Fakes Don’t Want To Be Real Chapter 22

Chapter 22

 

The little girl with pink twin braids was nowhere to be seen.

In her place stood a middle-aged mage with shoulder-length hair—brilliant blond in the distinctive color of her lineage—and green eyes. Half her face looked as though it had been melted by fire, grotesquely collapsed.

Now returned to her true form, she radiated such dense malice that most people would have struggled just to breathe near her but Verndia cared less.

 

“Then why did you do it back then?”

“I was just curious. That’s all. Now get out, unless you want to die.”

 

Lia’s warning was icy.

Under normal circumstances, Verndia would have snapped back and told her to mind her boundaries yet this time, he understood.

If he pushed any further, it would become a fight to the death.

So he let it go and stepped outside.

After telling Isolet not to bother him because he had things to think about, he sent her away and walked the streets alone.

He’d been cursed at since dawn, but it hadn’t been for nothing.

Verndia had gotten the answer he wanted.

＊＊＊

Meanwhile, Psychke was trapped in a nightmare.

 

“It’s cold… I’m hungry…”

 

She was a child again, collapsed alone inside a dark prison.

 

“Why aren’t they coming? Did they run away because of the curse…?”

 

She didn’t even have the strength to cry anymore. Her face was streaked and ruined with dried tears.

Clutching her empty stomach, the young Psychke curled in on herself.

Clank.

The chains binding her hands and feet rattled harshly.

Unable to move properly, the only thing the child could do was try to flee into dreams though even that never quite worked. She desperately wished for a good dream as she closed her eyes.

And then she woke up to reality,

 

“She’s waking up!”

“Are you conscious?”

 

When Psychke forced open eyelids that felt heavier than lead, the first thing she saw were unfamiliar figures in maid uniforms, and the second was an unfamiliar pattern on the ceiling.

 

“Where’s the Duke?”

“He’s not here.”

 

Voices echoed distantly, tormenting her ears.

A chill ran through her as sweat poured down her body.

 

Where am I…?

 

Her vision was foggy, and her whole body felt buried in earth, heavy and numb, her head spinning.

She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, trying to focus and then she heard a familiar name.

 

“Go get Isolet!”

 

Isolet is Verndia’s personal aide.

That name acted as a trigger. Her shattered awareness slowly reassembled, and a spark returned to her darkened soul.

So when Isolet burst through the door in a hurry, Psychke had just managed to regain consciousness enough to call out to him.

 

“Sir Aide…?”

 

Isolet approached with an expression that looked like it might be a smile— or tears.

At his arrival, the maids bowed quietly and stepped aside.

 

“Are you feeling a bit better?”

“Where am I?”

“The Duke of Lestir’s residence.”

 

Her thoughts turned sluggishly as his words didn’t sink in, and she only blinked at him blankly.

Only after Isolet repeated, visibly tense, “The Duke of Lestir’s residence,” did she gasp in shock.

 

“What?”

 

Isolet clasped his hands together like someone praying.

 

“M-my lady, I’m terribly sorry to ask this the moment you wake, but… did our Duke do anything to harm you?”

“… What?”

 

Psychke repeated the word foolishly, not understanding the question.

 

“Well, I mean—”

 

Isolet struggled to phrase it.

That was when a frost-sharp voice cut in.

 

“I suppose I really don’t inspire much trust.”

“Ghk—”

 

Isolet nearly choked as he realized he’d been overheard.

Verndia stood at the doorway, raking a hand roughly through his hair, his face plainly annoyed with everything.

Even when Verndia gestured for him to leave, Isolet hesitated, unable to move.

As Psychke stared at Isolet in confusion, Verndia sighed and pressed his fingers to his temples.

 

“Why don’t you tell him, Lady Psychke. Did I do anything strange yesterday?”

“Strange…?”

“You know well since we were together quite late.”

 

Verndia had returned from the auction house just before dawn, carrying an unconscious Psychke in his arms.

It would have been startling enough if she’d walked in unharmed; seeing her brought in like that, Isolet’s concern was only natural.

Verndia muttered casually,

 

“I just took a late walk. The night air was nice.”

