Episode 19
He had clearly heard that the intermediary was caught by Princess Iranelia while attempting to poison her. And rumor had it that Arman himself confessed it in person.
So how was he still alive?
If someone is caught trying to assassinate a member of the royal family, immediate execution is entirely possible.
Yet, Princess Iranelia kept Arman by her side as her personal attendant—the very man who tried to kill her.
At first, Getellin had believed Arman betrayed him.
He had flown into a rage, thrashing about in fury—until he belatedly remembered why Arman had agreed to poison the princess in the first place.
Arman’s father was still in the hands of Count Getellin.
Father and son only had each other to rely on, which made their bond even stronger.
He would never betray me and abandon his father.
Besides, if Arman had truly betrayed him, the King of Luxor would have been informed that Count Getellin was the mastermind.
The king might be foolish and hopelessly soft-hearted, but he cherishes his family obsessively. He’s so clueless about intrigue that he doesn’t even know how to conduct a secret investigation.
If he learned who was behind it, the palace would have erupted in chaos as he tried to arrest Getellin immediately.
Therefore, Arman hadn’t betrayed him.
With his not-so-brilliant brain, Getellin arrived at a barely plausible conclusion.
Maybe he could use Arman to manipulate the royal household even further.
Thus, he decided to meet Arman face-to-face.
“Depending on your answer, the price of failure will change.”
The moment Getellin finished speaking, Arman dropped to his knees.
“I apologize, my lord. I let the princess know that you were the one who ordered it.”
“What?!”
Getellin bolted to his feet, wide awake.
Arman continued, voice trembling, unable to even look at him.
“Princess Iranelia is far too perceptive… I had no choice.”
“No choice? You sold me out to save your own skin! Guards! Bring me his father—”
“I didn’t sell you out. Please, just listen to me.”
“Listen? To you?!”
Getellin grabbed whatever was within reach and hurled it. One of the ink bottles struck Arman’s head and shattered against the floor.
Arman stared at the blood dripping into the spilled ink, then lowered himself even more.
“Give me more time, and I can kill her.”
Getellin stopped raging. The sight of blood seemed to calm him. He sat heavily back into his chair.
“Forget it. You and your father are both dead men. I’ll use someone else.”
“The youngest princess may look innocent, but she sees everything. Even if you send someone else, it won’t be easy.”
He had a point. In the past few days, Getellin had tried multiple approaches.
Yet Princess Iranelia slipped away from danger like a bar of wet soap, the more force he applied.
“Hmph.”
When Getellin made a displeased noise, Arman spoke again, voice still shaking.
“You ordered me to act as a double agent. But I don’t want to betray you, my lord.”
He had already proven his loyalty.
He maintained contact through the intermediary, and recently he had even sent information that the king planned to conduct a surprise wealth-inspection to collect taxes.
Thanks to that warning, Getellin successfully hid his assets.
Deep in thought, Getellin twisted his beard. Arman wiped his blood and folded his hands politely.
“They don’t have the power to save my father. They’re not wealthy or backed by an army like you, my lord.”
“Hm. True. True enough.”
“If you give me more time, I’ll earn her trust and kill the princess. And if we pin the blame on the most troublesome person… you can eliminate two people at once.”
“Oh?”
Getellin finally looked impressed.
“Very well. If this succeeds, I will release your father, return the land I took as collateral, and erase your debts.”
Arman did not answer. He only bowed deeply.
If he could get rid of the princesses who were such thorns in his side, Getellin didn’t care about the money he took from Arman’s family.
Besides—Arman was still terrified of him, even after coming up with a plan to save himself.
“We’ll say Princess Kinesia hired you.”
Truthfully, Getellin wanted to frame Duke Amir. But Duke Amir was no fool.
His military strength and finances already surpassed those of the Epiphanes Kingdom.
No one even understood why he still paid taxes to Epiphanes instead of declaring independence.
If Getellin provoked him and the duke used it as an excuse to break away, the kingdom would fall into immediate financial ruin.
And that would be the end of Getellin’s wealth and glory.
“How much time do you need?”
