#16.
“Mozheni had nothing to do tucked away in that corner, so collecting portraits of noble ladies from Central became his hobby.”
“…What?”
“Olivia? Wasn’t that her name?”
At the sudden mention of her daughter’s name, Madam Orentia flinched.
Just moments ago, she had been gossiping about Merriot’s improper behavior and wondering which Central noble lady would be his next scandal.
But now, the thought that her own daughter might become entangled with Merriot sent a chill down her spine.
“She looks a lot like you, madam. I really like eyes like those.”
Merriot turned his head toward Madam Orentia and gave her a subtle smile.
It was a charming expression, the kind that could captivate anyone.
And that made it even more terrifying—because Merriot had openly said:
“Could you arrange a meeting with your daughter?”
“W-what… Our Olivia… She already has someone she holds dear…”
“Lies. I can tell she’s as pure as a pristine white handkerchief.”
“H-how could you… How could you say that…”
Madam Orentia’s goal was to make Olivia the crown princess.
So she had kept a tight rein on her daughter since she was young—raising her with great care.
If someone like Merriot Laurent, a disgraceful womanizer from a fallen noble house, so much as laid a finger on her, Madam Orentia felt she would simply die.
Even just imagining it made her heart pound like it was about to explode.
As Madam Orentia sat, too agitated to speak properly, Merriot deliberately provoked her further by lightly tapping the corners of his eyes with his fingers.
“Well, even if we don’t become fiancés, we could be friends, right? Olivia—with her sexy eyes.”
“Duke Laurent!”
Her enraged voice rang out through Whale Hall, clearly indicating the need for someone to intervene.
“Merriot.”
It was Ron who stepped in with a heavy tone.
Merriot, who had been staring at Madam Orentia’s trembling lips, shrugged nonchalantly.
“Central has high standards, after all. Mozheni is a freer city in many ways. I must’ve gotten too used to that. My apologies.”
Though his words carried a hint of mischief, they also held a note of apology, which helped calm Madam Orentia.
As she raised a glass of water with a slightly steadier hand, Merriot—still looking at her—suddenly leaned in.
“By the way, does she really have that beauty mark below her lips, just like in the portrait?”
That overtly suggestive question pushed Madam Orentia past her limit.
She did something one must never do during a formal meal.
“I need to get some fresh air!”
She abruptly stood up and stormed out of Whale Hall.
Naturally, everyone fell silent, exchanging nervous glances.
In polite society, especially among nobles, it was considered an unforgivable breach of etiquette for a guest to leave the dinner table.
Scratching his cheek with a confused expression, Merriot said,
“Is storming out in the middle of something a trend in Central these days?”
The implication was clear: Madam Orentia had no right to criticize Emilia Tollin.
Walking out during a concert or a dinner—both were equally poor manners.
“Let us continue our meal,”
said Count Wintale, who had remained silent until now.
The guests quietly resumed their dinner, brushing off Madam Orentia’s outburst.
Once again, the atmosphere in Whale Hall returned to normal, filled with the usual background noise of clinking utensils and soft conversation.
As the dinner progressed peacefully, Hera glanced toward Merriot.
He was sipping on yet another glass of port wine.
And by coincidence, Merriot’s eyes met hers.
Hera couldn’t look away in time—his gaze seemed to speak directly to her.
As if to say: I repaid you by standing up to Madam Orentia. So don’t expect anything more.
His eyes were cold and sharp.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Miss Emilia.”
After dinner ended, the guests began preparing to return home.
Madam Orentia did not return to Whale Hall. Instead, she sent a message of apology to Count Wintale through her servant and went straight back to the marquis’ residence.
The other nobles offered their condolences to Count Wintale in person before boarding their carriages.
Due to rank, the Tollin siblings had to wait until the end to bid farewell to Count Wintale.
When it was Hera’s turn, Count Wintale gave her a faint but kind smile.
“Yes, Count.”
“Come visit from time to time. For Hera’s sake.”
It hurt to see him with a cold expression—but seeing his familiar, kind face was equally painful.
“Thank you for your kind words. I will.”
She was worried about her father, now left alone in the count’s residence without her mother.
But there was nothing Hera could do for him right now.
All she could do was quickly gather the treasures from the Book of Prophecy and return to her body.
That was the only way.
Father, I will return. As your daughter Hera.
✦ ✦ ✦
While waiting for the Tollin carriage to arrive, Hera wandered through the Count’s garden, keeping her distance from Julian and Cecilia.
She never expected to feel this nostalgic for a place where she had lived her whole life.
The familiar scent of flowers stirred her emotions.
“A pen pal?”
A voice called out from near the building wall.
Startled by the slightly sharp tone, Hera turned her head instinctively.
Merriot…!
Leaning against the building wall in a most undignified posture, Merriot was staring at her.
Hera had been thinking about him all day, and so his name came to mind carelessly.
Just before blurting it out, she caught herself and corrected her tone.
“Duke Laurent…”
Merriot pushed off the wall and stood up straight.
The smell of wine from dinner wafted over—he had clearly drunk quite a bit.
Standing face-to-face with Hera, Merriot squinted one eye and sneered.
“You liar. Emilia Tollin.”
“…Excuse me?”
The Holy Sword of Ezina, kept by the Wintale family.
Merriot had spotted it purely by chance flying over the count’s estate.
The sword had flown straight toward the western annex as if it knew the way, and Merriot had quietly followed its path.
When he finally saw the legendary sword up close, he was disappointed.
It was the most useless sword he had ever seen.
With a blade more blunt than a practice sword, it probably couldn’t even cut through pudding.
As he was absorbed in those thoughts, Emilia Tollin and Count Wintale had appeared.
Her sudden attempt to “protect” him had rubbed him the wrong way.
She was a Tollin, after all—the daughter of that Ober Tollin.
There was no way her actions were innocent.
And she had used Hera.
She had shamelessly lied, saying they were pen pals.
“Using Hera’s name for a lie is unforgivable. I’m still deciding how I should punish you.”
Despite the harsh word punishment, Merriot’s voice wasn’t filled with anger.
He certainly held some resentment toward Hera, but it wasn’t threatening.
Rather, it felt like he was testing her reaction—simply watching her in silence.
Hera didn’t know what to say.
She didn’t understand why he had called her a liar.
Even Count Wintale had been fooled—so how could an outsider like Merriot see through it so easily?
What’s more, she had helped him today.
It made no sense for him to accuse her of lying—he should be thanking her instead.
Those thoughts made Hera’s head throb painfully.
Frustration, sadness, shame, and disappointment swirled within her—too much to process at once.
“Your Grace…”
Hera lowered her gaze and said in a trembling voice,
“You’re a liar too.”
Maybe strong emotions make your whole body tremble.
Clutching her skirt, Hera threw his words right back at him.
That answer, of course, upset Merriot.
His calm tone instantly sharpened.
“What did you just say?”
