CHAPTER 62…………………………………………………………
Fortunately, it was one of the questions she had anticipated. Zegna kept a reasonable distance and lifted the corners of her mouth in a smile that barely looked like one.
“You said it would be better for me to return.”
It wasn’t the answer she had prepared in advance, but after seeing the Count a moment ago, she had changed it on the spot. Apparently, in the palace, being concise was more effective than rambling on.
Few people could tell a princess to return, so the command must naturally have come from the Emperor.
“Ah.”
And the improvised approach worked perfectly. The knights’ expressions showed curiosity, but no suspicion arose. They glanced at Lumiere and the Demon Lord.
“Those people are…?”
“I don’t know either. I’m just following them.”
This answer, different from her original one, served just as well as a shield. Zegna took a step forward before they could speak again.
“Then.”
Fortunately, the knights did not stop her party. Zegna waited until they had passed the long corridor before looking at the Demon Lord. He stepped forward again and said:
“We should hurry a little. That way, we won’t run into anyone.”
It seemed her haste had paid off—they reached their destination without encountering anyone.
At the stairs leading underground, Zegna caught her breath while looking at the narrow, steep steps. Her shoes were comfortable enough that her feet didn’t hurt, but rushing had left her slightly winded.
“Phew… this is where we go?”
“Yes.”
The Demon Lord glanced at her briefly and went down the stairs first. She didn’t expect him to wait, so she followed him without complaint.
As she stepped down one stair, a hand reached out as if to steady her—and simultaneously, another hand brushed against her side.
Zegna froze.
“Huh?”
Lumiere’s help was expected, but the Demon Lord offering his hand?
“Won’t you grab it?”
Without searching for a hidden motive or stalling, she took the hand extended to her. Unlike Lumiere’s, it was soft, smooth, and uncalloused.
Consciously ignoring the warmth of the hand, Zegna focused on the stairs.
Even comfortable shoes were awkward on stairs. If she slipped and fell, it would be her own loss.
‘It wouldn’t end with just a minor injury.’
Given the Demon Lord’s childish personality, if she refused his hand, he probably wouldn’t even bother to catch her if she fell.
‘So holding his hand is the logical choice.’
Very awkwardly, Zegna grasped his hand and, with the Hero supporting her from behind, began descending the long staircase.
Jeremiah paused for a moment, dizzy and trying to steady his spinning head. His condition was poor—just a little movement made his vision blacken.
“Are you all right, Your Highness?”
“I am.”
Of all days to feel ill… he examined his reflection in the mirror, noting the pallor of his face.
‘Maybe it’s lucky I feel sick today.’
His father had acted swiftly, demanding he play along as they arranged a new betrothal. Naturally, his father was skilled at swaying public opinion, and the news of the Hero’s death spread throughout the capital instantly.
As the rumors circulated, a flood of letters poured in for Jeremiah. He had kept a low profile under the Emperor’s orders, so it was to be expected.
Today was the first official event after the rumors spread.
‘A few days without food wouldn’t show much grief, so being sick actually works in my favor.’
Perhaps following special instructions from his father, the servants ensured he looked frail and delicate, completing his makeup accordingly.
Jeremiah almost laughed but contained it, blinking dryly. The servants reported every detail of his behavior to his father.
He followed their lead without expression. Watching himself in the mirror, he felt like nothing more than a doll played with by young noble girls.
“Ugh.”
A thought slipped out, and a smile tugged at his lips. Feeling the servants’ sharp gaze, he gripped his head.
“I feel dizzy. Bring me the medicine.”
Suppressing the laugh into a small groan, a servant handed him the medicine, which he swallowed without water before putting on his white lace gloves.
“Has Her Majesty finished preparing?”
“She requests a little more time.”
Not entirely true—his mother was never punctual, even for official events.
“And Father?”
“He will adjust to Her Majesty.”
Though he demanded the best from Jeremiah, he was generous toward his mother—not out of love, but because her presence solidified his position. All of his legitimacy as Emperor derived from her.
Jeremiah pressed his temples as he left the room.
“Let’s go to Mother’s palace.”
Staying in the room would make him want to lie down, ruining his carefully prepared appearance.
Yet stepping outside was not exactly wise. The early morning air was cold, chilling him to the bone.
On top of that, an unwelcome guest appeared.
‘Who is this now?’
Jeremiah forced a habitual smile at the noble blocking her path.
“Your Highness, what a pleasure to see such a beautiful face so early in the morning.”
Perhaps the son of a Count or Marquess.
It was frustrating. His condition aside, he couldn’t even remember the man’s family name.
Yet, despite that, he spoke naturally.
“What brings you to the palace this early?”
“I’ve heard some unbelievable news,” the man said loudly, eyebrows raised, without a trace of sorrow.
“About your betrothed’s unfortunate circumstances.”
From the moment he blocked her path, Jeremiah could guess the man’s intent. Hearing it aloud was irritating.
The man hoped to claim a chance with the deceased Hero’s place, maybe even take the betrothal.
‘Ridiculous.’
No need to deal with him for long. Jeremiah studied his face, deadpan. The man’s forced grin slowly stiffened.
He wasn’t angry—just embarrassed by her reaction.
“Your Highness?”
“I am deeply distressed.”
The man hurriedly nodded.
“Ah, yes! Naturally. So…”
Jeremiah cut him off.
“I think we should part ways before this gets ugly.”
“But… meeting like this is fate.”
Jeremiah considered the man. He was sick, and servants were ready to assist him. Pretending to be frail, they would handle the man for him.
There was a way to get through this smoothly without upsetting him.
But he didn’t want to. Why should she care about his feelings? Just because he was a man? Ridiculous.
“Stop.”
The man, surprised, repeated himself, thinking she misheard.
“Stop it.”
“…Your Highness?”
“You make me uncomfortable.”
Directly stating his feelings was uncharacteristic for a noble—but Jeremiah didn’t relent.
“I haven’t had much time to process this. I need to think alone.”
He cut off any possible follow-up.
“I don’t intend to share these feelings with anyone.”
No comforting words, no pretense of friendship—he didn’t want any of it.
“Especially on a day when I must go to the Temple. So stop it now.”
Having spoken plainly, Jeremiah felt relieved. He ignored the man’s reply and brushed past him.
“My mother waits for me. Excuse me.”
The man, flustered, only recovered after they had moved far ahead, shouting in frustration.
Behind him, the servants’ gazes pierced sharply.
‘Perfect.’
No regrets—only relief.
Since hearing his father’s plan regarding the Hero, Jeremiah had remained in this unstable state.
Bound by engagement yet with no personal connection, he had barely met this man properly. Perhaps that made it worse.
‘Maybe it’s just the annoyance of having to go through this engagement again.’
As he passed the servants outside the Empress’s palace, they rushed to meet him upon hearing his arrival.
“Your Highness.”
Jeremiah interrupted before they could speak.
“You’re not ready. Wait in the reception room.”
“Thank you.”
He sent the accompanying servants outside and, in the privacy of the empty space, twisted his face freely.
He was in a truly foul mood.
