Fakes Don’t Want To Be Real Chapter 3

Chapter 3

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Psychke’s day always began with tea.

Ever since childhood, she had suffered from unexplained headaches, and the tea was something Yzhar specially sent for her sake.

 

‘It was dreadful.’

 

Calling it ‘special’ was generous but in truth it was no different from coercion.

She didn’t want to drink it. Not only the taste was awful but once she finished a cup, a heavy dizziness would set in and her headaches never improved, either.

Yet whenever she spoke honestly about it, what she received in return was contempt as if to say, ‘After all the trouble taken for you, this is how you respond?’

So she endured it and drank it.

But now, there was no need to anymore.

 

“People actually live in the desert?”

“I’ve heard of them too! The western nomads, right? They light bonfires every night and fall asleep reciting poetry. Are the stories true?”

 

She had sent Melissa, who usually brought the tea each morning, to Lillian instead.

 

“Well, it depends on the tribe. But the place I stayed was like that.”

“Wow, that’s so romantic, my lady!”

 

Hearing the voices of Lillian, Melissa, and the other maids drifting in through the window, Psychke let out a quiet sigh.

The garden was vast, with plenty of places suitable for tea. So why did they have to gather directly beneath her window?

 

“It was over ten years ago, but I still think about it sometimes. The smell of burning wood, the sound of the lute, the tribespeople reciting poems… If I hadn’t been fooled like an idiot, I might still be there.”

 

Lillian spoke wistfully of how she had followed a merchant caravan that traded with the tribes, only to suffer endless hardships.

 

“If it weren’t for him, I’d still be stuck with that caravan, living as a servant.”

“Oh my goodness…”

“Oh, right, my lady! His name was Widnix Evergreen—”

 

Psychke let their voices wash past her ears and glanced at the clock. There wasn’t much time left before ‘that man’ emerged from the reception hall.

 

‘I need to hurry.’

 

She smoothed her silver hair, which fell to her waist, and stood before the mirror.

Reflected back was a beautiful woman with blue eyes – expressionless, yet faintly melancholy, her features reminiscent of a cat. She blinked once.

Unlike the past, when she had clung to flamboyant dresses in a desperate attempt to be noticed, she was dressed simply now.

Partly because this had always been her true preference but also because there was no maid left to dress her.

Psychke brushed out the wrinkles in her skirt. She did not put on the white gloves she had never forgotten to wear whenever she met him before.

Just like that, she left the room.

***

“Young Lord Silkisia, this puts us in a difficult position.”

“How could I possibly defy His Majesty’s will?”

 

Psychke headed for the reception hall.

As if the discussion had just concluded, a black-haired man with a hardened expression and Yzhar, wearing a relaxed smile, emerged into the corridor.

 

“You know as well as Ikasha how dangerous the northern monsters are. But surely you understand. We cannot move without His Majesty’s permission—”

“Surely someone of your standing as captain could persuade him.”

“And with what authority would we do that?”

 

Yzhar dipped his head, politely but unmistakably conveying that while it might be possible, he had no intention of doing so.

 

“I’m afraid I have another engagement and cannot see you out.”

 

His short silver hair, falling to the nape of his neck, vanished swiftly around the corner.

Left alone, the man spat to the side and hurled curses into the empty hall.

 

“Bastard. I hope you spend your whole life cleaning up after others and die doing it.”

 

Psychke, who had been watching from behind a pillar, stepped forward deliberately, making sure not to startle him.

 

“Duke.”

 

Black hair rippled like melted night as he turned, the edge of his cape tracing a perfect arc through the air.

The man was Duke Verndia Lestir of Verndia, one of the Empire’s three great ducal houses, and master of the violet flame. At the sight of his approaching fiancée, irritation briefly surfaced in his violet eyes, only to vanish in an instant.

He smiled softly. It was a false smile that, to an unknowing observer, might have seemed affectionate.

 

“It has been some time. What brings you here?”

 

He extended one hand, as if to greet her with a kiss to the knuckles.

Instead of offering her own, Psychke met his gaze directly. His violet eyes devoid of any affection.

Unbidden, a memory surfaced. It was when on the brink of death, violet flames coiling around her like a serpent, burning brilliantly.

She dismissed it as a hallucination or a mistake and erased it from her mind.

 

“You must be under great strain because of the northern monsters.”

“That is not something you need concern yourself with.”

“I can resolve it for you.”

 

Verndia’s expression hardened. Straightening his back, he withdrew the hand he had extended.

 

“If you’re going to suggest traveling together again, you can stop right there.”

“That’s not what this is.”

 

Though she denied it, his expression did not ease. As expected, Verndia had not welcomed her presence for some time now. Perhaps it was because of the peculiar circumstances that had led to their engagement: A powerful duke and a false noblewoman.

