Episode 17
Asha was a little confused right now.
Was this man giving her practical tips for surviving life in the imperial palace—
or was he just mocking her in a roundabout way?
What was certain was that the disdain in his tone, which had been sharp enough to feel insulting earlier, had now softened.
But why?
‘Did I look pitiful when I pretended to be meek?’
That seemed like a plausible guess.
In cliché-filled romance novels, big, scary-looking men often turned out to be weak to pitiful women.
And if that woman also happened to be naïve yet quick to learn what she was taught—
then she could easily win them over.
Asha decided this was her chance to win Jerold—who was close to Alesto—over to her side.
Even if he hadn’t been close to Alesto, it would still be worth it.
After all, even though the original novel wasn’t exactly a palace intrigue story,
in any narrative set in the imperial palace, it was always useful to earn favor with anyone who held any kind of power—
whether that was authority, wealth, or influence.
If she was going to live as the heroine of this story, she would have loved to be clever and cunning enough to manipulate those around her.
But… she knew her limits.
Even as flattery, she couldn’t call herself smart.
It would be better to seem kind, harmless, and maybe even a little foolish—
someone who inspired others’ instinct to protect her.
‘…Oh? That’s actually a really good idea.’
It might even work on Alesto, that man who was only gentle to “his woman.”
And if she acted just naïve enough, it might make her daily life here a lot easier.
‘Maybe I should just pretend not to notice when people mock me.’
Admittedly, it stung to think that way—
but pretending not to hear or understand someone’s insults was something she’d had plenty of practice with.
Now that she’d decided on the mindset and attitude she would live with from now on,
Asha carefully parted her lips.
“Um, so then…”
“Yes, please speak freely,” Jerold replied.
“Thank you…?”
The moment Asha thanked him, Jerold squeezed his eyes shut.
‘Damn it.’
He almost cursed out loud.
At this point, she wasn’t just gentle—she was stupidly gentle.
“What exactly are you thanking me for?” he asked sharply, unable to hold back his irritation.
Asha blinked up at him with those same innocent eyes.
“Because you told me to make use of His Highness the Crown Prince. I’ll make sure to use him well.”
Her eyes sparkled proudly, as if she’d just learned something valuable.
And the way she spoke—so clear and confident—
if someone else had overheard, they would have thought she was quite the smart young lady.
‘I’m going to lose my mind.’
At the same time, Jerold suddenly understood why his brother had called this woman his ideal type.
She wasn’t hostile.
When she talked, there was no calculation—she just spoke exactly as she felt.
Asha was pure.
Painfully, impossibly pure.
Before he knew it, Jerold had forgotten all about how much she hadn’t measured up to his expectations.
Instead, he found himself worrying about her future in the palace.
He pressed his lips together, confused by his own reaction,
while Asha smiled inwardly at the softened look in his eyes.
Honestly, if she could secure both Alesto—the crown prince and potential tyrant—and Jerold, his right-hand man, as her allies,
then she’d have nothing to fear.
Even if the Grim Reaper himself came for her, she’d be ready to chase him away.
Feeling that reassuring thought settle in her chest, Asha couldn’t help but look pleased.
‘I’ll be able to live quite comfortably now.’
Of course, Jerold, watching her satisfied face, felt only unease…
That was the last thing the two said to each other.
When they arrived at the ballroom, Jerold escorted her inside,
and though they walked together, they didn’t exchange another word—almost as if it had been agreed upon beforehand.
From spring through early summer was the height of the imperial ballroom season.
During this time, nobles from across the empire and influential artists from far and wide all gathered in the capital.
They attended balls to network, strengthen connections,
and—more often than not—search for suitable marriage partners for themselves or their children.
Cedric, too, had come with similar intentions.
He needed to expand his circle of influence… and maybe find a lovely bride.
Of course, the graceful image of Lady Asha still lingered vividly in his mind,
but he couldn’t go on thinking about the crown prince’s fiancée forever.
“You wouldn’t believe it! A few days later, that cat brought all her kittens one by one into the courtyard!”
Cedric wasn’t remotely interested in hearing about the kittens in front of him,
but he smiled politely and nodded.
