Chapter 12
The fierce dog that had been ready to attack Divoa just moments ago now cowered with its tail tucked between its legs. Its predatory instincts remained, but it could clearly distinguish between those it could challenge and those it couldn’t.
Divoa let out a short laugh and quickly walked over to Irene. Her gaze briefly flicked to the sharp, glinting blade in the sunlight as if to confirm her thoughts. Noticing, Divoa added in a casual tone:
“My guard can be a bit excessive. Others might find it over-the-top.”
Then he called out to Javier.
“That’s enough. Let’s go.”
But Javier didn’t immediately lower his weapon. It seemed he couldn’t forgive the beast for daring to bare its teeth at Divoa. Passersby glanced nervously between him and the dog, wondering what had happened.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Divoa’s voice dropped a little, and only then did Javier sheath his dagger and return to his position at Divoa’s side.
Divoa and Irene resumed walking side by side, and Divoa’s lighthearted voice broke the silence, almost like a joke:
“Afraid of carriage accidents, keeping your distance from wild dogs—despite appearances, you seem to scare easily.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Not scared?”
Divoa repeated her words, though his expression suggested skepticism. If this wasn’t fear, then what was?
Suddenly, something came to his mind, and his brow furrowed.
“Although, you didn’t seem scared when cutting open that corpse.”
There was a hint of a smile on Divoa’s lips, but his eyes were sharp as if trying to determine which side of her was real.
Irene, her face expressionless, replied in a flat tone:
“I’m not scared.”
“…”
“I just don’t want to die.”
“…Don’t want to die.”
Divoa echoed her words like a parrot, his voice low and almost to himself.
“Yes. I want to live. For a very long time.”
For a very long time.
By anyone’s measure, Divoa was the one blessed by the gods: noble lineage, immense power and wealth, handsome looks, and a silver tongue. The world adored him.
In contrast, Irene was his polar opposite: the illegitimate daughter of a rural baron, dressed in a worn-out gown, with clumsy social skills and a prickly personality. No one loved her—not even her own family.
Yet Irene Rios said she didn’t want to die. She wanted to live, and not just live—she wanted to live for a long time.
Why?
What made her want to live so much? What could possibly be so enjoyable? Did she have something Divoa didn’t know about?
As Divoa sank into his thoughts, the silence between them grew heavy, like a stone. Irene wasn’t one to talk much, nor was she the type to flatter others for favor.
The only sounds between them were the creak of passing carriages and the warm, red sunlight. Yet the silence wasn’t particularly awkward or uncomfortable.
“To live for a very long time…”
Divoa admitted to himself that he wasn’t entirely displeased. He relaxed his expression and took in the breeze and the swaying leaves.
Time passed. Javier, ever his shadow, finally broke the quiet.
“Your Highness.”
That was all he said, but Divoa understood what he meant. His expression had hardened again at some point.
“Hah.”
A dry laugh escaped Divoa’s lips. They must have been walking for two hours since leaving Baron Rios’s residence, yet the medical university was nowhere in sight.
Divoa, unfamiliar with Therapia, didn’t know where the university was located. And why should he? That was the coachman’s responsibility, not his.
His earlier good mood evaporated, replaced by growing irritation. His stomach churned as he glanced at Irene, walking beside him with a composed expression.
For reasons he couldn’t quite grasp, her calm demeanor made him even more frustrated.
“Haha.”
Another hollow laugh slipped out. She was the baron’s daughter, wasn’t she? And yet, she walked this long distance on foot?
Divoa pictured Baron Rios and his well-dressed wife and children. Every family had its circumstances, but still…
“This is disgusting.”
“Excuse me?”
Javier asked, unsure if he’d heard correctly. Divoa only responded with a dazzling smile before turning his attention back to Irene.
His voice turned sweet, like honey.
“I’d love to show you my territory in Norte someday. It’s much warmer than here.”
Hmm?
Irene tilted her head ever so slightly—so subtly that only someone as observant as Divoa would have noticed.
She blinked slowly, a habitual gesture, before responding.
“According to the encyclopedia I read, Norte is in the northernmost part of the Diboa Kingdom. The average temperature is about 15 degrees, fairly cool, and in winter, it frequently drops to minus 20.”
“You’re well-informed. Are you interested in Norte? If you visit, I’d gladly open my castle gates for you.”
Divoa spread his arms as if welcoming her.
But Irene’s expression remained unchanged.
“In contrast, Therapia’s average temperature is 20 degrees, and winter rarely drops below minus 10.”
“Hmm.”
Divoa rubbed his chin, feigning thought, before asking skeptically:
“You seem very interested in temperatures.”
Irene shook her head. This misunderstanding wasn’t new to her; people often failed to grasp what she meant.
“To put it simply, Therapia is objectively warmer than Norte.”
“Ah.”
Finally understanding, Divoa’s eyes sparkled with amusement.
“I meant that, subjectively, Norte feels warmer than Therapia.”
“Subjectively?”
Irene’s eyes widened slightly, curiosity lighting up her blue gaze. It wasn’t the reaction Divoa had expected, but it was still pleasing to see.
“Can temperature be measured subjectively?”
“I’m not talking about the weather. I’m talking about the people. Norte may be in the far north, but its people are less harsh than those in Therapia. They have a common enemy in the Alvar Kingdom, which unites them. That shared struggle makes them more warm-hearted.”
“I see.”
Irene nodded reluctantly. Things that couldn’t be measured weren’t objectively comparable, and thus, Divoa’s claim remained an unprovable hypothesis.
But Irene said nothing. After all, silence was often the best response, even if she rarely managed to blend in or stay unnoticed.
“I look forward to the day you visit my territory, Irene.”
Irene opened her mouth to reply but closed it again. Divoa hadn’t forgotten her earlier refusal—he was persistent.
By now, the sky had darkened, and the university gates loomed ahead. They were closing soon.
As the gatekeeper began to shut the gates, Irene darted forward, slipping through just in time.
“…”
Divoa watched her retreating figure. She didn’t look back, disappearing straight into the shadows.
His expression darkened. She had walked this entire distance for him, missing her evening meal and possibly lunch as well. Not even tea had been served at the baron’s house.
“Hah.”
A dry laugh escaped him. Divoa always got what he wanted, no matter what he meant, but today, he left a bitter taste in his mouth like never before.