He always kept an invisible distance.

At the beginning of their engagement, she hadn’t realized this, drawn in by a kindness that contradicted the rumors.

Only later did she understand that there was a line he would never allow her to cross.

Fearing annulment, and fearing expulsion from her family as punishment, she had desperately tried to win his attention.

The result was simple: He came to dislike her.

Before her regression, matters between them had improved somewhat due to a certain incident but the Verndia standing before her now still harbored resentment.

And that incident had been, in truth, a mistake.

One she had no intention of repeating nor should it ever be repeated.

 

“I apologize, my lady, but I’m rather tired today. Let us speak another time.”

“Turk. Ildia. Asum.”

 

As if struck by a spell, the man who had been turning away froze.

 

“The names of the high-ranking monsters that appeared in the north.”

“I don’t know where you heard that, but it seems you’ve dealt with a rather capable informant.”

“With relatively minimal damage, I can tell you how to defeat them.”

 

At last, Verndia turned back to face her. He exhaled sharply; the bangs over his forehead lifted slightly with the breath.

 

“So,” he said coolly, “What is it today?”

“I want a promise, first.”

“A promise of what?”

“If you succeed in eradicating the monsters, it’s no longer needed to maintain our engagement.”

 

There had only ever been one reason their ill-matched engagement had come into existence.

 

‘The absurdly frequent emergence of high-ranking monsters.’

 

They were the source of Verndia’s troubles and the weakness the Emperor had seized upon. About a year ago, monsters usually found only in dungeons began appearing within the Lestir duchy.

They managed at first, but soon the situation deteriorated.

People fell faster than the monsters did.

With manpower constantly pulled into battle, the lands were left unattended and fell into ruin.

Desperate, Verndia requested the imperial knight order.

In response, the Emperor, seeking to bind a member of the Crown Prince’s faction, pushed an engagement between Verndia and Silkisia, who represented the opposing faction.

Naturally, the Crown Prince and his allies objected.

But at that precise moment, the Empress fell gravely ill.

The northern crisis slipped from the Crown Prince’s attention, and pressed for time, Verndia accepted the engagement.

 

“Ah, so you wish to maintain the engagement.”

 

Berndia gave a short, knowing laugh.

If the monsters plaguing him disappeared, it would not be strange for the engagement to be annulled.

In fact, it would be only right.

They belonged to opposing political factions, and she was neither Lillian, the true noblewoman, nor anyone whose position was secure.

Public scrutiny might delay things, but his assumption was entirely reasonable yet Psychke denied it with a single shake of her head.

 

“No. I want the engagement annulled.”

“… What?”

“Once the monsters are gone, please annul it.”

“Are you serious?”

 

Caught completely off guard, Verndia responded a beat too late.

Psychke raised her left hand and tapped the gold ring on her ring finger.

 

“To be precise, I want this removed.”

“That ring is—”

 

It was the engagement ring, and a treasured heirloom of House Lestir.

It resonated and glowed when they were near, and allowed them to sense each other’s location and emotions even from afar.

To remove it, they would have to go to the Temple of Vicente and jointly declare the annulment.

 

“You could remove it even now, if you wished. You dislike me, after all.”

“I have no intention of removing it now.”

“I know. You wouldn’t want to fall out of His Majesty’s favor.”

 

His eyes narrowed. Whether from irritation at being read so easily, she couldn’t tell.

Psychke lowered her hand and continued calmly.

 

“But once the monsters are gone, you won’t need to worry about that. Then annulling the engagement should be acceptable, shouldn’t it?”

“And what, exactly, do you gain from this?”

 

Berndia frowned, genuinely perplexed.

 

“A transaction only exists when both parties benefit. Yet from where I stand, your proposal doesn’t sound like one.”

“Removing this ring is benefit enough for me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. If you’re concerned, we can put it in writing.”

 

If not for this ring, she would have left Silkisia the moment she regressed.

As it stood, it was a leash which binds her to Verndia, a man infamous for being impossible to handle.

If she vanished now, both Silkisia and the imperial family would hunt her down relentlessly, using the ring’s tracking enchantment.

 

‘Before I died, they tried to force the annulment, but the Duke refused…’

 

Why had that happened?

The change had been so sudden that she had never understood it.

 

‘Well, it doesn’t matter.’

 

Once the engagement was annulled, nothing else would matter anymore.

As she drifted into her thoughts,

 

“Very well.”

 

Verndia, who had been staring into the distance, lifted his head reluctantly.

 

“We’ll draw up a contract. I’ll have word sent to you soon.”

“Thank you.”

 

There wasn’t much time left before she would leave the ducal estate for good.

For the first time since her regression, Psychke smiled softly and Verndia’s violet eyes slightly narrowed.

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