Fakes Don’t Want To Be Real Chapter 4

Chapter 4

***

 

[“I wish to annul the engagement.”]

 

The words he had heard hours earlier continued to ring in his ears. Verndia frowned as he gazed out of the carriage at the city streets.

 

“It seems the conversation didn’t go well.”

 

Isolet, his aide, ventured carefully, having noticed his lord’s sour mood.

Verndia had already looked displeased when they left the Duke of Silkisia’s estate, but Isolet hadn’t expected the irritation to linger this long.

In truth, the visit had been nothing more than a last, desperate attempt. They both knew that Yzhar would never agree to persuade the Emperor on their behalf.

They had gone in with no real expectations.

Without taking his eyes off the window, Verndia spoke.

 

“Isolet.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“What benefit does a noble lady gain from breaking off her engagement?”

“Pardon?”

 

It was a completely unexpected question.

Still, Isolet recovered quickly and began turning it over in his mind.

What could Psychke Silkisia possibly gain from an annulment?

Nothing came to mind.

 

“I don’t know. Why do you ask all of a sudden?”

“She asked to annul our engagement.”

“… What?”

 

Isolet’s mouth fell open. He knew better than anyone how desperately Psychke had clung to Verndia in the past.

He even rubbed his ear, wondering if he’d misheard.

 

“That’s not all. She also offered to help deal with the high-ranking monsters. To be precise, she said she’d help on the condition that the engagement be annulled immediately.”

“… Did you torment the young lady that badly?”

 

Isolet couldn’t help but suspect that Verndia had pushed her too far, frightening her into trying to escape. In return, Verndia sharply glanced at him before turning his gaze back outside.

 

“You know she’s not the type to ask for an annulment over something like that.”

“Well… that’s true, but did Young Master Yzhar say anything?”

“That’s the thing.”

 

[“Please keep it a secret that I made such an offer. Especially from my family.”]

 

Only then did Verndia recall her request to keep the annulment secret.

He clicked his tongue inwardly but showed nothing on his face. In any case, Isolet wasn’t the sort to babble carelessly.

 

“It seemed to be something she pursued on her own.”

“Haah.”

 

Isolet let out a hollow laugh, then snapped his fingers as if something had occurred to him.

 

“Could it be because of those rumors?”

“Rumors?”

“You know, the ones that spread after Lady Lillian returned.”

 

Verndia’s face twisted as he realized what Isolet meant.

 

Isolet ignored the dark aura from Verndia and continued, “She probably thought it’d be better to end things cleanly through an agreement with you, rather than be dragged before His Majesty and have the engagement broken in public.”

 

Since the ‘true’ noble lady had returned, the engagement between Verndia and Psychke had become a hot topic among the Emperor’s faction.

One side argued that now that the real lady was back, the current engagement should be annulled and replaced with one to Lillian. The other insisted it was madness to expect the duke to agree to another engagement when the first had been forced and never supported and that the current one should be preserved at all costs.

 

“So they think I’m some kind of fool.”

 

Verndia’s eyes turned vicious as he clenched and unclenched his fist.

He had only been bowing his head for the sake of the Lestir people. By nature, he had never been mild-tempered. Before the monsters appeared, his nickname in the North had been the Mad Dog of the North.

 

“Everything’s irritating. Maybe I should just burn it all down.”

“My lord, think of the people!”

 

Isolet cried out in alarm, startled by the nature threatening to break loose again. Verndia tore at his cravat and ground his teeth. Seconds later, purple flames began to spark at his fingertips.

 

“Did you bring the medicine?”

“Ye-yes! Here!”

 

Isolet hurriedly shook off the flames creeping toward the cravat and pulled a bundle of medicine from his pocket. Verndia bit down on one pill and leaned back against the carriage seat.

He still frowned, but as the medicine took effect, the flames at his fingertips gradually died away.

 

“Please restrain yourself. I’d rather not be burned alive.”

 

Isolet whimpered as he gathered the medicine pouch.

 

With his eyes half-lidded, Berndia growled, “It’s not something I can control.”

“Even so, you can’t live like this forever. Ah, could Lady Lillian possess ‘that’ ability? It’s a blessing passed down through the Silkisia bloodline, after all.”

“No. She doesn’t. If she did, Silkisia wouldn’t be this quiet.”

 

Even if Lillian did possess ‘that’ power, he had no intention of marrying her. Taking medicine for the rest of his life was far preferable to living with a Silkisia collar around his neck. Since further talk would only provoke him, Isolet fell silent.

To keep from setting the carriage ablaze, Verndia focused on breathing slowly in and out.

