Chapter 43
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: The Tower Master's Son
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“Hey!”
At that moment, someone came running from behind the maid.
As far as Philomel knew, there was only one person in the imperial palace who would run like this, unbound by any sense of decorum.
“Nassar came here? Is he still around? Don’t tell me he already left……”
The figure spotted Philomel standing in front of the maid and came to a halt.
“……Princess Ellensia.”
Philomel bowed her head in greeting toward Ellensia.
“Oh, Philomel.”
Ellensia flashed a bright smile and approached her.
“We meet again after seeing each other this morning.”
“That’s true.”
“By the way, did Nassar happen to come here?”
“……If you mean Young Duke Averyden, he just left. It seems your paths crossed but didn’t quite meet, Your Highness.”
Philomel paused briefly at the casual use of ‘Nassar,’ but replied as if it were nothing.
Thinking he might still be nearby, Ellensia glanced around. For some reason, Philomel suddenly wondered if the two had already met before.
“Did you perhaps have an appointment with the Young Duke?”
“Hehe, nothing like that.”
She answered shyly, her cheeks deepening to a peach-like flush.
“I heard rumors that Nassar of the Averyden Duke’s family is such a wonderful young lord, so I wanted to meet him just once.”
Did that mean they hadn’t met formally yet?
“Then, is this maid one who serves Your Highness the Princess?”
Philomel pointed at the maid who had been peeking through the door.
“That’s right. Emily spotted the Young Duke around here and had another maid let me know. I came running the moment I heard, but I was too late.”
This maid’s name must be Emily.
“If you wish, you could just send a maid to summon the Young Duke.”
Philomel said, one eye corner twitching slightly.
Strictly speaking, calling someone over without an appointment went against etiquette, but no one would hold it against a royal for such a minor discourtesy.
Especially since Ellensia wasn’t just any royal—she was the Emperor’s one and only daughter, wielding historically unprecedented power.
“Oh, come on, how could I? And it’s not like we ran into each other outside; calling him here would feel too awkward.”
Philomel didn’t quite get what was so awkward about it, but she understood the desire to bump into Nassar naturally outdoors.
Well, the heroine and hero’s meeting was meant to feel organic in the story……
‘Ah, there I go thinking like that again.’
Realizing her chronic habit, Philomel bit her lip.
Because [Princess Ellensia] was a novel of all things, she’d developed this tendency to view the world as a romance story. She tried to break it, but it was stubborn.
Ellensia, who had been staring steadily at Philomel, posed a question.
“……Are you close to Nassar, Philomel?”
“Not close enough to call it that, but we met often as fiancée and fiancé. Don’t worry, though—we’re no longer engaged.”
Philomel replied in a languid tone.
“……It’s fine. Why would I worry if the two of you are close?”
For some reason, Ellensia responded with a shadowed expression.
“But I do envy you, Philomel.”
“Envy what?”
Ellensia glanced down at the tray Philomel was holding.
“Not having clingy maids trailing after you everywhere. I’m grateful they do things for me, but honestly, it bothers me when they keep handling stuff I can do myself. I don’t need it. You must have found it so inconvenient all this time, in the position of princess.”
She added, “Guess it’s because I grew up without anyone waiting on me hand and foot.”
“Anyway, I’ll head out now. Next time for meeting Nassar, I suppose.”
With that, Ellensia departed with maid Emily in tow. Philomel didn’t even get a chance to mention that her own maids had only stepped away momentarily.
Watching her retreating figure, Philomel thought:
‘Did she just shade me?’
Before Katrin’s words, she might have dismissed it as Ellensia’s naive innocence.
But now, an unsettling unease slithered up her spine.
What if she’d met Ellensia without ever reading [Princess Ellensia]?
Would she still have taken her at face value as a sweet, lovable girl?
‘I really need to reread that book.’
She’d have to scrutinize the descriptions of Ellensia’s personality.
“Oh dear, leave this to us! Please just rest easy, Your Highness.”
In the end, the tray was snatched away by the returning Lady Deless and her entourage, and Philomel headed out for a walk.
When Lady Deless fretted about the danger of going without an escort, Philomel pointed to the cat.
“This cat will protect me, so it’s fine.”
Lady Deless and the maids burst into laughter.
“Making jokes now, are we?”
It wasn’t a joke.
Still, he was her father—she doubted Rguin would abandon her in danger.
