Chapter 5
Why Is the Prince Acting Like That?
<Beaucater’s Crazy Villainess! Will she attend next month’s royal wedding with the traitor?>
The tabloid Today’s Trouble carried this headline in bold, eye-catching letters. Kisha, glancing over the newspaper, shook his head in disbelief.
“A traitor, huh. The lady must be furious again.”
He then cast a wary glance at the man leaning against the middle stairs in the room.
The sunlight pouring from the window of the staircase, the golden hair and the generous white shirts shine. The man was not enough.
‘Why is he doing that?’
Before Kisha could process further, a maid who had quietly approached from behind smacked him on the back with her fist.
“Narid, it hurts!”
“I told you to ask him to step aside! Why are you still standing there? I just need to finish cleaning the second floor!”
“Don’t you have a mouth?”
“You’ve subdued him before, haven’t you? You even hit him, so what are you scared of?”
The man, who had risen unusually early for someone new to the household, was scanning the room as if measuring something. The servants couldn’t help but feel tense as they worked.
Kisha again squeezed his fist and opened his fist.
“That’s why it’s scary. What if he decides to beat me up?”
“What’s so scary about him? Weren’t you a swordsmanship tournament champion?”
“That’s the problem.”
“What’s the problem? You’re being paid by the lady—do your job, idiot. I want to finish cleaning and go have dessert!”
The Continental Swordsmanship Tournament, where Daphne first noticed him, was infamous for its bloodshed.
The orphaned swordsman who’d barely survived until the end had been subdued effortlessly by his strange benefactor—who then, for no apparent reason, withdrew from the competition and handed him the championship title.
And yet, just a few days ago, Kisha had struck that very benefactor.
“You know the Grand Duke who supposedly commands ghosts as soldiers? I’m terrified of ghosts, you know that.”
“That’s because his title has no real power, you idiot. Do you want me to hit you too?”
“Aren’t you scared?”
“Of course, I’m not—!”
Narid, the maid, turned to look at the man, now leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling as if examining it. She gulped.
She was very known about the gossip that wanders from the bottom to the upper class.
The Grand Duke of Theriosa, renowned for his radiant beauty, was equally famous for ruthlessly destroying anyone he disliked.
Rumors swirled about how he had blackmailed the King to regain his title, how he had dealings with the pirates of Lybian, and even how he might have killed his own elder brother.
“He’s terrifying! That’s why I’m asking you to handle it!”
“Is this an attitude of asking this? I’ll tell the lady on you!”
“She likes me more, anyway!”
Narid raised her fist again. At her continued threats, Kisha finally sighed and made his reluctant way toward the man.
“Excuse me… Your Grace.”
Kisha himself is not very small, but in front of him, the man seemed to be bigger. The man’s fair face bore the faint yellow of fading bruises.
‘I’m doomed.’
Kisha’s instincts screamed at him.
“Yes?”
The man lowered his piercing green eyes to look at him.
“My colleagues need to clean here. Would you mind stepping aside for a moment?”
The man tilted his head to the right, glancing at the hesitant servants behind Kisha. Then, with a surprisingly kind smile, he replied.
“I was here first.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“That’s exactly what I said, but they insisted I come ask you. You look so perfect, like a statue, that they wondered if you were even human. Haha.”
Kisha chuckled awkwardly. Behind him, Narid rolled her eyes and smacked her forehead.
“Your Grace, Narid wants to head upstairs. Five steps to the side should be enough.”
“Fine.”
“Oh, thank you so much.”
Celestian offered a faint smile at Kisha’s gratitude.
“Kisha.”
Kisha’s pupils have expanded.
‘How does he know my name?’
During their encounter at the tournament, Kisha hadn’t even given his name. Even when they met again in Daphne’s room, he’d introduced himself only by his family name.
Before Kisha could process his confusion, Celestian spoke again.
“Who is it that I love?”
“Yes?”
Celestian didn’t repeat the question. Kisha scratched his cheek, rolling his eyes in thought. He was about to answer “our lady” when Narid interjected.
“It’s Lady Psyche of Denver, of course. Every noble knows that. Even our lady does.”
“Yes, it was Psyche.”
Celestians agreed without hesitation. The nonchalance in his voice irritated both Narid and Kisha.
“Kisha.”
Celestian extended a large hand. His fingers were long and slender, his palm unmarred save for a single deep scar—hands that looked untouched by hardship.
“What do you need?”
“Lend me your sword.”
Kisha reflexively bitten his body and touched the sword hanging on his back.
“I’m bored. I think my body is hard. ”
Celestian clenched his fist and lightly tapped his shoulder.
Until the knight system was abolished in the kingdom, the boys who dreamed of becoming the knight knew Theriosa. Kisha, too, had once idolized him as a young swordsman.
It had only been a few days since such a remarkable swordsman had been cooped up in one place, so it made sense he’d be itching for activity. But in this room, that was a different matter altogether.
