Chapter 26. Do Whatever You Want in the Capital—Whether You Return to Winterfell or Not...
“How amusing.”
Her low murmur swallowed the air in the dining hall in an instant. Be ti slammed her coffee cup down on the table.
Clink!
The sharp crack of glass against marble tore through the silence. It sounded just like the fragile wall of trust we'd built between us shattering. The servants and maids standing around flinched in unison at their mistress's reaction, bowing their heads low.
Be ti's shoulders trembled faintly. Was it anger, or an irrepressible hurt? Without turning her head, she issued a command in a voice as cold and heavy as frostbitten ground.
“……Get out. Every last one of you.”
Her razor-sharp order turned the dining hall into a vacuum, the air thick and suffocating. The servants fled the room like shadows, suppressing even their panic in the face of her seething rage.
Thud.
The massive door closed with a heavy boom. Now, only Be ti and I remained. In the weighty silence, she slowly turned her head to glare at me. Gone was the obsessive fervor she'd poured onto me lately; in its place swirled a chilling fog, cold enough to numb.
“Well, Rian. Tell me. Why the sudden change?”
“I... well, Duchess...”
“Be ti.”
She cut me off mercilessly, adding, “Call me Be ti. Not that stiff title of 'Duchess' you barely use anyway.” Her blood-red eyes pinned me like chains.
“...Yes, Be ti. The truth is, I had a dream last night. In it, you made me the happiest man in the world... only to stab me in the chest at the very end. And you said it so coldly: 'How ridiculous, acting like you own the world just because I smiled at you a little.'”
At my confession, Be ti's eyes shook—faintly at first, then unmistakably. She was clearly thrown by the unexpected answer. But she quickly schooled her expression into icy composure and let out a sneer laced with thorns.
“A dream? You're distancing yourself from me over something that won't even happen—a mere dream? Does that childish fantasy weigh more than all the time we've spent together?”
“You never know. Maybe you don't even like me or love me—you're just possessing me like some tool...”
“Then, Rian—do you love me?”
Be ti snatched the words from my mouth. My heart plummeted. Why did that short, ordinary question—“Do you love me?”—feel like a lead weight crushing me? My lips quivered. I dropped my gaze to the floor, unable to utter a word. A strange silence filled the space between us, neither affirmation nor denial.
Be ti snorted in mockery. But at the end of that laugh lurked a tremor, like unshed tears.
“Wavering in your own feelings, basing your talk of love on some dream... What a bewildering way to start the morning. You're so convenient, aren't you? Coming close on your whim, then pushing away on another. I never knew you lacked basic courtesy for the person in front of you.”
The expression on Be ti's face wasn't anger—it was deep hurt. The arrogant mistress of the North, who’d stop at nothing to claim me, now wore the most wretched look right before my eyes.
Oh no...
“Be ti, wait! I realize now I spoke out of turn.”
I tried to apologize in a panic, but she shot up from her seat without acknowledging me, turning her back. Without so much as a glance, she stormed out of the dining hall.
Bang!
The door slammed shut, echoing far heavier than before. I dragged myself back to my room and collapsed onto the bed.
The expression she'd shown at the end flashed in my mind, a sharp pang stabbing my chest. Along with profound bewilderment came a wave of self-loathing. I'd let fragments of the original story from the status window consume me, paralyzed by the fear that future Be ti might kill me—and in that terror, I'd hurt her with my words and actions.
Over the past six months, she'd acknowledged my worth, trusted me, even backed my business.
Even if revenge lurked in her heart, she'd never once mistreated me.
And yet I'd told her I was just a tool she didn't love. When I couldn't even answer her own question.
I'm such a fool. Being a possessor ruined me.
Just because I'm a possessor, I'd treated unproven future events as fact and arbitrarily distanced myself from her. It was inexcusably rude to Be ti. Hiding behind a flimsy excuse of a “dream” to test her true feelings, without showing my own sincerity. Worst of all, I'd flung the word “love” at her lightly, as a weapon.
Be ti might have been showing me her true heart.
Her wretched face kept surfacing, unbearable. How should I apologize? How could I make her accept my genuine remorse and thaw her frozen heart?
As I agonized, my eye caught a corner of the newspaper on my desk.
A diamond as white and crystalline as the pure snows of the North. I made my decision. Recalling how she'd blushed faintly at the brooch I'd gifted her last time and worn it faithfully ever since, I'd procure this gem myself and offer it with a heartfelt apology.
I headed straight for Be ti's office.
Knock knock.
Entering, I found her buried in a mountain of documents. She didn't even look up as I came in. The room filled only with the chill scrape of her pen on paper.
“Be ti... I...”
“State your business. I'm busy.”
Her voice was glacial. The hurt from the dining hall was gone, replaced by a ruthless mask treating me like a mere subordinate. The distance stung even more.
“Be ti, I have personal business in the capital. I'll be gone a few days—probably back in three.”
Her pen halted. Still not lifting her eyes from the papers, she let out a short, bitter scoff.
“......Do as you please.”
“Be ti.”
“Just go on your own. The ducal house won't provide escorts or a carriage for His Highness's journey. We can't waste Winterfell's resources. Go how you will, and whether you return from the capital or not... do whatever you want.”
The woman who'd once chased me to the ends of the earth to possess me now coldly told me to do as I liked about coming back. I felt the depth of her wound—and guilt tightened around me like a vice.
Ah... Be ti... I'm truly sorry. This foolish, shortsighted me will bring that gem from the capital and kneel before you to apologize properly.
Suppressing my rising emotions, I replied softly.
“Yes... Be ti. I'll come back as soon as I can.”
I drank in her figure one last time and left the office. Even as the door closed, she never looked up.
From a shadowed corner of the office, Luna—no, Karin—emerged. She stared at the prince's retreating back before questioning her mistress.
“Mistress, shall we follow the prince? Say the word, and I'll attach the shadows.”
Be ti finally raised her head slowly. Her eyes burned a deeper red than usual, her fingers white-knuckled around the pen. She gripped it as if to snap it, then released with a cold exhale.
“No. Let him do as he wants.”
“But alone, the prince could be in dan—”
“Not my concern. Whether he lives or dies, returns or not.”
Be ti turned back to her papers. But her eyes weren't reading. Her unfocused gaze fixed on one spot on the desk.
“Karin, I'm busy now. Don't ask about the prince anymore.”
With that icy command, Be ti resumed flipping pages. The harsh rustle cut through the quiet office. Karin bowed silently and vanished.
In the Winterfell office lingered only the cold scent of ink and a heavy silence, as if abandoned by its mistress. Be ti's eyes stayed locked on the papers, but ink from the snapped pen tip stained her hand black—like the festering turmoil in her heart.