Side Story, Chapter 9
“Do you think this is enough to cover the cost of the meal?”
“…….”
At his words, Liliane let out a soft sigh and a hollow laugh.
‘This man… seems to have held onto that comment in his mind all this time.’
Liliane added her evaluation of him on the mental note she kept:
Extremely narrow-minded.
“Well… it’s not bad, I guess.”
Not bad, indeed.
Three hundred and eighty ounces. Even a skilled person couldn’t have picked that much.
Liliane put the fruits down from the scale and looked at him again.
When they had left earlier, he had been neatly dressed, but now he looked like someone who had thoroughly ransacked the mountains alone.
His hair was half in a mess from brushing it back hastily, and the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt were stained with grass in several places.
There were small scratches on his arms, probably from thorn bushes, and his clothes were splattered with the juice of crushed mountain berries.
A short distance away, Edgar and Curtis were watching him too.
In the mountains, Clois picked berries like a madman.
He rarely did anything halfway, but his berry-picking showed almost a frenzy.
At first, he would crush a few berries or pick unripe ones and be scolded, but soon he was plucking only the ripest ones with quick, precise movements.
Even an older woman picking berries next to him was wide-eyed at his skill.
While others took breaks to eat their packed lunches, Clois kept picking berries without pause.
He worked so hard that it made one wonder if he had some hidden motive for participating in this event, but now it seemed he simply wanted to prove his worth by finishing first.
This only made Edgar and Curtis even more bewildered.
‘He just seems to be enjoying himself.’
Seeing Clois, arms crossed and smiling boldly in front of the daughter of a rural lord, felt unusual to them.
They had known Clois since childhood.
Even though they were slightly older, the moment they first met him, both of them had instinctively bowed in genuine respect.
Back then, even before he was appointed Crown Prince, they were certain that if they were the emperor, they would have made third-born Clois the heir.
He seemed like someone who had everything prepared from the start.
Despite his young age, he controlled his emotions completely and never showed them.
Not only did he hide his feelings, but his expressions and actions hardly fluctuated; he seemed almost devoid of emotion.
Over the years, as they became closer, he occasionally revealed his true self, but to strangers, Clois still showed no trace of his real personality.
Moreover, he generally felt nothing toward others.
The recent death of his fiancée was proof of that.
Everyone knew the relationship had never involved love.
Even so, they thought he might show a hint of sadness, but he simply attended, handed over a flower, and returned to the palace.
Without even changing his clothes, he resumed his work as if the matter was entirely over and had nothing to do with him anymore.
He was indifferent to others in general, especially women, showing neither favor nor disfavor.
Yet now, in front of the daughter of a rural lord, teasing her openly and asking if she could have dinner, Clois looked happier than they had ever seen him.
Both Edgar and Curtis had keen intuition. They sensed immediately:
That woman would surely have some special significance to Clois.
And it wouldn’t necessarily lead to a good outcome.
“Everyone, thank you for your hard work. Please, have your dinner.”
The castle’s head chef came smiling brightly to fetch Liliane.
Liliane scraped the last of the jam from the bottom of the large pot, placed it in a glass jar, and acknowledged it.
The nearby staff quickly sealed the lid, wiped the jar clean, and placed it in cold water.
Once it cooled, it would be stored directly in the pantry.
“I’ll be there soon!”
Liliane said, slipping the ladle back into the pot and gripping its handle.
Her plan was to take these to the well.
It was a large pot used only a few times a year for cooking large batches, so it was heavy. Liliane braced herself and lifted the handle.
“Ugh… huh?”
Expecting it to be heavy, she had tensed, but suddenly the pot felt light.
She looked up and saw that Is had appeared, holding the pot for her.
“Where should I take this?”
“…….”
Liliane simply stared at him.
Just as Clois was about to ask again, Liliane spoke.
“What’s your goal?”
“Goal?”
“Yes. I know you’re here with some kind of ulterior motive.”
“Ulterior motive? As I said, it’s by the order of His Highness the Crown Prince…”
“Or were you ordered to investigate because I have unusual powers?”
Liliane didn’t mince words, leaving Clois no chance to deny it.
He hesitated awkwardly, and Liliane chuckled.
“Of course. The young master from the capital is doing all this under orders….”
“No, that’s not it.”
This time, he quickly answered what he couldn’t earlier.
“There was no order. I just…”
It wasn’t a lie.
Being the Crown Prince, he didn’t need a special command.
But still, Liliane’s remark—questioning whether he was helping so diligently because of orders—made Clois feel an inexplicable frustration.
“Well, it’s true you came to investigate.”
But Liliane shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, and said:
“Anyway, in our territory—or rather, people from other territories—everyone who needs to know already knows. So I’ll tell you: as they say, I can talk to trees, and wolves fear me. This power seems to have come from my mother. She said it’s a power older than magic, passed down only to women. Beyond that, she didn’t teach me anything, so I don’t know its origin or its name. It’s not particularly useful for military purposes. It doesn’t work in every forest, and sometimes the wolves still follow. They just don’t attack outright.”
Liliane spoke rapidly, without pause.
Then she took the pot back from Clois’s hands.
Lifting the heavy pot with effort, she glared at the dumbfounded Clois and said:
“Even if you’re curious, I can’t answer. Not that I won’t, but I simply can’t. You won’t be able to figure it out no matter how hard you try. When I was young, even my father inquired at the Eastern Academy and got nothing. Now, if you’re done being curious, go on—leave.”
With that, Liliane turned and headed to the well alone.
Clois remained behind, staring blankly at her retreating figure.
The next morning, Liliane woke with a start.
“Ugh…!”
Breathing heavily, she rose, only to groan at the stiffness throughout her body.
“Hhaaah…”
Collapsing back onto the bed, she remembered making jam all day yesterday.
Hiking through the mountains was normal, but jam-making was not.
‘And I washed all the pots too.’
Normally, she would have left the jars to the servants at the well, but yesterday she stayed behind to wash all the tools used in making the jam.
No matter how many times the servants begged, she hadn’t listened.
‘I didn’t want to see that man’s face.’
Knowing what he had come for, she told him about her powers first, only to see that blank face.
‘Indeed, if it weren’t for that, there’s no reason he would show such kindness.’
She wasn’t the first to be curious about her power. Many had been since her mother’s days, always seeking to use it for their own purposes.
‘He’s no different.’
Liliane scoffed and mocked his foolish expression.
He probably thought he had learned everything.
‘I didn’t tell him about my prophetic dream.’
Her mother had warned her repeatedly, even telling her not to tell her father.
“Talking to trees is whimsical, that’s fine. People might think you’re a little crazy. But prophetic dreams? That’s not allowed. Someone would desire it more than an army.”
So, she still kept that secret from everyone.
Liliane steadied her breathing and recalled the dream she had had.
It seemed slightly clearer than yesterday, though still hazy in every detail.
‘But…’
Her prophetic dreams had never shown a happy ending.
Something always broke, someone always got hurt… or died.
It was a power to see the end of something; there were no good endings.
Yet, through the mist, she thought she heard the laughter of a child.
A happy, joyful laugh of a little girl.
It was the first time Liliane had ever encountered happiness in a prophetic dream.
