Chapter 142
IF Side Story: What If Marmel Was a Dream Artisan and Sonidor Was a Princess? (5)
Her hands were delicate.
That’s how the princess described them.
It was a word that could never fit the Grand Duke—someone who never parted with his sword for even a moment.
Unless, of course, he was a dream artisan who rarely had reason for his hands to become rough, except maybe when doing household chores.
Marmel pulled away from her hand as she ran her fingers over the calluses, as if measuring them.
“……”
Sonidor’s eyes widened in surprise.
Marmel glanced at his own hands—the Grand Duke’s hands—and smiled bashfully.
“It’s embarrassing to hear someone call hands like these delicate.”
“Huh? No, really…”
They had seemed delicate.
Sonidor couldn’t continue, staring down at Giorgio’s hands.
As she knew well, they were covered in scars from countless swords, not at all something you could politely call delicate.
Yes, that’s right, those are the hands.
She knew it.
These were hands that had been through endless training, countless wars, and life-or-death encounters. She had touched them, held them, and clashed with them many times.
So why had she suddenly imagined otherwise?
Did he notice this time…?
Marmel grew tense at her silence, her eyes fixed on his hands.
Dreams rarely reproduce tactile sensations.
Even the dreamer usually doesn’t perceive such details. Checking a dream by pinching one’s cheek to see if it hurts is similar. Ordinary dreams were like that, but a dream crafted by a dream artisan should be even less self-aware.
It shouldn’t happen. Yet it did.
“Sorry. I said something strange.”
Sonidor tilted her head in confusion but soon concluded it must have been a mistake and apologized.
“But I wasn’t teasing. I really felt it for a moment.”
Strange. She had held his hands countless times.
She laughed lightly and added playfully,
“Maybe I like you too much?”
Her clear laughter filled the garden.
Marmel was briefly stunned.
There was such purity in the fleeting emotions on the princess’s face that it was hard to look away.
Who could call someone like this an angel? Someone capable of such a smile, while he himself could only manage a fractured, artificial one?
“Hmm, was that unpleasant?”
Marmel stayed silent, and Sonidor withdrew her smile and asked carefully.
“Not at all.”
Relief washed over him, though he couldn’t help feeling incredulous.
I’m being deceived.
As a dream artisan, he had never once been seen through. Yet here, she had read him through a mere touch, and on the first day no less.
And yet she laughs it off as a misunderstanding.
It wasn’t that she was dull or slow; otherwise, she wouldn’t have achieved everything she had.
She must want to believe this is real.
Love, it seemed, could blind the eyes and ears.
She didn’t want to admit it was a dream. If she acknowledged that, their feelings and their status as lovers would vanish. Meanwhile, the Grand Duke—himself—was dodging, avoiding confrontation like a coward.
If he truly cared for the princess, shouldn’t he at least reject her or make her give up?
Yet he had no intention of granting even that small consideration.
Marmel frowned at the creeping irritation but forced it away.
The one deceiving her most is actually me.
He was playing the role of her beloved without guilt, teasing her. Who could blame whom?
Sooner or later, she’ll notice.
He knew it was only a matter of time. Once she realized, the sense of incongruity would persist. Even if she initially mistook it for love, she couldn’t ignore her own senses forever.
Having lived through life-or-death situations on the battlefield, one misjudgment was all it took for someone like her to pay dearly.
Maybe I should just tell her the truth now.
Another plan formed in Marmel’s mind. Reveal everything so the princess could awaken, and then be executed for mocking royalty. There would be no need to continue this pretense of a lover, and the peculiar guilt pricking at his heart would fade. Moreover, he could die as he wished. That actually sounded better.
“Your Highness, there’s something I must tell you.”
Marmel finally spoke.
But looking into her clear, unwavering eyes, he found he couldn’t continue.
She was fully seeing him now, but once the truth came out, she would never allow him even a glance again. She would despise him and turn away without a trace of lingering emotion. He, a lowly man, could not plead to be seen.
So this moment was fleeting.
The only time he could stay within her sight.
Even if her gaze held only a hollow shell, it was enough.
Just a little longer.
After all, he was already doomed; a little indulgence wouldn’t hurt.
He opened his lips and reached out.
“Shall we take a walk?”
He knew little of noble etiquette but could convincingly imitate it.
Sonidor studied him for a moment before nodding and linking her arm with his.
It really isn’t a mistake.
Sonidor thought.
Visually, it was Giorgio. But the tactile sensation was completely foreign.
She pretended not to notice while observing the situation.
It’s so different.
Though his frame was large and solid, it wasn’t that of a martial expert. His bones were lean, almost lacking flesh, yet finely defined muscles showed agility.
He probably never held a sword; his body was likely trained only in the arts, such as dance. She would need more contact to be sure.
“Your Highness?”
As she discreetly brushed his arm, waist, and chest, he looked at her in confusion.
She refrained from exploring further, wary of being seen as perverse.
How can this be?
An illusion spell?
Not entirely impossible. Illusions usually trick the eyes temporarily. Legendary mages often extended this to other senses, but most illusions were purely visual.
Yet Sonidor, a powerful figure herself, had been deceived?
Would someone hire only a mediocre mage to handle me?
It wasn’t arrogance. Her worth was recognized across the continent. Anyone attempting assassination or kidnapping her would have to be extremely skilled. Otherwise, she would detect the ruse instantly.
What is this man’s game?
She hesitated because she sensed no malice.
All he had done was appear as Giorgio, confess, and ask her on a date.
Is this even an illusion spell?
Illusions were supposed to disorient the mind, making judgment unreliable. But this man’s touch heightened her senses. He displayed no scheming gestures—only occasional enigmatic glances.
Though he deserves death for his sins.
To toy with a princess’s heart was a grave crime. But she had no desire to immediately draw her sword and punish him.
He was a man who could be executed without protest, yet…
That smile of his—so beautiful—was all an act.
It made sense. Giorgio would never have smiled like that. Initially, she suspected some evil spirit. Now, knowing it was someone else, she realized her assumption had been partly correct.
I could have suspected back then.
Of course, she had considered it.
Yet…
He smiled so beautifully that I let it slide.
Sonidor laughed lightly, amused at her own soft judgment.
It was infuriating, yet her curiosity outweighed her anger.
Even disguised, this yokai of a man could captivate with just a smile. She genuinely wanted to know what he intended.
