The green eyes shimmered softly in the sunlight as they blinked.
Every time she smiled, the thin corners of her lips curved up sharply. The rumors that the young lady of the Rubian Marquis House had been seriously ill had spread throughout the capital, so the hands that tried to touch Jeril were careful and hesitant.
“……It’s not that serious, though?”
Feeling embarrassed, she scratched her nose. What remained in people’s minds were just the remnants of that day—and the blue rain.
Realizing once again that everyone had forgotten the incident, Jeril casually let a minor purification spell slip from her arm that touched Ian’s.
“I wish Ian had treated them personally that day.”
A pang of guilt passed through her.
“I’ll guide you to my office. Lord Lebelin, will you be coming as well?”
“No, that’s fine. Jeril, I’ll visit later, so don’t be surprised.”
“Hmm……Wait, don’t try to come in that way again!”
Jeril shouted, recalling Chelsea crawling out from the middle of the room earlier.
Waving his hand lazily as if to shoo off her nagging, Ian spoke to her:
“You seem to be quite close with the young marquis.”
“Oh, we’ve known each other since childhood.”
Small talk continued. Jeril took the chance to ask about all the news she had been curious about. Information from the Rubian Marquis House was far too limited.
“Has the Crown Prince gotten out of bed yet?”
The rumors of him being near death weren’t entirely false; he had been in seclusion for almost a month.
According to circulating gossip, he had been severely injured fighting spies from the Freca Kingdom, or had been struck by a sword while protecting his lover, the Saintess. The truth—that he had been utterly beaten by Caron—had been conveniently disguised.
“Well… he’s still recovering.”
“Then he’s unable to participate in public activities.”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“And the Saintess?”
Jeril let her curiosity slip. Since the banquet incident, the Saintess had returned to her temple.
‘It seems that the mastermind behind that group is not the Crown Prince, but the Saintess.’
She was clearly plotting something.
“She recently returned to the capital.”
With that, Ian opened the door to his office. Jeril couldn’t help but admire the room, so neat and precise, clearly mirroring its owner.
The antique leather chairs and dark mahogany desk seemed inherited directly from predecessors. The documents on the desk were aligned perfectly, leaving no room for disorder.
“Make yourself comfortable, Jeril.”
He pulled out a document, the reason Jeril had stepped into the palace in the first place:
First Knights: Healer Mage Employment Contract
“Have you made up your mind?”
Jeril had received an offer to work at the palace a month ago. Those who remembered that day urged her to refuse, but her thoughts were different:
‘If I want to keep an eye on the Crown Prince and the Saintess, it’s better to be close.’
She had no intention of letting the blue spot incident pass.
‘I’ll expose them completely, leave them in shambles.’
Even if no one remembered now, once their misdeeds accumulated, their downfall was inevitable.
‘In that sense, settling in the palace isn’t a bad idea.’
It wasn’t justice that motivated her—just a struggle to protect her own life. She didn’t want to live swayed by every little gesture of the main players.
‘I’ll strip them clean, down to the last corn.’
A faint blue aura emanated from her clenched fist. Perhaps misunderstanding Jeril’s silence as hesitation, Ian retrieved the document.
“You can still think it over.”
“Oh, it’s not that……”
“But having Jeril by my side would be reassuring.”
The melancholic beauty gave a wistful smile—a strategy aimed at Jeril, who was weak to charm.
“I’ve decided. Give it to me.”
Just as she snatched the paper, there was a knock on the door: Knock, knock.
“Director, Duke Lepret has arrived…”
“Step aside.”
“You can’t just barge in like that!”
Despite being born nobly, the man who ignored etiquette stepped over the threshold. Caron approached slowly, a cigar clenched in his crooked grin.
Each swing of his black hair released a faint scent of herbs, mingling with the acrid smell of smoke in the office.
“Viscount Persche, is this what you call a draft… Rubian?”
Ian’s amber eyes widened slightly at the unexpected visitor.
‘…Why are you here?’
Jeril was flustered; he was the one most opposed to her palace employment.
Caron, with a startled, rabbit-like expression, tossed the cigar aside, leaving a small burn mark on Ian’s pristine antique chair.
“Why are you here?”
“I should be asking you that.”
“Don’t dodge the question.”
He quickly scanned the desk. Jeril hid the papers, but Caron had already seen them.
“An employment contract?”
“Eh? I don’t understand. Ian, I’ll go first.”
“Where are you going?”
“To see you off.”
Jeril tried to slip past, but Caron blocked the way like a living barrier. His already sharp eyes grew even sharper.
With a slow smile, like a predator luring a frightened prey, Caron planted his black boots firmly in the doorway.
“Shall we talk this through properly, Duke?”
“No!”
Her second escape attempt was denied. Ian, observing silently, spoke coldly:
“Do not threaten the lady.”
“Threaten?”
“You appear afraid.”
A strange tension filled the room. It wasn’t exactly scary, but… Jeril’s eyes darted around nervously. Caron seemed to have other thoughts.
Clutching the contract tightly to his chest, he let out a small curse, then finally stepped aside.
“I’ll wait outside.”
The door closed with a soft thud, leaving an awkward silence. Jeril felt uneasy—like witnessing someone getting scolded in someone else’s house.
“Uh, Ian, I’ll be going now.”
“…I’ll see you off.”
“No, I have matters to discuss with Caron. I’ll send the contract by mail.”
For some reason, there was no reply. Jeril gave a polite nod and left. The office was left alone, filled with the lingering scent of smoke.
“…Caron, huh?”
Ian muttered the name, frowning as he noticed something unusual. On the chair Jeril had been sitting in lay a small yellow handkerchief.
“She left her handkerchief behind.”
A rare impulse struck him. Picking it up, Ian stepped out of the office.
Jeril, having exited Ian’s office, quickly glanced around. Fortunately, Caron, who had threatened to wait at the door, was gone.
‘Maybe he’s hiding nearby?’
Still suspicious, she grabbed a passing servant and asked:
“Have you seen a black-haired man who looks scary?”
“Are you referring to His Grace, Duke Lepret?”
“Yes, that’s him.”
The servant immediately pointed to the end of the corridor, leading to the carriage storage area.
“He passed through there earlier.”
“Thanks!”
Better not to look that way at all. Jeril headed toward the knights’ entrance, where the Rubian Marquis carriage was waiting.
By the time her body had roughly recovered from using the blue purification magic, she had nearly clashed with Caron, who came periodically to check on her.
‘It was the day I declared I would go undercover in the palace to investigate the Crown Prince and the Saintess.’
Leon, Chelsea, and the organization members opposed her, but only Caron refused to yield.
‘But there’s a reason I must do it.’
Since then, she had resolved to avoid discussing that topic with him as much as possible. Though with Ian aware of her scheming, it would be difficult.
“Better sign and submit the contract quickly.”
Jeril stepped onto the carriage steps, perfectly aligned as before.
That’s when she noticed something odd:
“Huh? The Marquis’ carriage is a lighter brown….”
