BVIB 11

Chapter 11

“Then, I’ll be going now,”

“…I’m sorry I can’t see you off, my lady,” Arma replied, his voice tinged with regret.

“…See you again,” he added, his words uncertain, his expression troubled.

Roselyn offered a faint, reassuring smile and nodded, bowing her head in silent farewell.

Turning away, she allowed a servant to guide her down the long, ornate corridor.

Tap, tap, tap.

With every step, she felt the weight of countless eyes upon her, the attention suffocating. She clicked her tongue in quiet disapproval—couldn’t they at least observe the most basic manners?

Suddenly, a voice called out behind her.
“My, my, where are you off to in such a hurry?”

Roselyn stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide. She spun around toward the source of the voice.

“G-good afternoon, Father,” Arma greeted, his voice a little shaky.

“Ah, there you are, my youngest,” the emperor replied, giving a lopsided smile that made him seem far younger than his age.

Arma scratched his cheek awkwardly with a gloved hand, a sheepish grin on his face.
“Yes, Father. Have you been well?”

“How could I be well when my own children only show their faces when they need something?” the emperor replied dryly.

“Ah… ha ha, I’m sorry. I’ll try to visit more often,” Arma said, forcing a laugh, even though they both knew it was just something to say.

The emperor just shrugged, as if to say he didn’t believe it for a second.

“Now that I’ve cleared the room, let’s drop the act, shall we?” the emperor said, his tone suddenly sharper.

Arma blinked once, then let his eyes curve into a gentle smile.
“I’m sorry, Father. I must be a bit slow—I’m not quite sure what you mean…”

The emperor sighed, waving his hand dismissively through the air.
“You really are no fun at all.”

As he gestured, the faint presence lingering above the ceiling vanished.

Arma, wearing his usual clueless expression, wandered over to the curtains and slowly pulled them closed. Instantly, the office dimmed, leaving only slivers of light from the edges and the glow of the chandelier to illuminate the room.

With the curtains drawn, Arma turned around. Backlit, his face was cast in deep shadow, no longer the innocent boyish one he usually wore. He pushed his hair back with a deliberate sweep of his hand—just a small change, but the effect was striking. The bright, naive child was gone, replaced by a young man with a cool, almost cynical edge to his features.

He didn’t answer the emperor’s question right away. Instead, he walked to the office’s side kitchenette, emerging moments later with a steaming kettle. He sat on the sofa opposite his father, crossed his legs, and poured tea into a cup still marked with a faded lipstick stain.

Setting the kettle aside, Arma lifted the teacup, his eyes glinting with sly amusement.

“So, what did you and Lady Roselyn talk about?” he asked quietly, that mysterious smile never leaving his lips.

“She said she wants to break off the engagement with you,” the emperor stated plainly.

“And?” Arma asked.

“I agreed,” the emperor replied.

Arma paused, the teacup hovering just before his lips, the red lipstick stain catching his eye.

“Why?” he asked quietly.

“She offered me something I need. If she delivers, she’ll get what she wants,” the emperor said, swirling his tea leisurely. His eyes, sharp and cold as frost, betrayed no emotion.

“She was more valuable to me than you, that’s all there is to it.”

He took a sip, utterly relaxed.

“What did she offer you?” Arma asked, tilting his teacup to mask his expression.

The emperor reached for the kettle Arma had brought him.
“Well, she asked me not to say.”

As Arma poured more tea into the emperor’s cup, he spoke up quietly, “Since you’re drinking the tea I prepared, don’t you think you could tell me?”

“Isn’t that a bit underhanded?” the emperor replied, arching an eyebrow.

“You started it,” Arma said, not missing a beat.

The emperor relented, his answer clipped. “Negotiations with Kaluta. And the investigation into the disappearances.”

With that, Arma set his cup down with a soft click.

The emperor shrugged, unbothered, his gaze flicking to the lipstick mark on Arma’s lips.

“She’s changed,” Arma remarked quietly.

She used to blush and fidget just from making eye contact. But today, Roselyn had met his gaze all day—steadily, without the slightest hint of embarrassment.

She spoke clearly, never stammering, and didn’t offer her usual shy smiles.

