Chapter 201: Because I Can't Lie (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 201: Because I Can't Lie (1)
Calian’s smile toward Demirea never wavered.
Wearing a flawless, perfect smile, he used his fingertips to trace the outline of the deeper, genuine one he wished he could wear.
“Demirea, this way.”
He personally guided her to his own seat, which now stood vacant.
Demirea knew very well that in a place like this, even a single breath or a passing glance carried the weight of a branding iron. With a faint smile of her own, she bowed her head in response to his hospitality and followed him to the seat.
The murmuring subsided.
The nobles gathered in Siegfried Hall struggled to interpret the scene unfolding before them. Their long-held speculations had proven correct; a day they had only ever imagined was now a reality. A tense silence fell over the hall.
“Marquis Brissen has not yet arrived.”
The distance between their seats and those of the other nobles was considerable. Demirea spoke with a gentle smile, as if making a light pleasantry. Her voice was barely a whisper, careful not to let the words travel through the silence, which was thicker and more turbulent than ever before.
Calian nodded in response to Demirea’s ‘light pleasantry,’ which pointed out the absence of the one person who absolutely should have been present.
“Yes, I know.”
After all, no one here held a higher status than Calian or Franz, who had just departed. Yet the two princes had arrived and taken their seats before Demirea and Evan.
Of course, Calian had instructed Demirea to do just that. It was a calculated move to seize the attention of every noble in the room, flaunting his ambition as effectively as possible.
“His reasons are similar to yours, yet slightly different. He will be here soon.”
Evan would be the same. He wanted to demonstrate that his influence and power stood above those of the princes. He was undoubtedly counting the seconds, waiting for the perfect moment to ruin the gathering.
And perhaps…
“His Majesty the King is entering!”
“…he wants to show that his power is greater than even His Majesty’s.”
As if on cue with the knight’s announcement of Lemain’s arrival, Demirea gave a slight nod at Calian’s murmured words and rose to her feet. Calian followed suit.
Alan was not present. Since it was a day where he could neither congratulate Calian nor withhold his congratulations, he had informed Lemain of his absence in advance.
Dressed in dark gray formal attire with purple accents and a black cloak trailing behind him, Lemain walked straight toward Calian. The eyes of every noble followed his every step.
—Will he get angry and reprimand him for being so reckless?
—Or will he ignore it and pass by, as he always has?
—No. I think he might actually welcome it.
Silent speculations rippled through the crowd like the chirping of birds. How would Lemain react to seeing Demirea? And depending on his reaction, how should they—no, how should their families—respond?
“A sincere happy birthday, Calian.”
Lemain defied all their expectations.
Offering his heartfelt congratulations, he gazed at Calian for a long moment with a silent smile. There was no need to ask whether he was congratulating him on his birthday or on pulling off this grand spectacle.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Calian said, bowing his head.
Afterward, Lemain exchanged a few brief pleasantries with Demirea, glanced at Evan’s empty seat, and proceeded to his own. He then delivered a short greeting, expressing his gratitude to those who had gathered to celebrate Calian’s birthday.
“Now, a toast to the Third Prince.”
At Lemain’s words, champagne was poured for everyone, including Calian.
Watching the bubbles rise and pop in the crimson liquid, Calian wore an imperceptible, bitter smile. To others, the champagne was the color of Lafrania, a shade used for birthday celebrations. But to Calian, it looked exactly like melted Annerusia.
Unaware of the complex emotions swirling within the prince, Lemain spoke again.
“To celebrate this joyous day, the birth of the Third Prince of our great Kairis.”
Holding the champagne that shimmered like a flame—a symbol of both life and death—Lemain looked around the hall. He scanned the faces of the nobles, who waited for his resonant, low voice to continue. But just as he was about to announce his gift to Calian in a powerful tone…
“Forgive my tardiness, Your Majesty.”
An uninvited guest.
A voice pushed past the knight who insisted entry was forbidden once the King’s address had begun. It was the voice of an uninvited guest, nothing more and nothing less, and it cut Lemain off.
To flaunt his own power regardless of decorum, and to show off the prize he had so miraculously found…
“Marquis Evan Brissen and Viscount Lennon Brissen.”
The man who had arrived late on purpose, ensuring everyone would see Lennon Brissen, was none other than Evan.
Ignoring the Kaera knight’s announcement, Evan and Lennon strode into the banquet hall.