And in the ensuing quiet, those words, heavy with resignation, began circling his mind once more.

 

[“I wish to annul the engagement.”]

 

Psychke’s pale eyes had always been clouded with anxiety and unease whenever she looked at him. But today,

[“I wish to annul the engagement.”]

 

The eyes that held him were empty – devoid of any emotion.

Was it because she believed he would have no choice but to accept her proposal?

No. That didn’t quite explain it. Those eyes had been…

 

[“Thank you.”]

 

There had been exactly one moment when that emptiness lit up. It was when he said he would draw up the annulment contract. It had reminded him of a dying soldier on the battlefield smiling at a priest.

Unable to be sure they would live, yet grateful for the chance itself – a fleeting, hollow hope.

The image lingered stubbornly. He tried to shake it away, but it wouldn’t leave.

 

“Damn it.”

 

He had seen such expressions countless times in war. To witness such a state outside the battlefield and from Psychke at that left a bitter taste.

 

“An annulment…”

 

As Verndia recalled her behavior thus far, his brow furrowed. He couldn’t believe her claim that removing the ring alone would be enough.

There had to be something else, some benefit to her that he hadn’t yet grasped.

 

“Assign Crow to her, Isolet.”

“… Pardon? To whom?”

“Lady Psychke.”

“Are you serious?”

 

Isolet blanched.

Crow was an operative used to pry into enemies’ weaknesses, hardly someone to tail an allegedly incompetent noble lady.

But Verndia silenced him with a single gesture.

***

After parting with Verndia, Psychke wandered slowly through the garden. She needed time to organize her thoughts on how to deal with the monsters in the Lestir duchy.

In the past, she had researched monsters in her own way, hoping to ease her fiancé’s burdens.

She had died from poison before she could ever pass that information on.

 

‘They lived in the North, yet oddly enough, they were weak to cold.’

 

Most northern monsters were resistant to cold. That was why northerners typically hunted them with fire or heat-infused weapons.

That assumption had been a fatal mistake.

 

‘The monsters that appeared this time are the opposite. Weak to cold, but strong against heat. Some even grow stronger when exposed to warmth. The real question is why such creatures appeared in the North.’

 

It was as though someone had captured heat-resistant monsters from the southern regions, wrapped them in protective barriers, and released them here.

There was something suspicious about it, but investigating that was Verndia’s responsibility as the lord of the territory. She decided not to dwell on it.

 

‘Their outer hides resist cold, so piercing the skin comes first.’

 

Their tissues were so dense that even scratching them was difficult without a magic sword.

Though the Lestir duchy was wealthy, it couldn’t possibly afford to arm everyone with magic swords as each costing as much as an entire castle, even the Emperor couldn’t manage that.

 

‘There was a mineral that could substitute for a magic sword…’

 

Just then, her memory blurred, likely because she’d been thrown into solitary confinement during the poisoned-needle necklace incident.

Psychke stopped walking, trying to recall the name.

 

‘Moon… something. Moon… moon—’

 

Just as it hovered on the tip of her tongue,

Splash!

A blast of cold water flew in from the side. Psychke blinked, soaked like a drowned rat.

 

“Oh my! My lady!”

 

Perhaps she’d been lost too deeply in thought that she had wandered out of the garden and into the washing area without realizing it.

 

“I didn’t know you were here. What should I do?”

 

Despite her words, the maid who’d splashed the water looked anything but apologetic as she hurried over in exaggerated panic.

 

“Marie, you should’ve checked before throwing that out.”

“Who would’ve thought a noble lady would pass through such a shabby place?”

 

The maids who followed Marie chimed in with remarks that sounded like scolding, apologies, or thinly veiled mockery but none of them made any move to dry her off.

Each time Psychke blinked, droplets clinging to her long lashes slid down her cheeks, making her look as though she were crying.

She wiped her ruined face with her palm and hurried away.

 

“It’s fine.”

 

Her voice was utterly flat, mismatched with her drenched appearance.

 

“Hey… I’m not going to get in trouble for that, right?”

“What trouble? She’s a fake who’ll be kicked out soon anyway.”

“If it were me, I’d be too ashamed to walk around. She’s got some nerve.”

 

The shrill voices stabbed into her back.

Psychke didn’t turn around. She didn’t slow her pace until she reached her room on the second floor of the manor.

 

“Haah…”

 

The moment she arrived, she slid down against the door and collapsed onto the floor. With a sigh, she lifted a handful of her hair.

She had nearly exposed this cursed ability of hers.

Strangely, despite the warm, sunny spring day thin layers of frost clung to her damp hair.