“Yes, she has. But as long as her changes don’t cause any harm, I have no reason to interfere,” the emperor replied.

Arma slowly ran his thumb over his lower lip, smudging the faint trace of lipstick and adding a touch of color to his pale features. The mark was left on his finger.

“Next month, I plan to send Lady Bellion as part of the Kaluta delegation,” the emperor said, watching him closely.

“I’ll go as well,” Arma said immediately.

The emperor narrowed his eyes.
“If you join, you’ll be in charge. Do you understand what that means?” he asked, resting his chin on his hand.

He knew exactly why Arma played the role of the harmless fool. In truth, Arma was the one who resembled the emperor most of all, and the emperor understood him better than anyone.

“I have no interest in the throne,” Arma replied with a short, derisive laugh.

“From Lady Bellion’s perspective, you really are the least appealing man imaginable,” the emperor said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Arma scowled at that.

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to go, regardless,” the emperor continued.

Arma’s gaze met his father’s—cold, sharp, and dangerous, like a blade glinting in the dark. The emperor only smiled, pleased, like a well-fed predator enjoying the game.

Of his three children, there was one who most resembled him—and who was exceptionally talented at that. How could the emperor not be pleased?

“I already asked Lady Bellion who she wanted to accompany her,” the emperor said, smiling slyly.

“…And who was that?” Arma asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Yuldian.”

Arma’s eyes widened in shock.

“Your brother will go as your replacement in the delegation.”

At those words, Arma’s face turned to stone, while the emperor’s smile only deepened.

“This is all to my liking. Everything here, in fact,” the woman declared.

“Oh, and may I have this gemstone as well? And that one over there, too?”

Pluieure Boutique, famed as the most expensive in the entire Empire, was abuzz with excitement.

The boutique’s owner, Madame Pluieure, felt her mood swinging wildly. Just half an hour ago, she’d been in the foulest of tempers—two nobles had arrived without a reservation at her exclusive, appointment-only shop.

But her irritation had vanished the moment she realized who her unexpected guests were.

Not only were they two of the most talked-about figures in high society, but they also shopped with the kind of boldness and generosity that merchants could only dream of.

There was Lady Roselyn Bellion, the Empire’s only titled lady—a name whispered in scandal and intrigue wherever nobles gathered.

And next to her was Marquis Gueran Wilbred, the mysterious, ever-smiling noble whose every business venture turned to gold and whose true intentions were anyone’s guess.

For Madame Pluieure, seeing these two together—who, to her knowledge, had never even crossed paths—was prime material for gossip.

But what truly astounded her was how different Lady Roselyn was from all the rumors. The frail, timid, stuttering noblewoman everyone whispered about had arrived in a sleek black dress, escorted by Marquis Wilbred himself.

Far from the stories of her wearing nothing but shabby, worn-out dresses, Roselyn’s entrance was poised and dignified. Contrary to rumors that she never lifted her head in public, she carried herself with all the pride and confidence of a highborn aristocrat—almost haughtily so.

Roselyn didn’t fuss over details or haggle like other noblewomen. Instead, she strolled leisurely around the boutique, pointing out whatever caught her eye, requesting to purchase them with a simple gesture.

Each dress cost at least several hundred olang, with some pieces fetching thousands or even millions. Madame Pluieure’s spirits soared with each new selection.

But as the number of items Roselyn wanted to buy climbed past ten, Madame Pluieure was soon overwhelmed. Now, as the count edged past twenty, she was starting to feel a touch of fear—the total bill for the luxury gowns and jewelry had already soared well into the millions.

“Oh, and this one is lovely, too,” Roselyn mused aloud.

Whenever Madame Pluieure nodded at an item, her staff hurried to fetch it. Already, the dresses Roselyn had agreed to purchase filled five racks to bursting.

From grand ballgowns and elegant day dresses to traveling outfits, luxurious nightgowns, and even prototype negligees, nothing had escaped her notice. Shoes and accessories, too, were piling up by the handful.

“Are you really planning to buy all of this?” Marquis Gueran Wilbred asked with his ever-present smile, while Madame Pluieure, mentally tallying the mounting costs, shot a nervous glance their way.

Roselyn raised an eyebrow and gave a sly smile before answering.