Chapter 15
I’ll Become the Tyrant’s Tutor
Prim carefully approached him.
The dazed look on Laine’s face disappeared in an instant.
“No.”
Strange… Prim tilted her head but decided to first set the table back in place.
“I’m sorry for suddenly going out today. Something urgent came up.”
“…Coffee.”
He suddenly muttered quietly.
“Pardon?”
“You smell like coffee.”
At Laine’s words, Prim sniffed at her sleeve.
The scent must have clung to her clothes. She thought nothing of it and nodded casually.
“Yes, I like coffee.”
“…”
“But you seem to have been reading.”
She bent down to pick up the book that had fallen—
Snatch!
Laine quickly grabbed the book from her hands. The movement was so swift that Prim blinked in surprise.
With a slightly flushed face, Laine mumbled,
“Don’t look.”
“…Now that you’ve said that, I’m even more curious.”
“No.”
“…?”
What on earth could it be?
Suddenly, Prim remembered the maids whispering about some “restricted books” — hidden 19+ novels that only long-time palace workers could find.
No way…?
An impish smile crept across her lips. She craned her neck, trying to see the title. Laine snapped sharply,
“What are you doing? Go away!”
“I just want to see the title.”
“You must’ve gone mad. As if you could—”
“Oh, I see it.”
“You…!”
Startled, Laine hugged the book tightly to his chest.
It was so fun teasing him that Prim couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’m kidding. I didn’t see it.”
“…”
Laine pressed his lips shut, his face now visibly red.
Still chuckling, Prim said,
“Well then, I’ll get going. Have a nice night.”
Just as she turned to leave—
“…Tomorrow.”
Laine suddenly spoke. Prim looked back at him.
“Are you going out again tomorrow?”
“Huh?”
“I’m asking if you’re going out again like today.”
Prim shook her head. She wasn’t meeting Elina until two days later.
“No. I’ll be holding lessons tomorrow.”
She smiled playfully. “Looking forward to it, aren’t you?”
She expected the usual annoyed retort, but Laine didn’t say anything this time. His expression actually seemed… softer.
“…Alright.”
He even nodded!
Prim stared at him in shock.
What happened while I was gone?
Looking worried, she asked,
“Did something happen while I was away? Don’t tell me Lord Dapes came by again…”
“What?”
His expression instantly turned dark.
“Why are you bringing up that bastard?”
“I just thought—”
She trailed off awkwardly.
“I thought maybe he came to bother you again…”
“What nonsense are you talking about? Even if he did, I wouldn’t just stand there and take it this time.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
Prim smiled in genuine relief. But Laine’s face twisted even more.
“Enough. Leave.”
“Sorry?”
“I said leave.”
He snapped and turned his head away sharply.
Good grief—what a completely incomprehensible sixteen-year-old. She almost wanted to flick his forehead.
“Well then, don’t have a good night, Beast.”
“What?”
Yikes. His tone was deadly.
Prim hurriedly corrected herself.
“I mean—! Sleep well, Your Highness. I’ll take my leave now!”
She quickly dashed out of the room.
When the door closed and the red-haired girl disappeared, Laine finally set the book down.
Fragments of Light and Color.
He frowned as he stared at the title. Who would’ve thought he’d end up reading something like this?
He sighed, glaring at the innocent book.
Leaning back in his chair, he gazed up at the ceiling.
Laine thought of that day—
A spring day when flower petals rained down.
And under that shower of blossoms… stood Prim.
Pink—something close to red, but softer, lighter, more transparent than blood.
He closed his eyes slowly, trying to recall that color.
But all that came to mind was Prim’s smiling face.
I must be losing it.
He turned toward the window.
The world outside was black and white, swallowed by the night.
A darkness like a prison.
Even while staring into it, his chest tickled strangely.
Then, once again, his eyes began to sting.
The pain that had tormented him for days soon faded—like night vanishing beneath the sun.
The next morning, Prim sat across from Laine, looking at him intently.
Before her sat a cup of fragrant coffee whose aroma alone lifted her mood.
“You’re staring holes through me.”
Laine spoke curtly without looking up from his book.
“Could you please look at me for a moment?”
“…”
“I’m always looking at you, but you only ever look at your books.”
At that, Laine finally lifted his gaze to meet hers. Prim brightened instantly.
