Chapter 22
“Still, if the duke’s daughter is jealous enough to show it, I’m glad their relationship seems good.”
“I know. I heard it’s a political marriage.”
“But so far, it feels one-sided from the duke’s daughter… She’s always the one who comes to see him first.”
Without realizing it, the maids had begun to empathize with Cecilia, and they all sighed together.
“Still, His Highness wouldn’t cheat…”
“Right. That part we don’t need to worry about.”
They nodded together—
but only for a moment. Soon, they exchanged looks, thinking the same thing.
All men are the same.
“…We don’t have to worry, right?”
“….”
The Second Prince they had seen was absolutely not that kind of person,
but where in the world did absolute truly exist?
Whenever Cecilia came to the imperial palace, she always sought out the Second Prince—
even baking cookies herself, despite being a duke’s daughter.
Suddenly, the maids felt a little sorry for her.
“If something happens between them… I’ll take the duke’s daughter’s side.”
“Me too.”
“Me three.”
Of course, Cecilia had no idea that somewhere in the Second Prince’s palace,
she had gained such reliable allies.
* * *
That night, I sent the blue bird to the Second Prince’s palace once more.
This time, alone, without Eunice.
Because I sent it deliberately late, Lionel should have already been asleep
when the blue bird arrived.
According to his schedule, that was certain.
But today as well, Lionel was sitting neatly at his desk.
With the window wide open.
Did he leave it like this for me to come in?
He was the Second Prince—
what if an assassin sneaked in through an open window like this?
This isn’t a trap to catch me… right?
After some thought, I landed the blue bird on the windowsill.
Then I pressed the buttons for tilting its head, fixing its tail feathers, flapping its wings, and walking in tiny steps several times.
But Lionel kept writing,
as if he hadn’t noticed anything.
Still hasn’t realized?
Carefully, I moved the controller and sent the blue bird into the room.
First, to hide its presence, I placed it on top of the wardrobe—
and there was a cookie.
Broken in half, but neatly placed on a handkerchief.
A raspberry cookie.
“This… the one I baked…”
So that’s why he took it?
Not to throw it away?
Ugh… now I feel like trash for misunderstanding.
Scratching the back of my neck in embarrassment,
I looked toward Lionel, unsure what to do.
He was still staring down at his notebook,
his back perfectly straight.
But the hand holding the fountain pen had stopped moving.
He must have noticed the movement here.
Was he curious?
Whether the blue bird would eat the cookie or not?
What should I do? I’m not a real bird, so I can’t eat it.
Still, he brought it with sincerity.
How could I ignore that?
After thinking, I used the beak and feet to break the cookie apart.
The total amount didn’t decrease,
but since it was shattered, he would probably assume it had been pecked a little.
Should I add a cookie-eating function to the magic tool?
If I install a vacuum magic circuit, it might work like a mini cleaner…
But then where would the cookie crumbs be stored?
While thinking that and watching Lionel,
five minutes passed, then ten—
and he still didn’t move at all.
I wondered if he had fallen asleep like that,
so I moved the blue bird near the desk—
to the very edge, where his hand couldn’t reach.
Finally, Lionel lifted his head,
and our eyes met through the crystal.
It was such a direct gaze that I flinched for a moment.
Of course, he couldn’t know I was behind the bird’s eyes.
Silence.
“What? Why aren’t you talking?
Yesterday you talked just fine.”
Even though he couldn’t hear my muttering,
Lionel stood up slowly,
took the water pitcher and saucer from the bedside table,
and poured a little water onto the saucer before sliding it toward the bird—
keeping some distance,
as if considering that it might be wary.
“Did he hear the cookie breaking…?”
After hesitating,
I moved the stick and approached the saucer.
Pretending to follow his intention,
I lowered the bird’s head and pressed the pecking button—
while secretly examining the notebook he had been writing in.
Because today, the flower encyclopedia wasn’t even open,
and I had been curious what he was writing so intently.
[Reason Cecile is angry]
“Huh?”
I thought he was handling some extremely important work—
but he was worrying about this?
And not just a few words.
The page was filled,
showing how seriously he had been thinking alone.
-
“When you see me, do you also think of a cattleya?” →
Was the problem that I guessed her feelings on my own? -
She recommended the cattleya as a gift for herself →
She actually did not like the begonia. -
I made her hold a pot full of soil with lace-gloved hands →
Perhaps there were bugs in it.
There were many other plausible concerns,
written neatly in elegant yet firm handwriting.
Half of them made me think,
Do I look like the kind of petty person who’d be angry over this?
But the other half felt so reasonable that I wondered
if I really had been angry for those reasons.
In a way…
he looked completely indifferent to others,
yet maybe he wasn’t.
Your feet got dirty.
“Feet?”
Reflexively, I looked down at my own feet in soft slippers—
then realized he meant not my feet,
but the blue bird’s.
So I lowered the bird’s head and looked.
“Ah, ink got on them.”
While hurrying around to read the notebook,
it must have stepped on letters where the ink hadn’t dried yet.
Good thing I even carved the bird’s foot shape, just in case.
Looking at the tiny arrow-shaped footprints left on the page,
I suddenly thought, Whatever,
and made it hop all over them.
Soon, the words Lionel had carefully written
became a complete mess.
Beep! Beep-beep!
I pressed the chirping and wing-flapping buttons,
joyfully running around the notebook.
But Lionel didn’t stop me.
Instead, as if encouraging more fun,
he came closer and drew lines with his pen
so fresh ink would spread on the page.
They say when someone actually gives you a stage,
you suddenly can’t perform—
but that didn’t apply to me.
I stamped ink on the bird’s feet,
wandered across the notebook,
then even made Lionel turn to the next page—
and drew a flower on it.
A flower?
Yes, yes!
Beep-beep!
To tell him that was correct,
I chirped and flapped my wings once.
For a moment I considered adding a clapping motion with the wings,
but that felt too human, so I stopped.
“Ah, this is fun.”
Never in my life did I imagine
I would ruin a prince’s notebook—
right in front of the owner himself.
Still… this is really unexpected.
It wasn’t even his pet bird,
just a bird that suddenly flew in from outside
and made a mess of his notebook—
yet he wasn’t angry?
Or maybe…
did he used to play like this with a bird he raised as a child?
Since he even prepared the stage,
he really doesn’t seem angry…
As I looked up at Lionel, still standing by the desk—
something entered my sight.
“…Huh?”