Chapter 21

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter Title: Chapter 21

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“Do you feel like obeying my orders now?”

Florence asked in a voice intoxicated with triumph.

To think she believed a knight who gripped a sword would cower from a mere slap on the cheek.

In a way, it was a remarkably naive conviction.

“Luisa, could you fetch me a wet cloth?”

Iona turned to Luisa, who stood behind her, and asked.

Shocked by the scene unfolding before her eyes, Luisa snapped out of it after a moment and hurried off to retrieve the item.

Iona then shifted her gaze to the maid beside her.

“Ridge, go straight to the Knight Commander and tell her I'm invoking emergency authority under Security Protocol Article 4.”

A faint flicker of bewilderment crossed Florence's face.

She seemed aware only that things were veering off course, but had no clue what this emergency authority meant.

Iona kindly spelled out her current predicament for the clueless opponent.

“Lady Florence, for the charge of obstructing official duties, we are immediately expelling you from the palace grounds. We'll escort you home, so please follow the knights' guidance.”

Laying hands on an Imperial Knight during duty was treated as a grave offense. Because those they protected were none other than the imperial family.

To prevent security breaches from intimidation or assault, punishment applied regardless of the offender's status.

Iona concluded her explanation in a businesslike tone.

“The precise duration of the entry ban will be communicated later after consultation with superiors. Knight Hardy, Knight Pattison—escort Miss Florence beyond the palace walls.”

“What utter nonsense have you been spouting? Have you lost your mind?!”

Florence shrieked in fury.

Perhaps raised delicately as an only child, her voice lacked Ivonne's power.

“Expel me from the palace? Ha! How insolent. Fine—bring the Knight Commander here. I'll confront her right to her face.”

“If that's what you want, we can proceed with more formal protocols. Though I doubt gathering a crowd to recount your actions here is the wisest move.”

Iona replied with unruffled composure.

At that moment, one of the maids waiting behind Florence approached and whispered in her ear. Florence's expression gradually stiffened.

Evidently, her side had at least one sharp mind.

Once issued, an expulsion order was irrevocable by anyone short of royalty, per palace regulations.

Of course, Richardt—with the doors bolted shut—wouldn't emerge to rescue an uninvited guest.

Nor was bothering other imperial figures with such trifles a smart play.

Florence bit her lip, her face twisted in resentment.

“I'm the one destined to become His Highness Richardt's spouse. Can you shoulder the full fallout of this?”

Florence had enjoyed leeway for many breaches thanks to her fiancée status, but she wasn't yet officially imperial family.

And she never would be. She never married Richardt, after all.

Iona responded with breezy calm.

“Miss Florence, save that talk for after the national wedding.”

“……”

“When you can't even glimpse your fiancé's face now, how do you plan to march into the wedding hall?”

Iona gazed down at her with pity and a faint smile.

“Will you walk out gracefully on your own? Or must I drag you myself?”

Flames ignited in Florence's eyes.

She lunged threateningly at Iona, only to be swiftly subdued. The standby junior knights seized her arms.

Bound tight, Florence unleashed a piercing scream.

“Let me go! You all heard what that wench said!”

“Then we'll see the lady safely home.”

Iona accepted the water pouch from Luisa without sparing Florence a glance.

Hardy and Pattison, faces etched with doubt, nonetheless hauled her away as ordered—likely assuming some directive from Richardt.

None existed, of course. But even if it irked him, it hardly mattered. She was quitting soon anyway.

Now there's no need to play nice anymore.

Her one and only liege. A comrade spanning over half a lifetime. A nest in lieu of family...

In the past, Richardt had been Iona's everything.

If asked whether she truly cherished him, she couldn't claim yes—yet she'd strained to please him regardless. For without him, Iona was nothing.

Wrong.

Iona herself had rendered her existence worthless.

No one respects a life bent solely to flattering others.

The sole gain from such existence? Pity, thin as gruel.

Yes—like the gentle maid now eyeing her with concern.

“Are you alright?”

It wasn't worry over repercussions. Assuming Iona had endured this for Richardt's sake, Luisa checked on her well-being first.

Iona answered curtly.

“No.”

“His Highness must truly intend to call off the engagement.”

“I don't know.”

“...Was this your solo call?”

“My cheek hurt too much from the slaps.”

Iona replied candidly, pressing the pouch back to her cheek.

Thick makeup would be her lot for a while yet.

How to navigate high society looking like this?

“You've been off lately, Knight Iona.”

Luisa blurted. Iona parried smoothly.

“Marriage is life's grand crossroads, after all.”

“That's precisely the odd part.”

Luisa's eyes narrowed. But grasping the shift's root? Beyond her—she soon looked away.

Luisa deflated her shoulders with a sigh.

“Well, someone like that lording over us? We'd suffer most.”

Fortunate, then. Luisa would serve no such master henceforth.

Iona proffered the cloth from her cheek to Luisa.

“I'll head out first, then. The Commander's likely en route.”

“Pardon? Not reporting in person?”

“Tell her severe mental trauma forced an early exit.”

Saskia would divine the fiasco from that alone.

Expelling the Crown Prince's fiancée no less—she'd inspect personally, spawning tiresome follow-ups and interrogations.

Iona had destinations today; better a performance ding than overtime captivity.

Next year's raise? Irrelevant to a retiree-in-waiting.

“Oughtn't you bid His Highness farewell at least?”

“Parade this state before His Highness's security?”

“...Best just go.”

Luisa relented, releasing her.

Iona strode the corridor at a near-run, leaving her behind.

Early dismissal magic?

Pain ebbed with every step from the worksite.

Blasting from the Crown Prince's Palace into sunlight, Iona broke into a full sprint.

Her inbound mount waited at the stable—Knight Order building's rear.

Route risked clashing with news-hearing Saskia outbound. Early dreams dashed.

Should've delayed Ridge a tad.

Impulse blinded her to fallout.

Luckily, maids like Ridge wouldn't bolt thus. Pace right, slip past unseen.

Iona stifled a sigh, powering her legs.

Slapped on duty, yet no early leave guaranteed? What a workplace.

Resignation: the only fix.

Her ironclad resolve hardened further.