“That might be a bit dangerous,” Kisha said cautiously.
“Do you think I can’t handle a sword?”
“Huh? No, that’s not it.”
Celestian tilted his head slightly, his pale green eyes, fresh as budding leaves, looking almost too pure.
“If that’s not the case, then… Do I seem dangerous to you?”
Celestian bowed a little slightly to Kisha’s eye level. Kisha shook once more.
Even beyond the Beaucater estate walls, many still wanted Celestian dead, their hatred unabated. Kisha himself wasn’t overly concerned, but the fact remained—Celestian was a traitor who had tried to assassinate the king.
Despite his prowess in combat, Celestian was oddly compliant with Daphne’s whims. Even when servants were blatantly hostile, he didn’t ignore them or retaliate. Instead, he responded with that disarming, charming smile.
“I won’t do anything. Just want to stretch a bit.”
If Kisha had to summarize, Celestian didn’t seem malicious.
“I’ll find a wooden sword for you.”
As Kisha pondered whether to hand over a real sword, Narid interrupted again.
Following the lady’s orders to treat him as a prince, Narid gracefully lifted her skirts and curtsied.
“Would you mind waiting in the garden, Your Grace? Kisha will assist you with your sparring there.”
“The garden’s too far.”
“It’s right outside the back door, and there’s the rose garden.”
Celestian raised one eyebrow slightly, signaling his dissatisfaction.
Narid recalled one more rumor. It was very famous in the social world, how he’d allegedly wiped out a noble family to claim Lady Psyche of Denver, covering it up afterward.
The Beautiful Stalker, the Two-Faced Psycho!
To Narid, his current polite-but-not-quite-warm demeanor seemed to validate the stories. He feigned kindness in front of the lady but barely masked his irritation now.
‘There must’ve been a reason why Count Serenade hated him so much.’
Even the previous owner of the mansion had shuddered at the sight of him, going so far as to hide all the newspapers mentioning his name.
“Without the lady’s direct order, I can’t help you, Your Grace,” Narid said, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to sound bold.
“The lady’s command?”
“Yes.”
Narid’s voice trembled finely. I pretended to be brave, but I was honestly scared.
“I can’t help it. Thank you.”
Contrary to her tense expectations, Celestian didn’t lash out. He simply offered a faint, almost mocking smile, the corners of his lips curving up briefly before settling back into a straight line.
Narid stared at him for a moment, momentarily dazed before snapping herself back to reality.
“Could I trouble you to step aside just a little?”
“Hard to do that when I haven’t gained anything in return.”
He tilted his head to the left, a charming yet unsettling smile on his face.
Narid almost lost her composure again but quickly remembered the promise of afternoon cake waiting for her.
“Tell me what your lady likes.”
Narid was able to answer this question with confidence.
“The Prince.”
By “the prince,” Narid was referring to Romeo, who had recently ascended as the heir apparent.
“Me?”
In Narid’s memory, the last man Daphne had shown interest in was a dark-haired prince. She had even once declared her distaste for blondes!
‘And our lady already has everything she could possibly want.’
This was the maximum revenge that Narid could do.
“She especially admires the prince’s appearance.”
Unaware of the maid’s hidden sarcasm, Celestian seemed satisfied with the answer. He straightened his posture and stepped exactly five paces aside.
Narid, beaming with victory, dashed upstairs.
‘Narid seems to have been teased now.’
Kisha shrugged.
“If you need anything, just call me,” he said, bowing slightly and turning to leave.
“Oh, Kisha. Lately, I’ve been so forgetful.”
Kisha froze. He could sense someone right behind him and tried to react quickly.
“So I almost forgot about this.”
But his shoulder was already firmly gripped. Though the grip seemed light, the pain was excruciating. Kisha winced.
“The other day…”
“Yes?”
Celestian’s radiant smile remained fixed as Kisha nervously mirrored it. His face was warm and cheerful, but Kisha felt a chill run down his spine.
“You were the one who hit me, weren’t you?”
* * *
‘Who cares who I take to the wedding? Do these tabloids have too much paper lying around?. ‘
Daphne grumbled internally as she scanned the article while passing through the grand gates of her mansion.
“Writing trash like this after taking my money? They must have a death wish.”
She cradled a large bouquet of pink hibiscus—Celestian’s favorite—as she stepped out of the car. Of course, Daphne wasn’t the one carrying the rest of her things; her dedicated assistant, Misha, was doing that.
“Oh, my lady, you’ve returned…”
Narid, looking pale as a ghost, greeted her employer at the mansion’s front gate.
“Narid, how thoughtful of you to come out so far. My legs work just fine; I can make it inside myself. Did something happen in my room?”
Narid, who had just taken a cake box from Misha, glanced nervously at Daphne the entire walk back to the house.
“Well, um, my lady… the prince—no, um…”
“The prince? What about him?”