Clink.
Long before the champagne had been poured, a glass of pomegranate juice had been placed before Calian. The ice within had melted, settling with a soft, clear sound. To Calian, that tiny noise was far louder than the footsteps of Evan and Lennon.
Dressed in dark blue formal attire adorned with lavish platinum ornaments, Evan fixed his gaze on Calian’s ramrod-straight back. He was curious to see how the prince’s face would twist upon receiving Lennon—the very boy Calian himself had driven away—as a birthday gift.
As if sensing his stare, a pair of mysterious eyes, the color of pomegranate juice and red champagne, turned toward Evan.
And then, just as quickly, they turned away.
He didn't even spare Lennon a passing glance.
It was a look that merely confirmed who had entered, followed by an expression that suggested he found the clinking of his pomegranate juice far more interesting.
Evan’s eyebrow rose slightly at the complete disregard, but he quickly regained his composure.
‘Of course. He must have known.’
Rumors about Lennon were already widespread. Calian must have anticipated that Evan would use a dramatic day like this to make a scene with him.
Unfazed by Calian’s calm reaction, Evan shifted his gaze. He saw Franz’s empty seat, and Demirea standing on the opposite side. Then, his eyes fell upon the ornate hair ornament resting on her head.
Demirea went a step further; she didn’t even look at Evan. Her head remained turned toward Lemain, but when Evan realized what was sparkling so brilliantly on her forehead, his eyebrow twitched again.
‘So that’s why Franz left.’
Even Evan could understand that his carefully prepared surprise had been rendered utterly useless. He grasped instantly what Calian had just pulled off.
‘If I had known this would happen, I would have come earlier to watch them enter!’
Regretting his timing, Evan clicked his tongue quietly. At the sound, Lennon turned to him.
“Father?”
Unaware that his own father was the one who had imprisoned him, Lennon—who had been ‘rescued’ by Evan, pampered like a precious treasure, and brought here—looked between Evan, Calian, and Lemain with a bewildered expression.
Lennon’s cluelessness snapped Evan back to reality. For now, the most important thing was to act composed and show no hint of embarrassment.
Evan averted his eyes from Calian. He walked slowly toward the empty seat prepared at the very front and sat down. He offered no apology for his tardiness, nor did he bother to properly greet Lemain or Calian.
Tap, tap, tap.
Holding his champagne glass, Calian tapped the rim with his fingertips. He was reining in his anger at Evan’s boundless arrogance. For now, Evan wasn’t the priority. Lemain had to finish his speech.
So please, just say it quickly.
With that thought in his eyes, Calian looked up at Lemain. The king glanced at him briefly before turning his gaze back to the crowd and speaking once more.
“To Royal Concubine Freya Whitrin…”
And finally.
“I bestow the title of Queen.”
The declaration struck the hall like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky.
The soft music that had been playing in the background stopped. Champagne glasses, raised for the toast, were slowly lowered. The nobles exchanged bewildered glances.
Did I hear that correctly? they all wondered.
Tap, tap, tap.
Calian’s fingers tapped the glass again.
No one would ever know how hard he was trying to hide his immense amusement. He could not show any agitation amid the nobles’ commotion. He couldn’t look pleased, nor could he show any sign of rejection. He had to observe his surroundings with absolute, calm composure.
‘Who sits, and who stands.’
He had to see it clearly with his own eyes.
* * *
One thing had changed, and one thing remained the same.
The change was that Arsen no longer used that strange, long title, “the one who is the Prince’s older brother,” when referring to Franz.
“What brings you here at this hour?”
That title, which had appeared out of nowhere and stuck around, was finally gone.
“Your Highness, the Vice-Commander.”
The thing that remained the same was that Arsen still didn’t speak to him politely, nor did he address him simply as “Prince.”
Arsen had now excluded Franz from the category of ‘Calian’s older brother.’ To be precise, he had excluded Calian from the brotherhood of Randel and Franz, but either way, he no longer tried to link the two.
Franz, already accustomed to the title that was somehow both shorter and stranger, replied without much reaction.
“A cold.”
“Did you catch a cold?” Arsen asked, subtly taking a step back. “I’m already overwhelmed with the hundred newcomers. You can’t pass it on to me.”
