Chapter 47
‘Looking again, it’s… not all that bad.’
The bright, gaudy golden epaulets that had seemed so aging before actually suited Lerajie’s golden eyes surprisingly well.
Lerajie, for his part, was having a similar crisis of conscience. He seriously wondered if his eyesight had gone crooked over the past few days.
‘So there really is… someone who suits that?’
In fact, someone as striking as Calliope, with her flaming red hair, seemed to fit such an outrageously flashy dress even better.
And so, while the two, who were somehow alike and yet entirely different, each sank into their own private thoughts, the carriage rolled up to the Imperial Palace.
The knight at the gate, after confirming the names on the invitation, bowed crisply and produced a bracelet from a prepared box.
“Lady Calliope, please put on this bracelet.”
In the palace, carrying weapons was forbidden to all but a very select few. As for mages, they were required to wear magic-suppressing shackles.
As soon as Calliope slipped it onto her wrist, the bracelet automatically tightened to fit snugly.
“Thank you for your cooperation.”
With that, the knight waved their carriage through.
“You look like you’re about to scowl the thing off,” Lerajie remarked, watching her twist her wrist this way and that with evident displeasure.
“It’s uncomfortable, it’s ugly, and honestly, I don’t like it one bit.”
…Not to mention, it’s completely useless.
Calliope swallowed that last thought.
One of the rare exceptions—royals—Lerajie tapped the hilt of his sword at his hip and said lightly,
“Shall I lend you mine?”
“As if I’d need that.”
A sword for a mage? Wasn’t that just outright mockery? Calliope shot him a glare.
But Lerajie only smiled easily and shrugged.
“No need to take offense. His Majesty simply doesn’t trust anyone—equally.”
Startled, Calliope slapped a hand over his mouth.
“Careful! We’re in the Imperial Palace. Watch what you say.”
Even inside the carriage, one could never be sure.
The Emperor, who had seized the bloody throne by slaughtering his own brothers, was notorious for his paranoia.
‘The sort of man who would scatter eavesdropping artifacts in every corner.’
In such a place, one could never relax.
But unlike Calliope, Lerajie was utterly unbothered.
“Don’t worry. No one will hear.”
With a flick of his hand against the air, a faint barrier shimmered briefly around them. Calliope’s eyes lit up.
“Wait… that’s—?”
“Correct.”
“My goodness.”
She gasped, genuinely impressed.
“I’d heard it was theoretically possible to form a barrier with sword aura, but…”
“You forget, now and then, that I’m a Sword Master.”
Calliope very neatly pretended not to hear. There was no reason to dignify his smugness with a reply. Instead, she changed the subject.
“Anyway, these shackles make me hate coming to the palace. That’s why I usually avoid balls and banquets here unless absolutely necessary.”
The feeling of her mana being forcibly suppressed made every moment unbearable.
“Well, it’s not surprising. Like losing an arm,” Lerajie muttered, bitterly.
Calliope hesitated.
‘Now that you mention it…’
A memory from long ago resurfaced.
‘How pitiful, His Highness the Seventh Prince…’
Her father had murmured those very words one morning over the newspaper.
The paper had featured a group photo of the royal family gathered together.
The intent had clearly been to project harmony, but the article had focused on something else entirely.
[The Seventh Prince’s strangely incomplete attire—by choice, or by force?]
The report zoomed in on his oddly grim face, pointing out that, while every other royal wore full regalia, only the Seventh Prince had nothing at his waist.
The insinuation was clear: had the Emperor excluded him from those granted the right to bear arms?
‘That’s right. That did happen…’
But Calliope had forgotten all about it soon after—her parents had perished in a carriage accident not long afterward.
By the time she had recovered from the long illness that followed, Lerajie was no longer known simply as the Seventh Prince, but as that handsome lunatic prince.
The public quickly lost interest in one dubious incident when there were endless new scandals to devour. Even Calliope had dismissed the thought.
‘And later photos showed no such problem.’
Now recalling that buried question, she asked bluntly,
“Can I ask you something?”
Lerajie immediately crossed his arms and gave a theatrical shiver.
“Whenever you say that, I get scared.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What is it?”
“Were you ever forbidden from carrying a weapon?”
Her tone was serious.
But Lerajie only furrowed his brow as though she’d asked the most absurd thing imaginable.
“What are you talking about?”
Maybe she had it wrong? His reaction was so incredulous that even Calliope felt a rare flicker of embarrassment.
“No matter how much of a disgrace I may be, I’m still royalty.”
“Well… that’s true.”
It was such an unarguable point that Calliope had to concede.
‘Damn it. I got tricked by some cheap tabloid gossip.’
She sighed inwardly, realizing she’d given weight to a baseless rumor.
“Forget it. I only asked just in case.”
She waved the matter off, but Lerajie smirked.
“Making such a silly comment—are you nervous, coming back to the palace after so long?”
“Nervous? Me? Don’t be absurd.”
“Confident, are we?”
Leaning back with arms crossed and legs casually crossed, he all but invited her to prove herself.
“Of course.”
Calliope tilted her chin upward.
“I am Calliope Verdi.”
The very year she made her debut, she had conquered the empire’s social scene. Her confidence was not without foundation.
“I’ve never failed at anything in my life. This plan will be no different. I’ll add another success to my collection, stack them one atop another, and with them, I will seize the Verdi family itself.”
Her violet eyes glittered with resolve for the future, and Lerajie found himself unable to look away.
Sometimes, he wanted to seize her and demand to know—
Where did that unshakable certainty come from?
‘You must have had moments too, when you wanted to smash everything to pieces.’
He stared at her, caught like prey in her conviction, until he suddenly realized what he was doing.
‘Damn it.’
He turned his head quickly, but the very act was enough to spark suspicion.
“What’s with that look?” Calliope’s voice was sharp.
“You’d better not get careless. You know how crucial your cooperation is for this plan.”
Her jewel-bright eyes glimmered beneath a faint frown.
“You say you’re good at acting. Then prove it properly.”
Even with her brows arched in reproach, somehow she didn’t look hateful at all. It was bewildering.
‘What’s wrong with me?’
Flustered, Lerajie covered with a grumble.
“Don’t trust me, do you?”
“You make it hard to!”
She scolded him over and over until the carriage finally halted and the door opened.
Yet, strangely, even her nagging was not unpleasant to hear. Lerajie found himself in an inexplicably odd mood.
Moments later, as Calliope stepped down with Lerajie’s escort, a bright child’s voice rang out:
“Brother!”
At first, Calliope paid no mind. Surely it had nothing to do with her.
But when the rapid patter of little feet came closer and closer toward their direction, she could not help but turn her head.
A small boy with pale green hair bounded up—and promptly threw himself straight into Lerajie’s arms.