“Well, it’s just that… Kisha…”
Narid’s face turned pale, and Daphne immediately realized what had happened.
‘The trophy’s finally acted up, hasn’t it?’
Feigning calm, Daphne wore a faint smile and pretended to admire the view of the Angel River as Narid anxiously fidgeted, dreading the impending storm.
When they reached the room, every servant stood outside, waiting nervously.
“My lady!”
“Oh my, what’s this about?”
Their eyes were like those of worshippers greeting a savior. Daphne, feeling slightly overwhelmed by their unusually intense welcome, stepped back.
“Hey, Kisha, what’s with your face?”
Misha darted forward and grabbed Kisha’s face, bursting into laughter.
“Didn’t you say you were quitting? Why are you back?”
“I resigned. I just came to pack my things,” Kisha muttered grumpily, turning his face at an angle where Daphne couldn’t see the damage. She could only see his long hair swaying, piquing her curiosity.
“Anyway, my lady, I’m sorry. I’ll repay this with my life.”
Before Daphne could get a clear look at Kisha’s face, he threw himself to the ground, pressing his forehead to the floor in apology.
“Hey, hey. If anyone sees this, they’ll think I treat you like this. Get up.”
“I’ll repay the remaining debt with my life.”
His tone was dramatic, as though he were performing on stage.
“Your life isn’t that cheap. Stand up before I make you.”
Daphne was indifferent and looked around the maid’s faces. Their expressions ranged from pale to flushed to utterly terrified.
“Seems like something big happened.”
A strange excitement sinned Daphne. It was similar to that mood before opening the ribbon strap of the gift.
As she opened the door, her gaze fell on the elegant scratches crisscrossing the blue marble floor. She rubbed her shoe lightly against them.
“Are these… sword marks? Where did the sword come from?”
“That, the traitor… ”
“Prince.”Daphne corrected, raising an eyebrow.
“The prince overpowered Kisha and took it.”
“Kisha? With one hand?”
The ancient decorative liquor bottles on display were shattered, and the round tapestry covering them was torn into pizza-like slices. It was an artistic mess.
‘If this is the cost of his looks, I suppose it’s worth it.’
“How did you know?”
Her question about the one-handed move had been casual, but Narid turned even paler, as if Daphne had uncovered the truth.
A swordsman losing their sword—wasn’t that akin to castration?
“Our poor Kisha’s been emasculated,” Daphne muttered, clicking her tongue as she finally stood in front of her room. Even the mahogany door was horribly scratched and peeling.
“Well, this is unfortunate.”
It was Daphne who thought she should remodel before this season. Turning to the looming shadow behind her, she saw Kisha’s swollen, mangled face.
“Oh my, Kisha, your face is a disaster.”
“My lady, I’m in so much pain.”
“I can see that.”
“The Grand Duke also took the butler’s revolver. It’s dangerous!”
‘Oh, a gun, too?’
Daphne paused, her eyes flickering briefly as she processed the new information.
“Your face looks more dangerous. It was the only thing tolerable about you.”
Kisha leaned his head and cried. Daphne nodded as if he knew, then pressed her finger to her lips to silence the servants.
After the humiliation Celestian had endured at the meal time, he’d been oddly quiet for days, and it seemed to be the day today.
When Daphne flung open the door, her bedroom looked like a chaotic abstract works of art.
“Oh my.”
The servants’ faces drained of color, and the maids, on the verge of tears, anxiously watched Daphne’s reaction.
“My lady, it’s dangerous in there,” Misha finally managed, his jaw still slack from shock.
The split table and broken sofa could be excused—they were replaced monthly anyway.
But the black wool carpet imported from the Western Continent had been shredded to rags, and Daphne nearly slipped on the scattered remains like a clumsy debutante.
‘I was planning to replace it anyway.’
Her mother’s gift, the aurora curtains, hung in tatters like a multi-tailed whip. The large glass window had a round hole in the bottom left corner, with cracks spider-webbing all the way to the top right.
‘You can buy anything new and change it.’
However, large portraits are large enough to occupy all of the walls. Her blood boiled the moment she saw it.
“Hello, Beaucater.”
The culprit who made Daphne’s bedroom a mess was lying horizontally in a large bed and looking upside down. Fortunately, the bed he was lying on was fine.
“I told you to hang on the east clock tower and hang on the ceiling. How does it feel? Do you think you’ve grown taller?”
His voice, light and pleasant, carried a surprising warmth. Daphne faced the Celestian lying backwards. Although his eyes were small, his eyes were shining green.
“Cele, you’ve shot me.”
“Shot you?”
“My portrait.”
“Oh, Is that your portrait?”
“Who else would it be?”
Celestian pressed his lips into a straight line, then smiled faintly.
“Isn’t it pretty? I like women who cry like that.”
Every hole in the painting’s face was marked with a bullet.
The most striking was the trail of a bullet that slashed from the clavicle to the eye, making it look as if the woman in the painting was weeping black tears.
