Chapter 7
Martina’s dress was surprisingly similar to mine.
It wasn’t exactly the same, but it was the same vivid red color. The neckline was lower than what I usually wore—and hers was the same.
In short, it looked almost identical. The only differences were the small details, like the frills or ribbons.
“Is today’s dress code red or something?”
Of course, that couldn’t be it.
Bastian gave a short, incredulous laugh.
“Well, this is something. Did you two plan this or what?”
“Oh my, I wonder! What a coincidence,” Martina replied with a smile.
Something about her reaction felt strange.
“She’s… not offended?”
Knowing her personality, I expected her to be annoyed that I wore a dress so similar to hers. But instead, she looked pleased.
“Don’t tell me…”
Arancha’s excited face popped into my head.
“Your Highness, you must wear this dress! Absolutely!”
She had been so insistent that I wear it, as if her life depended on it. Now I was sure—she and Martina were in on this together.
“How cruel…”
She was my maid, after all. It seemed I’d need to replace her soon.
Martina looked at me with a smug expression, as if proudly announcing that this was her doing.
I gave her a pure, innocent smile.
“It’s fine. Same dress, different vibe.”
Her eyebrows twitched slightly.
Not the reaction she expected? I turned away and looked at Bastian instead.
“We should get going now, Your Highness.”
“You’re going to go like that?”
Bastian asked, and my answer was a confident yes.
“I can wear a dress like this too, you know!”
I wasn’t going to panic or shy away.
When Martina and I entered the hall together—with Bastian between us—all eyes turned to us.
In Clara’s memories, she had never drawn this much attention before.
The first reason for that was obvious—Bastian.
Clara had never even received a simple escort invitation from him before. Usually, she skipped such events or attended alone.
So of course, everyone was shocked to see us enter together.
And the second reason was, of course, my dress.
“Princess Clara and Lady Alba’s dresses look rather similar, don’t they?”
“It’s the first time I’ve seen the princess wear something like that.”
People—men and women alike—commented as we passed.
“To think she’d wear something so similar to Lady Alba’s dress… how mortified Lady Alba must be.”
Some even sided openly with Martina.
“Who just said that?”
I turned toward the voices while sampling the banquet food, but there were too many who avoided my gaze to tell.
“Whatever. Let them talk.”
People like that were best ignored. I focused on the small plate of tea snacks in my hand.
While Clara was busy eating, Bastian was surrounded by nobles eager to speak with him.
“Your Highness, have you tried the oysters I sent you?”
“Oysters? Did I receive such a thing?”
The noble brightened as it was finally his turn to speak.
“Yes! I personally selected the finest from my territory—”
“Count Alonso, your memory must be quite poor.”
“P–Pardon?”
The noble’s face paled.
The others around Bastian gave him sympathetic looks.
Bastian’s expression darkened again, his irritation plain even at a celebration of the kingdom’s victory.
“I told you I hate seafood. You gave me that last time too, didn’t you? I also told you not to send me gifts like that and to just do your work. Seems you’ve forgotten.”
“Y–Your Highness…”
The noble trembled, his attempt at flattery backfiring completely.
Bastian frowned and gestured to a nearby knight.
“Take him away.”
“Y–Your Highness!”
The poor man was dragged out, guilty of nothing but gifting oysters twice.
The other nobles breathed a quiet sigh of relief—it could have been much worse.
Lately, Bastian hadn’t been in good condition.
Ever since ascending the throne, he had suffered from insomnia.
All he really wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep.
“So tedious. When does this end?”
Technically, he could leave now—he’d made his appearance.
But for some reason, he stayed, brooding and silent.
Why? He couldn’t say himself.
His gaze drifted to his half-sister, Clara.
In a hall full of mingling guests, she was the only one sitting alone. She was always like that.
Well… not quite. Tonight, something was different.
“She’s eating so seriously…”
Her tiny mouth never stopped chewing.
Watching her, Bastian almost chuckled.
He still couldn’t get used to the change in her.
Back when he gathered all his siblings in the main palace to execute them, Clara had hidden under the drawing room table.
He found her after searching the rooms for any survivors.
She had seen his bloodstained face, his dripping sword, the carnage around them—and gasped like she couldn’t breathe.
They had never been close, but after that night, she had been terrified of him.
“When I tried to say, ‘I wasn’t going to kill you…’”
‘Wh–What?’
She had looked up at him, eyes wide like a rabbit.
He only wanted to explain—she was still a royal, so he had spared her.
But she had burst into tears.
‘P–Please don’t kill me, Your Highness. Please…!’
What could he even say to that?
He had long given up trying to fix their relationship.
Still, it unsettled him that she looked at him like a monster.
That was why he had given her a task—taking care of Daniel.
It would force her to interact with him occasionally.
Maybe she’d remember he was human, not a beast.
But now?
“Yes. I can do it,” she had said firmly.
She hadn’t flinched, hadn’t shown fear—and even proposed negotiating with the Emperor of Nerha.
And then—
“Would you like to lie down?”
She had let him rest his head on her lap and sung him a lullaby.
That night, for the first time in years, he’d fallen asleep without medication.
He’d suspected her of drugging him, of course. But when he woke up refreshed—better than any sleep the pills had given him—he knew it wasn’t that.
She’d even told him to cut down on the sleeping medicine.
So tonight, he was resisting the urge to take it, remembering her words.
Had she truly changed because she was tired of living as she was? Or was there another reason?
Either way, Bastian didn’t mind the change. She intrigued him more than before. She was easier to talk to.
Not that he was overjoyed about it—but still.
“About Princess Clara,”
one of the nobles began, glancing at her with a sneer.
“What sudden change of heart made her wear such a dress? Really, that style suits Lady Alba much better, don’t you think?”
It was an attempt to flatter Martina, Bastian’s supposed lover.
But when the noble looked back at Bastian—he froze.
The prince’s expression was deadly.
Why? The noble couldn’t understand—until Bastian’s hand clamped down hard on his shoulder.
“And what business of yours is that, hmm?”
“E–Excuse me?”
“You dare gossip about royalty?”
The same knight from before approached.
Bastian gave a curt command.
“Take him out.”
“Your Highness! I misspoke! Your Highness!”
The second noble of the night was dragged from the hall, wailing.
“What on earth is going on?”
I popped a macaron into my mouth as I watched the commotion.
The sweet taste contrasted sharply with the brutal tension in the air.
“Thank goodness it’s not me.”
Selfish, yes—but true. A tyrant wasn’t called that for nothing.
Bastian seemed unusually irritable tonight; he hadn’t been this way when we entered.
Better to stay quiet and out of sight.
“Lady Alba!”
I had just decided to quietly people-watch when Bastian’s sharp voice cut through the hall.
“Yes, Your Highness!”
Martina, who’d been chatting with other young ladies, hurried over—her face lit up with delight.
“Wow, she looks thrilled.”
In Clara’s memories, Martina had always followed Bastian around like a puppy, but he had never once called for her. Until now.
Martina approached eagerly.
“You were looking for me, Your Highness?”
“Yes.”
His voice was loud enough that everyone turned toward them.
“This should be good… pity there’s no popcorn.”
I munched on another macaron as I watched.
Bastian tilted his chin toward Martina’s dress.
“That dress. Why don’t you go change?”
“…Pardon?”
The entire hall froze.
“My dress, Your Highness?”
“Yes.”
He gestured toward me.
“It looks too similar.”
Every gaze swung toward me.
I stiffened, wide-eyed.
“So that’s why he called her over?”
