AEVSM Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Rolling Around on the Bed

‘Where did I leave the gun…?’

Some people become unusually calm when they’re extremely pissed off. Daphne was one of those people.

The Beaucater estate didn’t house any cheap artwork, but this portrait was especially valuable because it had been a gift from Daphne’s mother.

Painted on a carefully woven linen canvas, with pigments meticulously chosen and mixed over months, the result was delicate and intricate. It was twice the height of Daphne herself, and when it was completed, it had been displayed in the main hall for half a year, boasting its perfect value.

Daphne pressed her forefinger to her temple and exhaled a silent, long sigh. Fortunately, the prince couldn’t see her face as she had her back to him. If she saw his handsome face in her current unsettled state, she would undoubtedly lose her composure.

‘Maybe I should just shoot him once. In the leg or something.’

Daphne was impulsive.

‘No, that won’t do.’

But because she cared deeply about her social image, she also had extraordinary patience.

She looked up again at the distorted portrait of the red-haired woman, now grotesque from bullet holes.

Daphne knew this was supposed to be a dark romance novel, but this portrait made it look like a horror story.

“Amen,” Daphne muttered. Behind her, the sound of bedding rustling suggested the prince had moved.

“Cele.”

“Don’t be mad, Beaucater. I was bored.”

He answered with a tone that almost sounded playful.

‘That damned boredom!’

Was it a common trait of the Rodriguez bloodline to act out when bored? he father couldn’t manage his gambling addiction and sank into unpayable debts. One brother blew up a greenhouse, while another—the idiot—was no better…

Now it felt like it had been her mistake to show them any goodwill.

‘So really, this counts as self-defense.’

She walked over to the bottom of the portrait and pressed a hidden latch with her toe. A soft click sounded, and from the secret compartment, Daphne pulled out a long box. She sat down and quickly got to work.

Click, clack, click. Clink.

The sound of metal parts fitting together was crisp and rhythmic.

“Beaucater.”

The prince seemed puzzled by Daphne’s lack of reaction to the wrecked bedroom. After only two days of enduring her slapping and scolding, he seemed to have grown accustomed to simple violence.

Clack, clatter.

“What, Cele?”

She turned around and stood up, cradling the heavy metal object in her left arm while inserting earplugs with her right. She looked at him.

“Oh…”

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Celestian looked as breathtaking as ever. His tousled golden hair gleamed in the setting sun, and for some reason, his shirt had been torn to shreds.

For a moment, Daphne propped her chin on her fist, taking in the sight of him from head to toe.

Celestian, with his bright complexion, seemed almost divine under the fractured light filtering through the cracked glass.

“What’s that?”

He eyed the Winchester rifle in Daphne’s arms.

“What do you think it is? It’s a gun.”

The rifle, its obsidian-black finish adorned with a gold lion emblem on the stock, was unmistakably one of Romeo Rodriguez’s prized possessions.

“It was up for grabs at a hunting meet, and I won. I’ve wanted this for ages.”

Daphne bragged, rubbing her cheek against the barrel, then positioned herself with her feet apart in a shooting stance. The prince’s handsome brow furrowed slightly before he smirked.

“Not scared?”

Despite being a fool, the prince was certainly brave.

“Do you even know how to shoot?”

The implied “for a girl” seemed to hang in the air. Instead of answering, Daphne lowered the lever, loaded the rifle, and swung her body to fire at the window. She reloaded in an instant and shot again, this time into the ceiling.

The already-cracked glass shattered into a cascade of crystalline fragments, clinking like a symphony as they fell.

The long stretch of the Angel River came into view, clear and vibrant. Warm reddish sunlight and a gentle breeze streamed into the room, filling it.

“My lady!”

Startled by the gunshots, the servants burst through the mahogany doors. Daphne rested the rifle on a chair and arrogantly clasped her hands behind her back.

Witnessing the chaos in the room, their jaws dropped. A single nod from Daphne sent them retreating behind the door. Briefly, she caught sight of Misha’s face, which looked on the verge of tears.

“Are you hurt?”

“As you can see, I’m fine.”

But the Daphne in the portrait was not.

“Could you close the door? I need to speak to my dear love.”

The Sasha brothers stammered offers to help, hesitating in their confusion. Before Daphne could sigh in frustration, Narid stepped forward and dutifully shut the door.

Bonus for Narid, she thought.,

Pushing aside shards of glass with her shoe, Daphne approached the bed. The prince, who had once lounged so arrogantly, was now nowhere to be seen—just a pitiable figure hiding under the white sheets.

She stared at the broad back rising and falling under the blanket before scratching her nose bridge.

“Prince.”

There was no answer.

“Cele?”

Princess Theriosa had been mercilessly shot through the chest and waist with a rifle similar to Daphne’s. It was the work of royalist extremists, and unfortunately, the ten-year-old prince had to witness his mother’s brutal death up close.