“Just two more weeks.”
“Fine. But your father won’t stay in a comfortable cell. He’s going to the mines. Hurry and finish the job. If you take too long and he dies from the labor, that will be your problem.”
“……Yes, my lord.”
I sat at a good vantage point overlooking the training yard, sipping tea.
Only about five people came out to train regularly. Of them, maybe three had decent character.
Watching the mess that called itself a knight order, I clicked my tongue and turned my head.
A maid instantly caught my eye.
Suspicious.
I watched her closely as she poured my drink—specifically, the inside of her sleeve.
I, Irane Philotymeomai Veloas.
Thirty years on assassination target lists. I’ve met over two hundred assassins in my lifetime.
You can fool others, but not me.
Every time she moved, the shape of her arm bulged oddly—as though something solid was hidden underneath.
Like, say… a stiletto perfect for stabbing vital points.
“What are you planning now?”
Ponent glared at me. Tsk, rude brat.
This is why I tried to leave him behind, but he insisted on tagging along, only to nag me.
I flicked his forehead, then suddenly hooked my foot around the maid’s ankle. She hopped back lightly, avoiding it.
Well, well. Quick reflexes.
Without hesitation, I splashed juice at her. This time she couldn’t dodge; her apron soaked through.
“My apologies. Your clothes are wet; go take a break.”
“I’m fine, Your Highness.”
“Are you refusing a direct command from a royal?”
The maid exhaled sharply and turned to leave.
Behind me, Ponent muttered in awe:
“Holy—she’s insane.”
Calling me insane? For testing a suspicious maid?
“Did a tyrant’s soul possess you or something?”
Possessed, yes. Tyrant? Absolutely not, you disrespectful brat.
I flicked his forehead again.
He exploded, and Kinesia and Logrie quickly grabbed him.
“You—! I swear—let go! I’m ending this today! LET GO!”
“Tsk. Who did he inherit such a temper from?”
Kinesia stared at me.
That look again—the is your conscience dead or alive look.
“What? You want a forehead bruise too?”
She turned away. Apparently, her forehead is precious.
“Calm down, Ponent.”
“Yeah, buddy. Breathe.”
Relaxing, I watched them restrain him and lifted my glass—
Still empty.
I beckoned Arman over with a finger.
“Juice.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
He approached and poured the drink.
I stared at him, then poked the dried blood on his temple.
Arman flinched violently.
“Are you a honeybee in your past life? You buzz like one every time I touch you.”
“S-sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Hm… Where were you last night? Didn’t see you.”
“Well, um…”
He glanced nervously at the two men beside me and bowed his head low.
I took a sip.
No poison.
“Whatever. What happened to your forehead?”
“I just… injured it.”
“Kinesia. You still have that salve from last time?”
“Yeah. A little.”
“Have someone bring it.”
When the ointment arrived, I gestured.
He bowed his head and clasped his hands behind his back.
“You’re old enough to know better. Try not to be so sloppy.”
I applied the ointment to his wound.
“Your flaws reflect on your master. Maintain yourself properly.”
Arman touched the treated area repeatedly.
Understandable. The salve was infused with strong divine power—something only saints or high clergy can make.
In other words: rare and extremely expensive.
Only royalty could obtain it.
Well—wealthy royalty. Epiphanes peasants couldn’t dream of it.
Then that brat must already have wealth comparable to royalty.
I glanced at Logrie Amir. He stared at Arman, expression unreadable, something clearly bothering him.
Temperamental little kid.
Clicking my tongue, I gently removed the scab that was barely hanging on.
Fresh skin had formed beneath it, so it came off easily.
Even while I flicked the dried scab from my fingers, Arman remained bent politely.
“You’re done for today. Go rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“Do as I say.”
As I brushed aside his falling bangs, our eyes met. His dark green irises darted away nervously.
I withdrew my hand and whispered:
“You must be tired after last night’s long trip. Oh, Count Getellin’s estate isn’t that far, is it?”
Arman’s pupils dilated instantly.
For a moment he forgot to breathe.
Then a trembling exhale escaped his lips.
