Chapter 11
Divoa, who had already dismounted from the carriage, was now walking beside her. Irene’s indifferent gaze briefly swept over his face before returning to the path ahead.
Javier, following a few steps behind, was so unnoticeable that he seemed like Divoa’s shadow. In that sense, he was similar to Irene: a shadow and a ghost. At least it was a more fitting combination than the sun and a ghost—like a morning glory and a sweet potato.
“Honestly, a stroll is more about who you walk with than the weather. Thank you for granting me the honor of walking with you, Miss Irene,” Divoa said.
For a moment, Irene stopped in her tracks. Divoa halted as well, wearing a charming smile. He was well aware of the power of his smile and used it without hesitation.
Would she finally accept his proposition? Just as a faint disappointment flickered across his face at the prospect of a surrender quicker than expected, Irene, standing on the road’s edge, walked past him and stepped toward the inner side of the path. She resumed her walk without a word.
Following her, Divoa asked, “The maids tend to throw out dirty water suddenly. That’s why I was walking on the inside.”
In an unusually brisk tone, Irene replied, “I once read an article stating that in the capital, at least 1, 203 carriage accidents occur annually. Among those, 489 involve carriages hitting pedestrians. Though Therapia’s population is smaller than the capital’s, applying the same ratio means roughly 401 carriage accidents happen here each year. Of those, 163 would involve pedestrians. That means every three days, a pedestrian is hit by a carriage. I don’t want to be one of those unfortunate victims.”
Divoa raised an eyebrow as he listened. “So, to put it simply, you pushed me toward the road to avoid being hit by a carriage yourself?”
“It’s better to get splashed with dirty water than be hit by a carriage,” Irene answered. After a brief pause, she added with a slightly sullen expression, “…I dislike dirty water too, but I can wash it off.”
For once, the usually quick-witted Divoa was at a loss for words. He was a prince, a grand duke, and the kingdom’s commander-in-chief. Everyone treated him with reverence. His parents were overly protective, and the servants tiptoed around him.
Yet Irene, to save herself, had pushed him toward the road. A fundamental question suddenly crossed his mind.
“And it’s fine if I get hit by a carriage?”
Irene stopped again. After a brief moment of thought, she resumed walking with a quickened pace.
“Statistics show that injuries among male pedestrians are less severe than those among women and children.”
“So… injuries are minor. But injuries still happen, don’t they?” Divoa muttered to himself. This time, Irene didn’t respond.
Gesturing lightly, Divoa signaled Javier to approach.
“You called for me, Your Highness?”
“Walk on this side,” Divoa said, stepping aside to give Javier the roadside position. For a brief moment, Javier’s face was unreadable, but the loyal knight took his place without complaint.
As Divoa fell a step behind, he observed Irene’s back with a faint smile. She was intriguing—unlike anyone he had ever met.
Catching up to her, Divoa politely extended a hand. “Allow me to carry your bag.”
For a moment, Irene was speechless, taken aback by his unexpected offer. Even the housemaids never carried her bag.
“Why? It’s my bag, and it’s only right for me to carry it.”
“It’s a gentleman’s duty,” Divoa replied plainly.
Glancing at his outstretched hand, Irene tightened her grip on her bag. “No, thank you. I’ll carry it myself.”
“Hmm.” Divoa awkwardly clenched his empty fist.
Watching her closely, he recalled something a classmate of hers had once said:
“That time, Maxi looked so hurt. I even saw him sniffing his hands, wondering if they smelled bad. Poor guy.”
Why did that memory resurface now?
Looking back up, Divoa spoke casually. “What do you think of this: ten thousand gold per week, with a 1% raise every month?”
Once again, Irene stopped in her tracks. At this rate, she wondered if they’d reach the medical school today. But she couldn’t help but pause.
“It’s not a bad offer.”
Divoa’s unwavering gaze met hers, a playful smirk on his lips.
Yes, this was entertaining. No noblewoman had ever looked at him with such indifference. In fact, not even the servants dared to regard him without admiration or reverence. He was the son of the royal family, the kingdom’s protector, with countless titles to his name.
But Irene’s eyes were like mirrors, reflecting only what was there without emotion. He suddenly wondered what they would look like if they held any feelings.
“I’m offering a deal comparable to Sir Miguel Fritsch, the royal physician who served the palace for decades and is now my personal doctor. No medical school graduate on the continent would receive such a generous offer.”
Divoa was confident.
At that moment, Irene’s brows furrowed slightly. “Have you injured your head recently?”
Caught off guard, Divoa blinked in confusion. “No. Why do you ask?”
“If it’s not from an injury, it must be congenital,” Irene said, nodding to herself as if she’d solved a puzzle.
She quickened her pace, seemingly annoyed at the delay. Divoa, however, matched her step effortlessly.
“What exactly is congenital?” he asked.
“A significantly poor memory compared to the average person.”
“Excuse me?”
Divoa frowned, puzzled. “Are you saying my memory is bad?”
“I rejected your offer four days ago, but it seems you’ve forgotten,” Irene replied.
After a pause, she added, “But that’s okay. Memory varies from person to person. Everyone has their strengths. For example, while people call me a butcher, an ice queen, or a witch, everyone wants to be in my group during anatomy class. So don’t be too discouraged. You can always hone other skills.”
“…”
For a moment, Divoa’s face went blank. He bowed his head slightly, as if stunned. Only Javier noticed his shoulders trembling lightly. Without a word, Javier stared straight ahead, pretending not to notice.
Divoa finally exhaled and looked at Irene with narrowed eyes.
“Four days ago, you said you couldn’t be a doctor because you hate people.”
Irene blinked at him with a look that said, Then why are you making the same offer again?
Divoa gave her a charming smile. “I can’t give up so easily just because I was rejected once.”
Raising an eyebrow, he added with a shrug, “To be honest, I didn’t know I was this persistent. I’ve never been rejected before. This is a first.”
“That’s possible,” Irene replied nonchalantly, glancing around.
Switching sides to walk to Divoa’s right, she left Javier sandwiched between them.
Divoa raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you prefer walking on the inside to avoid carriage accidents?”
“There’s a ferocious dog up ahead,” she replied.
Before she could finish, a loud bark pierced the air.
“Woof! Woof!”
A chained guard dog lunged at them, the chain rattling ominously as it strained against its post.
In an instant, Divoa tensed, and Javier stepped forward, dagger drawn, ready to strike.
Irene glanced at the snarling dog before calmly resuming her walk. “The stake in the ground looks like it might come loose.”
Divoa turned slowly, watching Irene’s retreating figure.
And then, he laughed.
“Haha.”
While Javier stood on the edge, Irene remained utterly indifferent.
She was far too amusing.
“Aha!”
At that moment, Divoa resolved to bring her to his domain—no matter what. Perhaps this tedious game of life would become just a little more entertaining.
