Chapter 17
Meeting him for the first time in a while, Paris looked on the verge of tears.
He seemed moved all on his own.
“Linne! You’ve finally called for me!”
In fact, from Paris’s point of view, his reaction was understandable.
His childhood friend, who’d run away at the mere sight of his shadow as if seeing a ghost, suddenly invited him and offered him homemade cookies.
“Are you less angry with me now?”
“I was never angry. Anyway, could you taste this for me?”
“You made these for me? Oh, Linne! I knew you—!”
“No. These are meant for Lady Nerva, but I can’t be sure about the taste. Try it and give me your honest opinion.”
Among all the mortal-born heroes, there was a reason why she’d specifically called Paris.
Though he was considered a hero of Metis, Paris never went onto the battlefield, much like Elinne herself.
While others ran drills on the training ground, his daily routine mostly consisted of leisurely strolls and meticulously redrawing tactical maps.
Thus, he was perfect.
Other heroes would devour anything placed in front of them after returning hungry from battle, but she figured Paris, holed up indoors drawing maps all day, would be pickier about the taste.
“…So, now you know why. There’s absolutely no personal interest here.”
She stated firmly, trying to avoid any misunderstanding.
Paris looked hurt, and she felt a pang of guilt, but it couldn’t be helped.
“I’m genuinely just curious about an objective evaluation of the taste, so be brutally honest.”
“You’re so cruel, Linne!”
Paris seemed even more tearful at her resolute clarification.
“I thought you were finally acting like you knew something…!”
“I’ll bake you more if they’re good. Here.”
Ignoring his whining, Elinne held out a plate full of freshly baked cookies.
She’d made an effort to shape them like the spear and shield Nerva always carried.
Paris eyed them with apprehension, picked one up, and took a bite.
“What do you think?”
“Mm! They taste amazing, despite how they look!”
“…That means they don’t look good, right?”
“Well, um—but the cookie shapes don’t really matter, because no one will see past your beautiful face anyway. It’s fine! They taste incredible!”
…This punk.
But she couldn’t quite get angry at his earnest, harmless face.
He probably wasn’t lying about the taste either, seeing how his hand moved rapidly between plate and mouth.
Leaving Paris busy crunching on the cookies, she returned to flipping through the archives with a sour expression, until—
“Elinne, here you are.”
Something fluttered swiftly through the window.
A man with light brown hair landed gracefully in front of her, movements unaffected by gravity.
The first time she’d seen this, she nearly fainted from shock, but now she greeted him without much surprise.
“Oh, hello, Helmen.”
【Messenger God. The wings on his back never burn, even under the harshest sunlight.】
It was Helmen, Messenger God of Metis.
They’d met frequently when she received Nerva’s messages, so they’d become familiar. The large wings behind him folded silently.
“You seem to be spending a lot of time with Prince Alexandros these days.”
Helmen glanced briefly at Paris, who seemed oddly tense.
“How unusual. You two never appeared that close before.”
“You’ve observed correctly. We aren’t close at all.”
“Ugh, Linne!”
Paris muttered timidly behind her, but she ignored him and asked Helmen directly.
“Has Lady Nerva returned already?”
“No. ‘That guy’ is back.”
Helmen wrinkled his brow, looking thoroughly disgusted.
“He told me to tell you he’ll be waiting in the Laurel Garden.”
She tilted her head, puzzled.
It was the first time she’d seen Helmen, who normally wore a perpetual smile, speak with such blatant displeasure.
“Who is this person?”
“Who else? It’s that insufferable Menelaon, who insists he’s your fiancé. He said if you don’t show up, he’ll come find you himself.”
…Fiancé?
Elinne didn’t bother hiding her bewildered expression.
“Well, anyway, I delivered the message. If he doesn’t meet you, he’ll come whining to me again, so please, just go see him.”
“All right. I’ll go meet him.”
Even after Helmen had unfolded his wings and flown away, she remained baffled.
What nonsense was this about a fiancé? She’d never seen anything like that in the archives.
Wondering if perhaps she’d missed something, she stared into the air, and perceptive Monetta quickly responded.
【You have no promised partner, Lady Elinne.】
…Then what was this about? Was he just some delusional man?
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