“They must have been adorable.”
“Of course! Have you ever seen kittens the size of your palm? You must come visit my estate and see them!”
Cedric let her chatter wash over him, pretending to listen while his gaze drifted to her hair.
The young lady in front of him resembled Asha only in hair color—
and even that wasn’t quite right; it was too dark, too coarse.
“Well then, I’ll take you up on that sometime. Ah, excuse me for a moment—Steward!”
Spotting his aide across the room, Cedric seized the chance to make his escape.
His steward greeted him with a beaming smile.
“I’d heard the capital’s spring balls were grand, but I never imagined this! And everyone seems so friendly toward you, my lord.”
Cedric nodded vaguely.
“Did you meet everyone we needed to?”
The steward blinked in surprise.
“Already leaving, my lord? But you said you’d be expanding your network—and perhaps meeting your ideal woman tonight?”
“She’s not here today. I’ll come again tomorrow.”
“Ah, I see. Well then—about the people we met today, I was thinking of sorting them into groups.
And for those clearly tied to His Highness’s faction—you know, the ones with residences near Blossom Palace—
I plan to send them a token tomorrow: salt and anchovies. What do you think?”
He fully expected the usual dismissive ‘Do as you wish’ reply.
But when none came, he frowned and turned around.
“My lord?”
Cedric was gone.
‘Where did he disappear to all of a sudden?’
As the steward retraced his steps, Cedric stood frozen not far away, his gaze fixed in one direction.
He had found Asha.
Out of all the countless people in the room, somehow she stood out—
as if she alone were illuminated by a hidden light.
He followed her with his eyes… and then realized something was off.
The crown prince wasn’t with her.
Cedric’s brow furrowed.
Sending one’s betrothed alone to a ball?
Unthinkable.
An unexplainable irritation flared in his chest—
and he felt his heart lurch.
Cedric was a marquis, a man of logic and restraint.
He prided himself on thinking before feeling.
But whenever it came to Asha, logic faltered.
His emotions surged first, raw and unfamiliar.
‘Is it normal to feel this shaken just from seeing her?’
Even as he acknowledged how strange it was, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
That radiant smile of hers looked somehow lonely,
and the sight made something deep in his chest ache.
He knew it wasn’t his concern—
and yet he couldn’t help wondering.
Could the crown prince truly love Asha while shouldering the full weight of the empire’s affairs?
Would she be lonely?
‘…If he could, he wouldn’t have sent her to the spring ball alone.’
Still staring at her, Cedric began to walk forward.
The moment Asha stepped into the ballroom, she was overwhelmed by awe.
The hall was even grander than she had imagined—
enormous, dazzlingly ornate.
A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling like a floating crown of light.
Columns carved like those of a heavenly temple lined the walls,
and painted frescoes covered the vaulted ceiling.
Thick, layered curtains draped luxuriously down,
and flowers filled the air with color and life.
It was a spectacle beyond compare.
As Asha lingered near an enormous vase of flowers on the upper floor,
Jerold stood silently behind her, his senses alert.
Something was bothering him.
He could feel eyes on them—on her.
Jerold’s gaze shifted to the man standing at the second-floor railing.
Then, calling over an attendant carrying champagne, he lowered his voice.
“The blond man up on the second-floor balcony,” he said quietly.
The attendant—nicknamed “Owl”—leaned closer and replied just as softly.
“If you mean the one in the white check suit with the gold neckerchief,
that’s Marquis Cedric Dalbert. He’s been chatting with a few nobles and ladies,
but nothing particularly noteworthy. Shall I find out who he spoke with?”
“No. Not necessary. Who would be best to keep tabs on him?”
“Owl” thought for a moment.
“Curtis, Huward, or Houser, I’d say.
If we’re trying to open negotiations on the southern sea routes,
it’d make sense to use one of the merchants.”
He listed three names, but Jerold knew the options were limited.
Huward and Houser likely hadn’t attended the ball tonight.
“Send Curtis,” Jerold ordered.
“I’ll pass along the message,” the attendant said, bowing before slipping away.