Just as Daphne reached out to pull the blanket, Celestian swiftly grabbed her wrist, overpowering her. Her red hair fell into her inverted view, obscuring her vision of the prince’s face, which was backlit by the window.

“Still, the bed’s intact. Was this your signal that you wanted to sleep with me? Did I miss it? That explains a lot.”

Her wrist ached from his grip. With her free hand, she brushed her hair back, trying to stay composed.

“Cele, I told you not to look down on me. You really are…”

She was about to reprimand him, but Celestian pressed the barrel of a revolver against her forehead. Daphne quickly calculated the number of bullets that might be left in the gun.

“Should I just kill you?”

So, he doesn’t even stammer in situations like this.

Seven bullets, standard capacity. Seven holes in the portrait’s face. One in the nose, one in the window. This gun had to be empty. Any lingering doubt disappeared.

“If you’re going to kill me, hurry up and do it.”

Empty bravado didn’t scare her.

“Cele, even if you kill me and manage to overpower all the servants in this room and escape, what will you do then? Do you have anywhere to go?”

“There’s no after that.”

“What?”

“I’ll seek Psyche’s help, of course.”

Even in this situation, he mentioned Psyche. Daphne squinted, trying not to laugh.

“Before you reach Psyche, what about the royalists outside? And even if you make it there, what about Romeo?”

The prince chose to remain silent. Daphne wanted to hug his tense, warm body, but instead, she raised a hand to grasp the barrel of the gun and lowered it to her mouth. Despite the tension, Celestian had relaxed the lever, which made her want to applaud his composure.

“If you want to kill in one shot, aim inside the mouth rather than the head. Now, try it.”

When she opened her mouth, Celestian gasped. The backlighting made his expression hard to see, which annoyed her.

“…You’re crazy.”

“Why? Say it’s a wave.”

“Value your life a bit more.”

‘This from the guy who risked his life for a woman he loved and started a rebellion?’

His dramatic monologue while holding a gun was almost pitiful.

“Why? I don’t think it’s bad to die by the hand of someone I love.”

“You don’t love me.”

Desperate to see his expression, Daphne furrowed her brow further.

“Oh, come on. I do love you. I’ve said it ninety-six times already. Four more and it’ll be a hundred. By now, I could’ve fired this rifle a hundred times instead of talking. Are you going to shoot or not? Should I do it for you?”

Only now did she notice that Celestian didn’t even have his finger on the trigger. His green eyes gazed down at her, eerily calm.

This feels terrible.

Daphne shoved Celestian with all her might, climbing onto his waist. Now, she could see his face clearly, and not just his surprised expression, but also his finely sculpted, muscular chest.

She licked her lips and put her index finger through the trigger guard.

“Beaucater.”

Their eyes locked. Celestian pulled the revolver towards himself, while Daphne kept trying to pull the trigger.

“Let go.”

“No, let me do it for you.”

“I said, let go!”

“Why are you so scared? This gun is empty anyway…”

Bang!

The gunshot echoed, accompanied by a burst of orange sparks. Daphne clutched her ear and cheek as she tumbled clumsily off the bed. She blinked several times, her eyes wide with shock.

The bullet had whizzed past her ear, pierced the canopy, and lodged in the ceiling. If Celestian hadn’t been weaker than her or failed to knock the gun aside, it would’ve gone straight through her eye.

A heavy silence fell between them. The prince, his expression a mix of astonishment and panic, stared down at Daphne sprawled on the floor.

“What possessed you to lunge at a man holding a gun?”

“Well, revolvers usually hold six rounds.”

“It was fully loaded with seven. This is Maril’s revolver; how could you not know that?”

Daphne pressed her pounding chest, trying to calm herself.

“How was I supposed to know our butler fully loads his guns at home?”

“You nearly died.”

Celestian should be happy if Daphne died. The Beaucater estate was close to the harbor, offering a perfect escape route overseas if needed.

‘Why does he look so shocked?’

However, what Daphne saw in his green eyes was not anger but confusion and anxiety. Staring directly into his irises, which flickered with those two emotions, made Daphne feel even more bewildered.

“You’re the one who pointed a loaded gun at my head, so why are you scolding me, Prince?”

The cheek Celestian had slapped earlier throbbed painfully. Daphne pressed her cheekbone with the back of her hand, feeling wronged. Her palm stung as though glass shards had embedded in it.

“I had no intention of shooting you.”

“Really? Why not?”

“If you died…”

Even as he stood up and brushed the glass shards off his trousers, he seemed hesitant.

His lips parted, but the pause dragged on frustratingly.

“I’m listening. Spit it out,” Daphne urged.

Celestian finally muttered softly.

“Psyche would be sad.”