Chapter 20

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter Title: Chapter 20

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I could plainly see him pretending to head for the exit while awkwardly ducking behind a pillar, but I didn't bother following.

My goal from the start had only been to quiet them down.

"Hey? Iona! Morning shift today? How was the person you met yesterday? Was he alright?"

"Ah, Knight Nick. Earlier, I saw Knight Commander Saskia looking for you."

Sure enough, the fellow knight approaching nearby promptly turned on his heel, his face turning a sickly green.

Even so, new piranhas who hadn't witnessed the fate of their predecessors kept swarming in endlessly.

"Lady Iona! I heard you went on a marriage meeting!"

"I thought you'd never marry your whole life—what's this about?"

"If even you get married like that, what about poor Knight Rainer..."

"Are you really getting married?"

"You can't even go home anyway! The commander said people like us shouldn't even think about marriage!"

As the crowd grew, it became hard to make out what anyone was saying.

I tried to keep my mouth shut and focus on my meal, but I couldn't completely ignore the gathering stares.

"I heard your match was so handsome—is it true?"

"Yeah, he was a handsome guy."

Iona dismissed it curtly and stood, gulping down her stew.

The knights' duties didn't end with just patrols and escorts. They often rolled around in the training grounds on their superiors' orders, barely getting off work late into the night.

How entertaining could gossip about a superior's love life be amid all that sweat?

Iona fled the dining hall in a hurry, escaping the cheering hyenas.

Of course, it wasn't particularly useful. She couldn't dodge the next person she ran into.

"How was the marriage meeting?"

It was the question that greeted Iona the moment she entered Richardt's chambers.

Richardt was leisurely sipping tea with a newspaper spread out on the dining table.

Judging by the childish word choice, it was obviously some cheap tabloid popular among the commoners.

There was no way any subordinate would voluntarily bring something like that to the crown prince of a nation—this had to be a prop prepared solely to tease her.

"Ah, of course, my ice knight must have captured the duke's heart in an instant."

Richardt's voice brimmed with unconcealed delight.

Iona shattered the mood with her reply.

"He seemed to dislike me."

A fleeting, satisfied smile tugged at Richardt's lips.

It was a marriage he'd tossed her into as a hassle, only to use it as an excuse to torment her—truly bad taste all around.

Iona asked abruptly.

"May I ask one thing?"

"Speak."

"Why did Your Highness choose me as Duke Leroy's match?"

Once she'd let go of wondering why Richardt had discarded her, only one question remained.

Why had he chosen her, of all people, to marry the duke?

If Richardt intended to ally with the duke, he shouldn't have proposed such a humiliating match.

Conversely, if he planned to completely break ties and force Leroy to his knees, she should have received more specific orders.

Yet Richardt had never tasked her with spying on the ducal house or assassinating related figures.

Of course, he hadn't given her nothing, but he'd never demanded secrets sensitive enough to cause real trouble if leaked.

What exactly did he hope to gain by placing his unusually obedient dog in such an awkward position?

"The knight I know wouldn't ask such a question."

Richardt deflected indifferently.

Irrelevant as the non-answer was, it was true. Iona had never questioned his "why" until her dying breath.

To avoid arousing suspicion, Iona silently apologized.

"If I've caused discomfort, I apologize."

After a brief silence, Richardt spoke.

"Iona, you're marrying solely by my command. No matter who I paired you with, you would have obeyed. Isn't that right?"

She certainly would have before, but the Iona now would look only to one person, no matter who Richardt ordered her to marry.

"It's not even a proper marriage to begin with, so don't trouble yourself with pointless worries. If you defy me over such trivialities..."

Richardt turned a page of the newspaper and finished softly.

"It would displease me..."

Iona didn't reply. Having no experience lying to him, she worried it might show.

Fortunately, he seemed to take her bowed head as submission and quickly lost interest in her.

His mood soured, he tossed the newspaper onto the table and stood.

"Lady Florence will be visiting soon."

"So hide. Stall her yourself."

With that, Richardt headed straight to his bedroom.

Iona stood quietly by the table while the maids cleared the meal.

She couldn't just leave because her charge was in a bad mood.

As Luisa pushed the tray out with the last plates, she whispered.

"If you'd just said you didn't want to marry, he might not have gotten so angry."

As if.

Questioning the intent behind an order couldn't be a greater sin than outright disobedience.

'He told me to block Lady Florence, so he must be in a real foul mood.'

Lady Florence Lanzhoff, Marchioness's daughter—she was Richardt's fiancée.

One peculiarity: she hated Iona with a vengeance.

Probably because Iona was the one who had to convey his refusals whenever he dodged his uninterested fiancée.

Speak of the devil.

Soon, a servant announced Lady Florence's arrival.

Iona swallowed a sigh and stepped out.

The moment Florence realized Iona was the one greeting her, her face twisted.

"Why are you coming out?"

"His Highness is still abed. Please wait in the drawing room, and I'll escort you as soon as he wakes."

"I remember being tricked by that same excuse and stuck in the drawing room for half a day last time."

To correct her: no one had locked her in, and it was Richardt, not Iona, who'd ignored his fiancée's visit.

Yet Florence had a habit of framing it all as Iona's fault.

"My apologies."

"Go tell Crown Prince that I'm here."

"I cannot do that. I'm sorry."

"Are you ignoring my words?"

"I must ask for your understanding."

Florence switched her fan to her left hand.

Iona could predict her next move but didn't stop it—more reflexive than rational.

Soon, a stinging pain landed on Iona's cheek.

'There are way too many right-handers in this world.'

The slap wasn't harder than before, but hitting the same spot Nils had struck made it hurt more than expected.

But showing pain was exactly what her opponent wanted.

Iona, face unchanging, clasped her hands behind her back and said.

"I'll escort you to the drawing room."

Slap.

Another hand flew. She hadn't expected that.

Slap.

Nor that one.

Wasn't venting anger supposed to be polite with just one strike?

Florence kept slapping Iona's cheek until her own hand turned beet red.

Florence tired out first, but Iona wasn't unscathed either.

In the end, her cheek swelled up like a loaf of bread again.

'I really was the neighborhood punching bag.'

Iona marveled anew.

Originally, she wasn't someone of lowly enough status to be treated this way.

But Florence knew all too well.

That Iona would never report this to Richardt and make a fuss, that the master's dog wouldn't dare bite the woman who would be his wife.

But there was one thing Florence didn't know.

Iona hadn't been the crown prince's dog for days now.

She had realized she was a person too.