‘If he were a real cat, I’d scoop him up.’
Not keen on cradling her birth father that way, Philomel had simply asked him to follow. Thankfully, Rguin trailed her all the way to the palace gardens without a peep.
“Alright, change back now. No one’s around.”
As they entered the maze garden—one of several on the palace grounds—Philomel said.
This spot had once been a royals-only garden, the very place where the Elos Marquess family had blundered with their words and been utterly ruined.
“I’ve seen it too often; it’s grown boring. Redesign it to be more amusing.”
By the Emperor’s abrupt command, the old garden was reborn as this maze. Justis never visited unless Philomel suggested it, making it essentially her private haven.
Pondering the palace’s most deserted spot, nothing else came to mind.
She’d worried they might bar her entry now that she wasn’t a princess anymore, but the entrance guards merely raised their spears in salute.
“Meow.”
Yet Rguin showed no intention of shifting to human form.
“What’s wrong? It’s safe to change.”
“Mrrrow.”
“Are you hurt?”
A voice cut in then.
“He’s not changing because someone else is here.”
It came from the tree beside the canopy.
“Who’s there!”
Philomel yelped in shock, voice sharp. A shadowy figure thudded down from the branches.
“Now that you know it’s me, change already, you ill-tempered old coot.”
The robed man brushed leaves from his clothes.
‘Wait, that getup?’
Now that she listened, the voice—somewhere between boyish youth and manly depth—rang familiar.
“You’re the one who nabbed that con artist back then!”
“Huh?”
At the voice recognizing him, the man’s gaze turned to Philomel.
“What’s this? That same airheaded kid from before?”
Flustered, Philomel glanced between the cat and the man.
“Huh?”
He pulled back his hood, revealing a familiar face—strikingly like Rguin’s, save for the differently colored eyes.
Sky-blue eyes, cold as ice.
“Daring to call your father an old coot. You’ve grown even more brazen in my absence, Jeremiah.”
“Hmph, father act. Remember how long I was gone from the Magic Tower?”
“Hm. A week?”
“Three months. Don’t play know-it-all when you don’t give a damn, old man.”
They bickered on as if Philomel weren’t there. She spoke up cautiously.
“……Um. Please stop, both of you.”
“I’m not that old yet.”
“Old folks always deny their age. You’re only getting uglier, Rguin.”
“Fine. Eight hours in the dark void. Hit the bathroom first.”
But they kept snarling at each other, deaf to her words.
“I said stop it!”
Finally losing patience, Philomel shouted.
Only then did the magic circle hovering over Jeremiah’s head vanish.
Startled by her own outburst, Philomel shut her mouth, but neither seemed put off.
The three now sat beneath the wooden canopy at the maze garden’s heart, engaged in conversation.
Or rather, a father-son spat masquerading as talk.
To clarify matters, Philomel spoke.
“So, this person is named Jeremiah, and he’s the Tower Master’s son, correct?”
“Don’t call me Tower Master—use my name.”
Rguin got an utterly unrelated reply.
“Yes, Lord Rguin.”
“Rguin.”
“……Got it, Rguin.”
He preferred name-only, no honorifics? Now that she thought, Jeremiah called him Rguin too.
Calling one’s father by name clashed with Philomel’s sense of propriety, but they must have their own customs.
“So Jeremiah is Rguin’s son……”
“Hate to admit it, but yeah.”
Jeremiah replied this time, lounging crookedly.
“I hate admitting it too. Don’t go blabbing you’re my son anywhere.”
“Wouldn’t even if you begged and paid me.”
“Enough, enough.”
Philomel cut off the brewing quarrel with a small sigh.
Evidently, this identical-looking father-son duo had an absolutely abysmal relationship.
“So, Jeremiah, how’d you get in here? There are guards.”
“Over the maze walls. They didn’t notice, so the palace guards live up to their rep—or lack thereof.”
Jeremiah seemed every bit as prickly toward everything as he was to Rguin.
“Then you’re the one Rguin mentioned meeting?”
“Yep. But where’s everyone else? Why just you?”
“No clue. Said something about an interview.”
Everyone else? There were more people he was meeting besides Jeremiah?
As Philomel cocked her head, another figure emerged into the maze garden.
“I passed the interview. Just a perfunctory formality.”
This time, it was someone Philomel knew well.