#017
Percival turned his horse's head. As the rigidly forward-facing procession twisted around, Catherine thought for a moment she was dreaming. Staring at eyes that wouldn't leave her face, she instinctively knew: He hasn't forgotten about me. And then she thought: If I run into that lunatic here, I'll never be able to show my face in this town again.
"Ha."
She'd already been shocked that morning by the provocative headline:
If the nation's beloved lily holy knight got added to that, the rumors would spread to the imperial social circles, and all her efforts to escape Orleans would be for nothing.
So Catherine ran. She plunged through the crowd into the narrowest back alley where no horse could follow. Like a total maniac!
Hiiing!
"Kyaaak!"
Several whinnies and screams scattered behind her. No way he'd trample spectators just to chase me in here, right? That was her thought, but her legs didn't stop pounding the pavement. A nagging anxiety crept in: With that madman, he just might.
She was diving even deeper into the alleys when a strong grip seized her arm and yanked her into the shadows.
"Huh?"
"Shh."
Ting-a-ling. A bell jingled.
Peeking around from where she'd collapsed on the floor, she saw familiar blue foliage covering the ceiling and floor. Demian, hunched low in front of her, peered out the window. Catherine caught her breath and stared at his calm profile.
"......How are you here?"
"Came to buy herbicide."
No wonder it looked familiar—this was the flower shop she'd often passed by the square. She'd thought she'd gotten farther away, but she'd looped right back.
"The owner left me in charge while she went to watch the procession. Geez, do I look that much like imperial knights are pushovers?"
No more hoofbeats. Her racing heart began to slow. For her usually level-headed self, this level of shock was a rare occurrence.
"Why'd you suddenly drag me in here? Nearly gave me a heart attack."
"The shocked one here is me, miss. Why's that mad dog chasing you? You his parents' killer or something?"
Parents' killer? Catherine and Percival weren't that deeply connected. Not deeply, but they'd both inflicted betrayal on each other... Wait, was describing it that way even accurate?
Taking her silence as confirmation, Demian let out an incredulous chuckle.
"Well, damn. Enemy of that mad hound... I figured someone scary enough to make an enemy of him existed, but you being the one? How've you stayed alive this long?"
"Don't talk nonsense. It's not like that."
"Then secret siblings?"
"I said no."
"Secret lovers?"
"If it's a lover, why hide it?"
"'Cause he's worth hiding. Personality aside, he's a perfectly fine crown prince heir, right? Betrothed since birth to some stunning fiancée, they say."
Ah. Right, Percival had a fiancée.
Thanks to Demian, a long-buried memory resurfaced. A woman plagued by chronic illnesses due to her frail constitution. Yes, the existence of that prearranged fiancée had been one of the fundamental cracks between her and Percival.
......No. That's just an excuse.
Back then, Catherine Orleans had been a contradictory mess wearing a somewhat vicious mask. To her at the time, Percival was nothing but a brief lapse. Even without promised fiancés on both sides, they never would've ended up together.
"Lemme ask you something, Demian."
He stiffened at her words.
"What? It really secret siblings? I always thought you were oddly extraordinary—turns out you're a hidden princess of the Parhenrine Holy Kingdom..."
"I get your imagination's wild enough. Just stop the bullshit."
Ahem.Demian cleared his throat awkwardly. Catherine glared at him before asking slowly—a question she'd never pose to a long-time close friend.
"When a man tells a woman 'let's run away together,' how much of his heart does he have to give for that?"
Demian's reply was instant.
"When he's in love."
A brief silence fell.
"Haha."
An empty laugh echoed through the vacant flower shop.
"Haha! No way. That mad dog proposed that to you...? Haha!"
Catherine silently watched Demian's face. It was the reaction she'd expected.
"Haha, ha......"
But his laughter didn't last.
"......You turned him down?"
"No."
"Didn't turn him down, then how... Ah! Haha... Well, that's how it goes with men and women. Even eternal love fades with time, right? I get it."
"I accepted and ran away on the promised day."
"......Pardon? You ran?"
