Chapter 17
“The young lady and her group, standing with their backs to Valen, seemed oblivious.”
His cool gray eyes, glancing over their unremarkable heads, met Roseline’s.
“You should stop there. Any further, and you’ll be the one feeling ashamed.”
She even subtly gestured toward where Valen stood, a silent hint for them to turn around. But unlike a few in the group who caught on, the Count’s daughter only grew more incensed. She shook off the restraining hands of her friends and clicked her heels forward, closing the distance between them.
“I doubt that. I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve never begged for favors or sold myself to anyone.”
“My lady.”
The insult itself was one thing—being humiliated in front of Valen was another. But what truly grated was the sheer crudeness of the remark. Her emotions surged, and with them, a ripple of magic. Mother, give me strength. Grant me the patience not to slap this girl senseless.
Roseline stared blankly ahead, steadying her ragged breath. She couldn’t afford another incident, not with the Vermouth mess still unresolved.
“Going to use magic on me too? Then again, with a lover like yours to back you up, I suppose you’ve got nothing to fear.”
But actions had consequences. For a moment, the girl flinched—then jutted her chin out defiantly, as if daring her. Tempting to just set her hair on fire and be done with it. Roseline clenched her fists, wrestling down the fury—
“No magic, Roseline. You’ll get hurt.”
Finally, Valen stepped out of the audience and onto the stage.
The Count’s daughter startled the most at his low, resonant voice. She jumped like a spooked foal, then shot Roseline a glare full of resentment before bowing her head deeply.
“May the Light of Glory follow you.”
Her voice trembled pathetically as she forced the formal greeting.
“Ah, I see.”
Nodding as if something had just clicked, he moved forward. The crowd—both the girl’s entourage and the blatant onlookers—scrambled back, clearing a path. Even those leaning over the second-floor railing discreetly retreated. Valen closed the distance in a few strides.
“Let me see.”
“……”
“No injuries. Good.”
He pried open Roseline’s clenched fist, his tone deceptively gentle. His grip was firm—too firm. She squirmed, but he didn’t budge.
I could throw a fit, but—
Living, breathing power had a way of rendering rage pointless. She couldn’t even mock the groveling headmaster or those idiots now. Pathetic.
“……”
Roseline turned her face away from him. She knew it was rude, but if she opened her mouth now, she might commit an even greater discourtesy—like pouring out her resentment toward the blameless Valen or suddenly blurting out something like, “Since my reputation is already in tatters, let’s just end things here.” So she just gritted her teeth.
“I apologize. I was careless.”
But his words, sighed out as he gently rubbed her palm, shattered her stubborn silence. Roseline, who had been glaring at the floor, snapped her gaze up to him.
“…What?”
“I regret that my support has caused you distress. Though I’m not sure if it’s any excuse to say I never imagined such vulgar conversations would take place in a place meant for cultivating intellect.”
“Your Grace, why are you apolo—”
Roseline’s question—Why are you apologizing?—was cut off before she could finish.
“This is entirely my fault, Your Grace.”
The Count’s daughter had interjected. Fidgeting nervously, she seized the chance to beg for forgiveness, just as Vermouth had in the headmaster’s office, and dropped to her knees. Her entourage, who had been gauging the mood, quickly bowed their heads as well.
“I only meant to offer wise counsel to guide the lady, but my emotions got the better of me. I would never dare to disgrace Your Grace. Please believe me.”
Tears welled in her eyes as she pleaded for mercy. The excuse was flimsy, but the way she hunched her delicate frame, sniffling, was both pitiful and tragic. Roseline let out a small, derisive laugh, and Valen, who had been closely observing her expression, spoke again.
“We should clear up misunderstandings.”
He tightened his grip on her hand for a moment before finally releasing it. Then, straightening his posture, he asked.
“Roseline.”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever blackmailed me into meeting you by threatening to withdraw your support?”
“No.”
“Have you ever given me anything in exchange for my patronage?”
He was asking if she had sold herself. Roseline frowned and shook her head.
“Exactly. I’ve bought nothing.”
“……”
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