One hundred new members, including early graduates from the Magic Academy, had been added to the Valkan Mage Corps. Furthermore, knights from Knight Order Karen and Raon had officially joined the Valkan Knights.
Naturally, the expected consequence was ‘work.’ It wasn’t just busy; it was busy enough to drive them insane.
“Quiet.”
Franz, who was not in a good mood, walked to the side of the room opposite Arsen. He unfastened his cloak, unpinned his shirt, untied his cravat, and tossed them onto a sofa.
Wherever he had left his valet, he was certainly adept at undressing himself. Watching Franz strip off his jacket and vest, leaving him in just his shirt before rolling up his sleeves, Arsen furrowed his brow.
“If you have a cold, why did you come here?”
“Work.”
Ah, Prince. Did I really do that? Did I really start a war trusting this man, whose words are as short as his patience?
Letting out a silent scream, Arsen heaved a deep sigh and sat at his desk, which was positioned as far as possible from Franz’s.
While the increased workload was an expected change from Valkan’s expansion, the unexpected change was this: Franz’s desk, formerly in the knights’ quarters, had been moved into Arsen’s spacious, unfurnished, and highly inefficient office.
‘My older brother is just shy, but he’s actually quite gentle once you get to know him. Please try to get along.’
Calian’s judgment had been terribly rational. With the workload having increased tremendously, the clever Second Prince was incredibly fast and efficient. Having the two Vice-Commanders share an office would indeed boost efficiency. All of that was true.
But shoving two people into the same room—where simply looking at each other might increase efficiency but would surely shorten their lifespans—was just too cruel. Calian had said he wouldn't hold a grudge, but Arsen was beginning to have his doubts.
As if reading his thoughts, Franz turned to him with an annoyed expression.
“Mage.”
“I am a Vice-Commander, Vice-Commander.”
Without even glancing at Arsen, who was correcting his title for the millionth time, Franz spoke again.
“Get out.”
To the eviction notice from the shy and supposedly gentle prince, the outgoing and secretly sharp mage replied with a placid face.
“This is my office, Vice-Commander.”
To reiterate, there was a thirteen-year age gap between them.
Unable to hide his annoyance, Franz ran a hand through his neatly styled hair, messing it up, and glared at Arsen with sharp, light green eyes.
“I said, get out.”
Then, scanning the documents with those same sparkling eyes, he added casually, “It’s my younger brother’s birthday. Shouldn’t you go congratulate him?”
Congratulate him, my ass.
Arsen, about to give Franz a look that said he’d lost his mind, paused and glanced out the window. In the distance, Siegfried Hall, shining more brilliantly than any other place on the continent, came into view. He stared at it for a long moment before taking a pure white robe from the wall, slipping it on, and speaking.
“I shall go and congratulate His Highness on his birthday, Vice-Commander.”
Arsen Hertz, Vice-Commander of Valkan. The golden laurel leaf emblem that clearly represented his rank flashed briefly before disappearing behind the door.
Since he had given no specific instructions beyond offering congratulations, Franz hadn’t betrayed anything regarding Evan. He returned his gaze to the documents as if nothing had happened.
* * *
The day Calian had collapsed, coughing up blood.
A commotion even greater than that day’s now filled the banquet hall.
Calian, who had been silently observing the room, turned his eyes toward Evan. Evan met his gaze directly.
Evan rose from his seat and started walking toward Lemain. There was no way he didn’t understand the implications of Freya being named Queen.
One step, then another.
Watching him, Calian’s long, pale fingers traced the condensation on his champagne glass. A transparent arc formed on the crystal.
“Ah.”
Lemain had granted his request, and Demirea had played her part perfectly. Franz had left the room at just the right moment.
Furthermore, having just confirmed one more truly joyous fact, Calian relaxed his grip at the end of the arc he was tracing. The champagne glass slipped from his fingertips, hovered in the air for a split second, and fell straight to the floor.
Crash…!
The glass shattered against the marble. The blood-red champagne spread across the pristine white ground.
At the sharp sound, Evan’s mindless steps toward Lemain halted. The chaotic noise that had been spreading through the room also died down.
Having silenced the entire hall, Calian looked down at the crimson liquid spreading across the floor. Because it finally looked like the color of Lafrania to him, he was freed from the thoughts of the old Calian that had weighed on him all day. He smiled faintly, looking satisfied.
Evan’s aura…
…was finally.
Vi.
si.
ble.