Looking back, that was peak stormy youth. Inside Orleans, she'd suppressed her 'self' to survive, but outside, the world felt like it was at her feet. She thought she could twist the Pope's golden boy with a few clever words. And she'd half-succeeded, too.
"Why run?"
"It wasn't realistic."
Back then, she'd believed sheer burning passion between them could conquer all. Percival's gaze had been so overwhelmingly possessive. The thick floral scent enveloping him had made her heart race like a line from some old romance novel. He'd probably felt the same. He'd chased her today drawn by those memories, but there was no lingering regret over their unfulfilled bond.
"You've been brutally realistic since you were young, miss."
"I can read your mind. You're wondering how I could do that."
Demian shook his head.
"Nah. I'm more shocked that mad dog said it. Can't judge your personal choices as right or wrong."
His eyes held faint awe, pity, and the look of someone who'd met a woman crazier than expected.
"But damn, miss. Chezare wasn't enough—you gotta collect mad dogs too? How do you only attract those kinds...?"
Slip.
Demian clamped his mouth shut and cautiously scanned around. As if Chezare would be here—but recalling how he popped up and vanished like light, she felt a twinge of sympathy for Demian.
"So, you only go for those types? Some hidden river-like charm I don't know about?"
He seemed genuinely curious, so Catherine answered sincerely.
"Quit teasing and buy the herbicide."
Still, having Demian here was a relief. He demanded not just herbicide but various gardening tools—pruning shears, sickle, even a pickaxe from the East... She was grateful to have him dive into work penniless on her behalf. But her wallet ended up completely empty.
1,000 reids. For a fabulously wealthy duke's family head, had he already forgotten the 1,000 reids he'd tossed her?
No way that sly fox would forget. Even one reid missing, and he'd evict me from the mansion on the spot.
Her future looked bleak. No more delaying—she had to find a way to earn money. Vowing to check the job listings in the newspaper right away, Catherine led a laden Demian back to the mansion, arms full.
"Oing. Catherine came back with a poop-stepped face!"
Yaong, hidden in the garden, bounced over and stopped at her feet.
"If I look that bad, at least comfort me."
"Sorry, but Yaong's busy today! Yaong's off to hunt a brutal beast that reeks of blood!"
With that, Yaong vanished into the garden faster than it'd arrived. A tiny thing hunting something blood-scented and brutal? Half joke, half serious.
Inside, someone else was already browsing her newspaper. Roze, who like Catherine had just arrived and was tying her apron, turned around. Demian groaned.
"Miss! Let's warm up with some tea first to ease the fatigue..."
"Chezare? What brings you here?"
"...Ahem! Then, miss, I'll head to the garden for maintenance. Enjoy your time with Chezare, sir."
Demian bowed to Chezare and bolted to the garden. With him popping up anytime, Demian was constantly on edge even outside.
Houseguest or not, Chezare didn't look up from the paper. Curious what had him so serious, Catherine sneaked behind and peeked at the open page.
Her mind reeled into chaos. Screaming internally, she snatched the newspaper from Chezare.
Only then did his gaze shift to her.
"Why take it?"
"'Cause you're reading useless gossip!"
"Useless?"
Tap, tap. She followed the rhythmic sound—Chezare was drumming the table with the back of his fountain pen.
"I was solving the puzzle."
She checked the paper again. Beneath the massive gossip section sprawled a crossword, over half-filled.
Embarrassing.
"......Sorry."
Why had she assumed he'd be poring over that "Holy Knight Returning from Subjugation, Scandal with the Ghost Mansion's Mistress?" nonsense? They weren't the type to pry into each other's private lives.
To escape the awkward air, Catherine downed two glasses of cold water. Just before heading to help Demian, she couldn't hold back one question.
"So, what brings you here today?"
Chezare, filling in the remaining puzzle over the paper, replied.
"Nothing much. Just came to check an amusing article."
She shot him a suspicious glare.
"You don't mean the one on that page, right?"
"Correct."
Look at that brazen face. Catherine felt indignant about her earlier embarrassment, assuming otherwise. Her tone sharpened more than usual without realizing.
"Why do you care about that? What if the rumors are true?"
At that, Chezare's expression changed. His eyes darkened, clearly displeased.