, so she deflected appropriately. At Elonia's calm answer, Aselir repeated in surprise:

"Beard... you say?"

"They're quite mischievous by nature. If your ribbons or accessories keep tilting, feel free to suspect."

She glanced pointedly at Aselir's jeweled ornament. The expensive-looking blue gem sat properly in her hair. But perhaps unable to verify it herself, Aselir simply smiled pleasantly.

"Does this happen when you speak with others as well?"

"Of course. Sometimes they'll suddenly show me someone's past without being asked."

More accurately, she had no choice but to see it, but let's move past that. At this answer mixed with appropriate truth, Aselir sighed softly. She grasped Elonia's hands and said with sympathy:

"How difficult that must be. To see even the private lives of those you don't wish to."

The moment she spoke, Lyatico perfume spread through the air as if someone had sprayed it. Instinctively, Elonia held her breath. One wrong move and she'd have grimaced openly before Aselir. Toward Elonia, who couldn't answer, Aselir kindly patted the back of her hand and said:

"You may enter the palace frequently from now on. If you need anything, please say so. The imperial family will spare no support for our one and only spirit mage."

Still holding her breath, Elonia responded with only a light nod instead of words. Then from beside her came the sound of a stifled laugh—pfft.

'He claims to dislike perfume, yet his face shows nothing.'

His smile looked no different before or after meeting Aselir. Carvel smoothly wrapped an arm around Elonia's shoulders and said protectively:

"We plan to visit His Majesty formally for the appointment soon. We'll see you then."

After the ball ended, the carriage ride home was quiet. Setting aside how her facial muscles had frozen from greeting people late into the night, Carvel's mood was decidedly foul. Not knowing why, Elonia asked while recalling the last glimpse of Aselir:

"Does His Highness Lifrey also cultivate Lyatico?"

"That's not his personality."

He was excessively proper, true. Aselir's intense perfume—whether only Elonia had noticed it, no one else had shown any sign. Anyone in that hall should have turned at such a strong scent, yet they'd all acted as though nothing smelled at all.

'So this is what power tastes like.'

Eventually, Elonia had even wondered if she was the only strange one. She'd inhaled it for so long that other scents seemed too faint—her sense of smell felt temporarily paralyzed.

[Where on earth do you keep picking up things like that?]

His Excellency Nyx, lounging comfortably in midair inside the carriage, glared at her with a grimace. Pinching his nose, he cried out as if unable to bear it:

[Look how it's filled the whole carriage.]

Since Carvel sat across from her, Elonia kept her mouth firmly shut. Nyx pouted and asked:

[What did you even do there? You had fun without me, didn't you?]

'If you'd shown even a hint of sociability, I could at least answer that...'

Sadly, it had truly been almost nothing but greetings. The young ladies hadn't taken turns holding her hand to dance like the debutantes she'd heard about in rumors. Well, she was already old enough to have had her coming-of-age ceremony. When she couldn't answer and kept her mouth clamped shut, Nyx folded his arms with satisfaction.

[Right. How could it be fun without me? The atmosphere only comes alive when I dance just like this in the center of the hall.]

Spinning in midair, he wobbled briefly as if dizzy. Elonia signaled with her eyes for him to be quiet. She mouthed 'later,' but Nyx didn't listen. Instead, he slowly circled around Elonia. A refreshing lightness spread from her head through her entire body. He reclined brazenly in the air and said:

[Where did you even spray perfume that doesn't suit you at all?]

'Spray it? It rubbed off from being nearby.'

Having no way to know this, Nyx rattled off his perfume preferences:

[Nothing beats Cool Water scent. You know Cool Water? If it's not that, I can't accept it.]

He circled Elonia again. Though she'd likely never need it, she thought that unless it was Cool Water scent, spraying perfume would be pointless. Just then, Carvel's hand moved. Elonia's shoulders jumped slightly, thinking she'd been caught signaling Nyx. Carvel ran a hand through his hair and said:

"You startle excessively."

His voice sounded duller than during the ball, almost flat. He returned his gaze to the documents in his hand. After flipping through several pages, Carvel spoke first.

"You needn't worry much about the tea party. Looking at the guest list, if you do as you did today, there should be no problems."

"As I did today?"

"Yes."

"By 'as today,' you mean greet everyone appropriately and make small talk mixed with personal information to everyone present?"

"You understand perfectly."

He responded leisurely, showing her the documents. So that's what he'd been reading—apparently the guest list Countess Fellan had mentioned. To obtain even the guest list in less than a day. Elonia leaned back as far as possible in the carriage that had nowhere else to go. It held no real meaning, but she wanted to maintain even that much distance.

"Where on earth do you learn such things?"

"Trade secret."

"Wait, you're from a swordsmanship family, what kind of trade—"

She let her pursed lips serve as her answer. Carvel calmly flipped through the documents and said:

"Don't say anything unnecessary when you go. I'll attach a guard."

"A... a guard?"

"House Haelton has many capable knights."

"That's not you, though, right?"

"Did you see me that way?"

Before indignant Elonia could protest, he cut in with a slight grin:

"I'll attach a knight slightly less capable than me."

Elonia lost her words at the absurdity. Wasn't he embarrassed to say such things himself? Did the shield shape on the Haelton crest symbolize shamelessness? As she gaped wordlessly, Carvel held out the document with the guest list. She reached to take it, but her arm was too short to reach. No—her arm was average. This was the ducal carriage's fault for being unnecessarily spacious. Just as she started to rise slightly to snatch the list—rattle—the carriage jolted over what must have been a stone. Before she could even scream, her body pitched forward. To avoid falling, she braced both arms on either side of him. She'd inadvertently trapped Carvel in her small embrace. In truth, 'collapsed onto' would be more accurate than 'embraced.'

He let out a quiet hum and said, "How bold. Should I at least pretend to be flustered?"

"No, no. Please don't. This is the carriage's fault."

"Shall I summon the coachman for questioning?"

"Just try it."

Why torment the innocent coachman? Elonia struggled to right her awkward position. Rising without touching a single hair on his head proved difficult. His long legs made it even harder to find her balance with her hips thrust back so far. Carvel enjoyed her suffering. He lightly lifted a long strand of hair that had fallen forward and kissed it.

"What are you doing?"

"It was right there in front of me."

At his absurd words, as she pulled her neck back—rattle. The carriage jolted again. Her vision, barely holding steady, wobbled briefly. Elonia, who'd been managing not to touch him at all, thought this was the end.

'Fine. Let's just boldly grip his shoulders and get up. We touched plenty during the ball anyway, so now...'

She'd wanted to keep clean boundaries in private matters, but what choice did she have? Just as she resolved herself, a firm arm lightly wrapped around her.