 

‘Ah. So that’s what he told them’, Psychke realized, and played along.

 

“Yes. We went for a walk.”

“That’s really all? He didn’t threaten you or anything?”

 

If Psychke changed her story after returning to Silkisia, it could escalate into an inter-house conflict. Isolet clearly wasn’t convinced.

Psychke soothed him in an even tone.

 

“No. Nothing like that happened.”

“… And how do you feel physically?”

 

Only after that did Isolet reluctantly relax.

Once he staggered out, Verndia asked her bluntly with his arms crossed while leaning against the wall.

 

“You collapsed out of nowhere. Do you know why? Do you have a chronic condition?”

“Yes.”

 

She couldn’t tell him the truth of collapsing while suppressing her rampaging power, so Psychke answered vaguely, biting down on her lip where he couldn’t see.

 

‘Why did it happen like that?’

 

She’d drawn up mana to use sword aura before, but it had never spiraled so violently. The confusion unsettled her.

Verndia, meanwhile, was lost in his own thoughts.

 

‘A chronic illness? Was her body weak from birth?’

 

Historically, those with abilities tended to be physically strong. Although odd, but since she didn’t want to elaborate further, he also didn’t press more than that.

Verndia walked to the window and drew back the curtains. Warm afternoon sunlight flooded the room.

 

“They must have kept it dark so you could rest. You should be in the light to recover- What are you doing?”

“I need to go.”

“Go where?”

“To Silkisia.”

 

Clenching her teeth, Psychke forced her heavy body upright.

Because the room had been dark, she’d missed the implication in his words about ‘last night.’

She’d thought it was still night but it was already daytime, and the sun was even beginning to sink.

She’d told Aiden she’d be returning. Was he still there?

No, that couldn’t be since it has been nearly a full day had passed. Then had he returned to Silkisia alone? Without the lady he was meant to escort?

Verndia stopped her.

 

“I already sent a letter.”

“…!”

 

He’d meant to justify his fiancée staying the night but Psychke’s face only grew paler.

It was practically the Duke himself admitting that Aiden had failed in his duty.

 

“Please lend me a carriage.”

“Lady Psychke.”

“If that’s difficult, it’s fine. I can hire one outside.”

 

Aiden may already have been punished, but she couldn’t afford to delay. She gathered her belongings from the bedside table and stood only to stagger after three steps as her legs gave out.

 

“You should rest more—”

“I can rest after I return. There’s something urgent I must take care of.”

 

No amount of reassurance would stop her and Verndia let out a short breath. Watching someone in such poor condition force herself to move sat badly with him, especially since he believed he was partly to blame.

He thought the problem had been her fight with the mercenaries, that if he’d joined sooner, things wouldn’t have turned out this way.

Still, it would be discourteous to keep stopping someone determined to go home.

Reluctantly, he stepped in and supported her.

＊＊＊

Seated in the carriage, Psychke pretended to look out the window while sneaking glances across from him.

 

‘He could’ve just lent me the carriage. Why did he come along?’

 

She was in so much pain she wanted to sleep but his presence made that impossible. It felt like sitting on thorns.

Verndia, resting his chin in his hand and gazing out the window, seemed utterly indifferent.

From departure until now, he hadn’t spoken once – silence was uncomfortable.

Leaning her head against the window, Psychke let out a small sigh.

 

At the sound, Verndia finally spoke, “You’re not going to sleep?”

“No.”

“Then shall we talk for a bit?”

 

Turning fully toward her, Verndia crossed his legs with languid ease.

He tilted his head, propped his chin on his hand, and fixed her with violet eyes gleaming like a dangerous beast.

Combined with his striking appearance, one that seemed to glow even at res was decadent enough that any noble lady would’ve wanted to capture it in a painting.

Psychke, however, stiffened instead of admiring him, straightening her back, only to wince and curl forward as pain flared in her chest.

The result of his direct approach was thoroughly miserable.

 

Verndia let out a soft chuckle, “Am I really that uncomfortable for you?”

“You could say I’m not entirely at ease.”

 

Psychke answered flatly, as if the question itself were pointless.