BVIB 17

Chapter 17

“Ahem. Anyway! Some girls bring their grandfathers homemade cookies or dishes for tea time…” the Duke tried again.

“I can’t cook,” Roselyn replied without hesitation, cutting off his hopeful suggestion.

He tried to recover. “Well, I suppose it’s more efficient to have verified chefs and pâtissiers prepare food anyway. It’s better for your palate and saves time,” she added matter-of-factly.

The Duke fell silent. She had a point—of course, anything made by someone who’d studied the culinary arts all their life would taste better.

Their conversation felt strangely out of sync, and the Duke pressed his lips together, unsure what to say next. He was known as a difficult man, someone people grumbled about behind his back, but he’d always tried not to be that way with his grandchildren—especially after taking so much flak from his eldest son.

“In any case,” he continued, “if you ever feel upset, you should come to me. It would make me feel useful as a grandfather. You don’t have to handle everything on your own.”

Roselyn’s answer was immediate. “And what would that accomplish?”

“I could at least listen, maybe offer some advice or help you find a solution.”

She shook her head gently. “No, thank you. If I complain about what upsets me, then there will just be two people feeling upset instead of one.”

The Duke shot Roselyn a look of utter exasperation, then glanced over at Ian and Aegis as if searching for backup.

“And as you can see, I managed to handle things on my own,” Roselyn added.

“Honestly, I must be the most unlucky man when it comes to granddaughters,” the Duke sighed.

“Not just granddaughters,” Roselyn murmured with a wry smile. “From what I’ve seen, you’re not exactly blessed in the children department, either… Oh—my apologies.” She quickly cut herself off, lips twitching with self-mockery.

The three men stared at her in stunned silence. Roselyn looked away, avoiding their eyes.

“Ahem. Anyway, as soon as everything is ready, I’ll move into the villa Marquis Gueron owns—”

“Are you even listening to yourself?” Ian snapped, cutting her off with his usual roughness. “You think Kaluta’s just some harmless backwater? That’s not a place for a girl like you—skinny as a reed! Haven’t you heard the stories? People say they’ll eat anyone alive out there, human or not!”

“Actually, Marquis Gueron does have a dog named Kaluta,” Roselyn replied calmly.

Ian stared at her as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“And for the record, Kaluta isn’t a man-eater. Please, go on,” she added, waving her hand dismissively.

Ian opened and closed his mouth, then let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Look, with all the rumors going around lately, I don’t like the idea of you living on your own either.”

“Marquis Gueron has agreed to provide me with an escort,” Roselyn said.

“That’s exactly what I don’t get! Why is that guy looking out for you? Are you—what, are you something to him?” Ian blurted.

“Yes,” Roselyn answered without missing a beat.

Well, if he’s someone who crossed over with me from a parallel world, that counts as something, she thought, her tone dry.

Ian gaped at her, speechless.

“Anyway! Just know that nothing good will come of this. When an adult tells you to do something, you’re supposed to say ‘Yes, I understand’—not argue back at every turn!” he snapped, thoroughly exasperated by her bluntness.

Roselyn frowned, unimpressed by his stubbornness.

“I think it’s best if we discuss this another time. I’ll be heading out for now,” Roselyn said, unable to bear the complete chaos any longer—her unconscious father slung over Aegis’s shoulder, Ian snapping irritably at everyone, and the general air of disaster in the room.

She slipped on the indoor shoes the maids had fetched for her, bowed politely, and turned to leave.

“Oh, and Your Grace—”

“Call me Grandfather,” the Duke grumbled.

“Yes, Duke Bellion, Your Grace, Grandfather,” Roselyn replied, deadpan.

The Duke gave her a look that said, What on earth am I going to do with this girl?

“Oh, and Your Grace, Grandfather,” Roselyn added, pausing at the door. “Second Uncle is a Makluksa. There’s proof on the soles of his feet.”

Without warning, she dropped this bombshell and strolled calmly out toward the garden.

“…What did she just say?”

“Uh…?”

“That little—”

“Hey! Hey! You little brat!! Where do you think you’re going?! Liar! Tell them you’re lying—! Ack! No, Father, she’s lying, I swear! Ow! Dad, stop, it hurts! I’m telling you, it’s not true!”

Ian’s voice—half outrage, half panic—echoed behind her as Roselyn made her leisurely way back to her room.

The next day, a maid quietly informed her that Ian Bellion had, in fact, been the “Look” of the Makluksa all along.

[You’d better come find me right now! I swear, I’ll kill you!!]

The furious handwriting made it clear just how angry the sender was.

