AEVSM Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Because I Want to Be with Her

Celestian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, staring up at the lofty ceiling.

As Daphne had instructed, he waited diligently outside the banquet hall. But being the main corridor, it was far from quiet—people passed by constantly. Some even seemed to come just to gawk at him, as though amused by the sight of him waiting like a servant for Daphne.

To those who openly cast disdainful or mocking glances, Celestian responded with a polite smile before letting his face fall back to a blank expression.

“I’m an outcast in this social circle.”

He recalled Daphne from a long time ago, a woman who had once been the ringleader. She was the strange one who had thrown bottles and glasses at Psyche Denver, mocking her with glee, only to end up sobbing uncontrollably by the end. Now, however, their positions had entirely switched.

Psyche stood at Romeo’s side, and Daphne was…

Celestian’s green eyes briefly flickered upward, his lips curling in a faint smile.

‘Did I really get hit by a bottle back then?’

Underneath a wall adorned with crossed ceremonial swords, Celestian’s gaze fell on a group of familiar nobles. They had been loudly gossiping about Daphne, clearly hoping he would overhear. Hoping to glean something useful, he had been listening, but their words were nothing but petty slander.

“Urging their own downfall,” he muttered, adjusting his posture and brushing a hand over his ear as if to clear away their meaningless words.

Then, turning into a servant’s corridor—the path nobles would never tread—he headed toward Daphne’s secretary.

“Celestian, could you wait outside for a bit? I’ll just greet them quickly and come back.”

He recalled Daphne’s golden eyes darting nervously between him and the table, her flustered expression absolutely adorable. But the fact that she had once again chosen Romeo over him…

“You’re here,” Misha greeted with a peculiar bow, his face lifted while his torso bent just slightly.

“Not exactly a warm welcome,” Celestian remarked.

“Neither is your presence,” Misha retorted, grumbling softly as he returned to his desk and flipped through some documents.

Celestian scratched his cheek and sank into a two-seater sofa, slouching comfortably. He glanced at the silver watch on his wrist—a gift from Daphne.

She had personally fastened it for him, chattering all the while. “You wouldn’t even notice if something like this disappeared, but of course, it’s ridiculously expensive. And if you so much as scratch it, I’ll have your knees cut off.” Celestian had known that her threats were just a way to mask her embarrassment.

Inside the box resting on the sofa was a lone glove, missing its pair. Celestian pulled it closer to his side and glanced at his watch again. Only fifteen minutes had passed.

Absentmindedly rubbing the glass face with his thumb, Celestian smiled.

“You seem to have an ulterior motive, Your Grace,” Misha commented, eyeing him.

“Hmm?”

“After all, you’ve got your own land—Theriosa, isn’t it?”

If it were him, Misha thought, he would have figured out a way to rebuild the territory. Strengthen the buildings, turn it into a winter tourism destination, breed livestock that could survive in the cold, or find unique resources to export.

‘Though it’s probably so ruined that even trying would be pointless.’

The thought made him smirk internally.

“Why don’t you just run away?” she asked bluntly.

Celestian tilted his head slightly.

“Why not go back there instead of lingering around our boss’s office and making things awkward for her?”

One of his eyebrows twitched at her question, but Celestian didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his head to gaze toward the banquet hall where Daphne was.

“Excuse me.”

“Did you dye your hair?”

“What?”

Startled by the sudden and unrelated question, Misha reflexively touched the back of his head. For a moment, he panicked, but his casual tone made it clear he was just toying with his. Calming his racing heart, he scowled.

“Please don’t change the subject.”

“You’re quite invested,” he remarked, tilting his head. He had been admired by many swordsmen before, but it was surprising to find even a desk-bound secretary so interested in him.

“I’m in a position where I need to prepare for anything that might harm or inconvenience my lady. So, could you please answer my question?”

“Because I want to be with her,” Celestian replied without hesitation.

“Haha. Don’t lie. Our boss hates liars.”

“If you won’t believe me, why bother asking?” he shot back.

Celestian replied irritably, shaking his head.

“If I ever think I’m a threat to Daphne, I’ll leave on my own. So stop meddling in my business.”

‘Acting all tame in front of the lady, aren’t we?’

Misha narrowed his eyes. Sitting by the window without even sparing his a glance, Celestian resembled a forlorn prince waiting for a princess on a white horse.

‘Forlorn? What nonsense am I even thinking?’

Determined, Misha kept trying to get Celestian’s attention. She needed to figure out his intentions and report them to Daphne as soon as possible. A strange competitive spirit flared within him—he even started fantasizing about setting his boss up with a wealthy new suitor.

“You once asked Narid about my lady’s preferences, didn’t you? Well, I know them better than anyone.”

At last, Celestian’s green eyes flicked toward her, one eyebrow arching as if to say, Go on.