He said flatly, “Who told you that?”
“Pardon?”
“Who told you I only look at books?”
Prim blinked. No one had told her that—it was just true. He spent all day in either the study or his room, reading.
“Well, but—”
Before she could finish, Laine gestured toward her teacup.
“That.”
“This?”
“Drink it or throw it out. The smell’s too strong—it’s irritating.”
Prim quickly lifted the cup. The smooth aroma of coffee instantly improved her mood.
As he watched the smile spread on her lips, Laine murmured quietly,
“…Maybe it’s true.”
“Hm?”
“You really do seem like a con artist.”
A con artist?!
Her smiling face froze in slow motion.
Just a moment ago, coffee had made her so happy—
but the sudden insult was enough to ruin it instantly.
Laine seemed almost fascinated by how quickly her expressions changed, how every emotion showed so vividly on her face.
“…”
He looked at her cup again.
She really did like coffee.
Maybe he should have one of her favorite dishes brought next time.
He could already imagine it clearly—her cheeks turning rosy, her eyes sparkling as she declared, “This is heaven!”
The thought made him chuckle softly before he even realized it.
“…Oh.”
Startled by the sound, he looked up.
Prim was staring at him, wide-eyed.
“What?”
“Just now, Your Highness, you—”
She pointed a finger to the corner of her own lips, as if making sure she wasn’t dreaming.
“…”
Laine quickly wiped his expression blank and turned back to his book.
“You saw wrong.”
“But…”
Prim eyed him carefully.
His face was cold again—as if that fleeting warmth had been her imagination.
Weird…
With a puzzled look, she fiddled with her cup.
Meanwhile, Laine secretly glanced at her again.
“An Imperial Court Painter?”
Prim asked in surprise.
“Yes!” Elina replied excitedly. “Her Highness the Princess personally selects the painting she likes best, and the artist who painted it earns the honor of becoming a court painter. They get to live in the palace—and they say the support is incredible! Isn’t that amazing?”
Elina’s eyes sparkled dreamily.
“Just imagine how wonderful it would be to paint portraits of the Imperial Family.”
“If you paint them wrong, you’d probably get executed,” Prim muttered.
“I know, isn’t it thrilling?”
Elina clearly hadn’t heard her. She spoke on, face flushed with excitement.
“I’m so curious! The princes and princesses are already said to be dazzlingly beautiful—but that eighth prince must be beyond imagination…”
“Oh, that’s true. His beauty defies words.”
“…Prim, have you seen the Eighth Prince?”
Oops. Maybe she’d said too much.
Faltering, Prim nodded.
“Yes. By chance, I’ve been teaching him lately…”
“Prim—are you okay? I heard that all the painters who’ve taught him…”
“That’s all lies!”
Prim’s voice rose sharply, drawing glances from the people nearby.
Elina blinked in shock.
“Those painters were lying! Look—I’m perfectly fine!”
“Prim?”
“This hand— I injured it because I’m clumsy! It has nothing to do with His Highness!”
“O-okay, I believe you.”
Elina nodded quickly, afraid Prim might explode otherwise.
“But… you said you’re teaching him?”
Elina looked down at the drawing in front of her.
“…”
“…”
An awkward silence hung between them. Elina’s face turned grave. Prim scratched her neck sheepishly.
“It’s… unique, right?”
“Yes, very… unique.”
Which was a polite way of saying “strange.”
Prim couldn’t draw. Maybe the original Prim had been good, but this Prim—ever since she’d come into this body—had zero talent.
But admitting that would be disastrous. She lifted her chin proudly and said,
“In my homeland, there were many forms of art. This is just my personal style. Think about it, Elina—His Majesty wouldn’t have appointed me without reason, right?”
“Well, that’s true, but…”
Elina glanced skeptically at the drawing again.
“Elina. What I’m pursuing is avant-garde.”
“…What?”
“Avant-garde.”
“…What’s that supposed to mean?”
“This.”
Prim pointed proudly at her abstract mess.
Elina stared, then said seriously,
“…You mentioned that your homeland had many art forms, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then let me teach you the style that’s popular in our Empire.”
“…What?”
“So you won’t embarrass yourself before the Prince.”
Her eyes shone with fiery determination.
The scam hadn’t worked.
Prim realized—she was in trouble.