For the past two weeks, Roselyn had received one of these threatening notes every morning. She narrowed her eyes at today’s and then casually slid it aside.

Next came the usual stack of invitations, all lined up in a neat row—teas, dinners, banquets. Anything not from the Imperial Palace, she pushed aside as well.

What remained was a letter from Marquis Gueron and—

[You are the rarest flower in the world. No one but Marquis Gueron could hope to obtain you.]

[I didn’t just have someone pick this up for you—I went out and bought it myself. Once you leave, you won’t get gifts like this anymore.]

[I passed a jewelry shop on my way and thought of you, so I bought something special. They say even Kaluta doesn’t have gems like these.]

[You’re far too delicate for a place like Kaluta. I’m sure you’d—well, Kaluta is full of barbarians, completely unsuitable for someone like you.]

Now, all that remained were notes that had taken on a very different meaning.

Roselyn let out a hollow laugh.

Maybe I should have tried being a little more honest… she thought, only to shake her head. Looking back, she doubted things would have gone any better.

Whenever she became angry, her instinct was to grab her opponent by the hair or slap them across the face. Her father had shown no interest in her, and even when her grandfather or uncles tried to talk to her, she’d always responded with cold indifference.

She could admit it now. All those years ago, it had just been a pitiful attempt to protect a nonexistent sense of pride.

If she’d asked for help back then, maybe—just maybe—she could have met a kinder end.

But the more people tried to reach out, the more she lashed out in return. She thought that if someone treated her poorly, the only way to win was to treat them even worse.

By the time she realized it, the dirtiest rumors about her were already spreading throughout society.

She’d thought she could handle everything on her own. But the moment she left the ducal household, petty acts of revenge followed her everywhere.

Finding a job was nearly impossible. Even getting a decent meal became a struggle. The noble families had closed every door to her, blocking her at every turn.

So she adapted. Sometimes, she used her looks to ensnare another noble, letting their infatuation work to her advantage. She started her own ventures, funding them with money earned by selling information—details about noble families or even entire nations, always to their rivals.

She didn’t hesitate to use people as tools, discarding them the moment they’d served their purpose. Sometimes, she even used those who trusted her as shields.

There were times she hid her identity and accepted the kindness of villagers, only to watch—unmoving—as an entire village was wiped out. She’d known what was coming, and yet she’d let it happen.

She’d felt like she would die if she didn’t do whatever it took to survive.

Roselyn pushed the letter aside, not even bothering to open the one from Marquis Gueron.

The last envelope caught her attention—a gold wax seal stamped with the imperial crest.

The Third Prince.

With a short sigh, she picked up her letter opener and sliced the envelope open.

To Lady Roselyn Bellion,

The warm spring days are continuing, and I hope you too have been able to enjoy this gentle season.

I am writing to request your permission to visit the Bellion estate. I have a gift for you, and there are some things I wish to discuss in person.

Of course, I will make myself available at whatever time is most convenient for you. If you have no particular preference, would it be acceptable for me to call on you this Friday at noon?

I hope this letter does not take up too much of your precious time, and I would be honored if you would allow me the opportunity to share a little of it.

—Arma Dianitas

The letter was nothing if not impeccably polite—so polite, in fact, that Roselyn almost felt guilty at the thought of turning down the request.

She leaned back in her chair, letting her head fall against the headrest with a quiet sigh.

Peaceful. It’s almost too peaceful.

So peaceful, in fact, that she couldn’t help but wonder if this was how things were really supposed to be.

She could easily guess what Marquis Gueron’s letter would say. She opened it carelessly and scanned the contents.

You’ve gone too far. I’m disappointed in you.

That was all.

It didn’t take much effort to figure out what he was upset about.

He must have lost out on the Norlang Mine at auction. No surprise there.

Roselyn gave a short, derisive laugh and tore up the note, tossing the scraps onto the table without a second thought.

It made sense that Marquis Gueran, with his knowledge of the future, would be after the same things she was.

Among the options, the Norlang Mine was easily the best bargain—a hidden jackpot disguised as a worthless property.

Sure, everyone thinks it’s just a dump full of cheap amber right now…

But that was about to change. In just a few days, it would be announced that those so-called “impure amber” stones were actually a rare mineral called yellowknite.

In her original world, Baron Robert would snag the mine for just 340 million Olang, and the discovery would make him filthy rich. He’d been throwing himself at her ever since, eager to flaunt his newfound wealth—until he ruined things with his arrogance.

And speaking of Baron Robert… he’s going to be at next week’s banquet, isn’t he?

Roselyn smiled to herself, a graceful and elegant curve to her lips.

This should be interesting. I certainly won’t be bored.