Misha removed his glasses, steadied himself, and delivered him next line with confidence:

“My lady prefers black hair. Natural black hair. She’d especially like a handsome war hero with black hair—someone rich and immensely powerful.”

Misha’s ideal candidate for his employer, the crown prince he had admired and hoped for, was already a lost cause—a train that had left the station.

‘If only he still held control over the railway industry passed down through the royal family, my boss could’ve broken away from her family and become an even greater magnate.’

“So, because I’m blond, a rebel, and basically a broke nobody, I’m not suited for Daphne—is that what you’re saying?” Celestian asked after carefully mulling over his words.

“Exactly correct. Seems your brain isn’t entirely empty,” Misha affirmed.

His certainty only grew when Celestian let out a deflating chuckle, soon laughing fully with his eyes crinkling in amusement. His laugh was surprisingly refreshing—and oddly familiar.

“Misha, come here,” Celestian said, gesturing with his index finger in a way that would have earned him a scolding from Daphne for being so rude.

Misha gasped, practically huffing in disbelief.

“No, thank you. I don’t take orders from penniless rebels.”

“But you’re hearing me just fine.”

“…….”

“Or should I come to you?”

Even as he said something potentially irritating, his lighthearted demeanor never wavered. Misha gritted his teeth, choosing to ignore him and refocusing on the documents in front of him.

‘This man is strange—no, even strange doesn’t begin to cover it.’

“Misha,” Celestian said again.

Screeech!

Misha’s chair scraped loudly against the floor as he jerked in shock. Without him realizing, the man who had been far across the room was now suddenly standing right in front of him.

“Uh…”

Before he could react further, a large hand reached toward his face. Overwhelmed, Misha suddenly felt like calling out for a mother he’d never even seen.

 

*****

 

Daphne bit down hard on her lower lip, grabbing Romeo’s muscular forearms and pushing him back.

“We can’t do this.”

Moving the burly navy officer required more strength than she’d anticipated. As his body, once leaning against something, suddenly lost its support, Romeo reflexively grabbed Daphne’s arms to steady himself.

“It’s over between us! You’re the one who chose someone else, Romeo Rodriguez!”

“What’s this about now? You’re disgusting…”

Romeo muttered, furrowing his brows so tightly it seemed like they might never relax.

‘This bastard.’

Daphne subtly maneuvered him toward a blind spot where no one could see them, eventually pushing him onto the railing. Slumping against the balustrade, Romeo leaned on the support, sweating and panting heavily.

Daphne found herself once again in a situation she’d grown all too familiar with over the years. She had learned countless ways to escape from tight spots. But being accused of regicide? That was a first, and it sent her thoughts into a frozen state.

Going back inside was impossible, given all the prying eyes. Leaping over the railing and fleeing elsewhere would only draw more suspicion. She couldn’t help but laugh at her predicament: not a single trustworthy friend in sight.

‘If this were a drinking contest instead, maybe this would all be easier.’

As she took a step, the sticky, crimson liquid under her feet squelched faintly. She sighed without realizing it, then quickly shook her head. If Romeo wasn’t dead, people would claim it was all just a show, creating yet another scandal.

At that moment, the window of a terrace room next to the banquet hall slid open. Daphne turned toward it, tense and alert.

“Daphne?”

The voice was familiar, and she relaxed. The figure peered around briefly before jumping gracefully onto the grass below.

“Psyche!”

Stepping into the light of the small string bulbs, Psyche appeared. Daphne thought the glowing halo of the bulbs behind her made her look like she was radiating sunlight.

Spotting the suffering Romeo, Psyche paled and covered her mouth with her hand.

“It wasn’t me,” Daphne said, raising both hands to emphasize her innocence.

Psyche stepped back briefly, then took a running leap, clearing the height difference of the terrace and railing in one bound to stand by Daphne’s side.

‘Wow…’

The golden strands of Psyche’s hair swirled in the air, almost in slow motion, before settling back into place.

“I had a feeling something was wrong when I saw all those people gathering here…” Psyche muttered as she approached Romeo. She cradled his head in her arms, not even sparing a thought for the hem of her white dress, which was now stained red.

“Poison? Is it poison?”

“Yes.”

Though the exact type was still unclear, Daphne glanced down at the sticky, wine-like liquid underfoot.

“Did you drink any, Daphne?” Psyche asked.

“No, I didn’t.”

“That’s a relief.”

Psyche gently rubbed Romeo’s hardened cheek with her hand, closing her eyes. Her fingers trembled faintly, betraying her outward composure.

“Psyche,” Daphne began, wanting to reassure her somehow. But no words seemed right. What woman would feel comforted hearing her lover had been trained to handle poison since childhood?

But Psyche, ever graceful and composed, spoke softly, as if nothing could faze her.

“Daphne, actually…”

Her pink lips parted slightly, and her uneasy expression made it clear she was about to deliver bad news. Daphne tensed instinctively, bracing herself for whatever was to come.