Chapter 36
“My goodness, the Count of Mapla.”
“Hasn’t he stayed in his southern territory for almost ten years?”
“Yes. Because of Lady Saint Lena, they say.”
“Well, it was quite the scandal.”
The ladies gathered in small groups whispered among themselves—but Ren could hear every word. Victor, meanwhile, had already gone to escort Sophia.
Ren’s gaze went to the Count of Mapla.
That man was—truly—the sub–male lead from The Saint’s Dilemma.
She studied his face closely. There was a scar over his right eye, the one he’d gotten fighting with the crown prince—the male lead of the original. Black hair streaked with white, emerald-green eyes… If time were rewound, this was Victor exactly.
“Victor…”
Victor had given his son his own name.
That was why, when she saw the younger Victor, she had assumed the original story hadn’t begun yet.
“His Majesty the Emperor approaches!”
A booming voice rang from above. Trumpets blared. Instead of a red carpet, a golden one was laid down, and the Emperor descended.
The moment he appeared, a stench rolled out. Ren instinctively covered her nose and mouth. It was like inhaling the reek of an open sewer. Her stomach lurched and twisted.
With a body that looked ready to turn to dust, it took him a long time to descend each step. Yet the crowd waited patiently, as if used to it.
Unable to bear the smell, Ren quietly edged toward the farthest corner near the doors.
In the stillness—everyone frozen in place—her movement caught Rix’s eye. His grip on Viola lightened. As his head turned toward Ren, Viola bit her lip.
At last, the Emperor sank onto the golden throne, already looking drained. Attendants rushed to wipe the sweat from his brow and hand him a golden goblet. After drinking, he waved them away with a thin, brittle wrist that looked as though it might snap.
“Count of Mapla.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“It’s been a long time.”
The Emperor’s first words drew every eye to the massive Count. The man himself only smiled mildly and nodded; normally he should have bowed from the waist, but his bulk did not allow it. The Emperor seemed to expect this and merely twitched a weak hand in acknowledgment.
“Welcome back to the capital.”
Ren’s mind reeled at how cordial they seemed. In the novel, the crown prince had always clashed with the Count—but here, the crown prince was now a skeletal Emperor, and the once–dashing sub–male lead was a man on the verge of bursting.
And now…
“Are you all right?”
The person in front of her was the heroine Lena’s son.
Leaving Viola behind, Rix came toward her. Ren looked up at him without a word. The molten–gold eyes furrowed in concern. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She wanted to run.
She had wished for a happy ending between the crown prince and Lena—but not this ending.
The “they lived happily ever after” she had imagined crumbled to dust.
Ren swayed without meaning to, and Rix caught her. She immediately batted his hand away.
“I’m fine.”
“Outside—”
“In this joyful gathering—”
The Emperor cut Rix off. Ren and Rix both turned to him. The Emperor’s gaze had sharpened, just as it had in his youth. Fixing his eyes on Ren, he spoke.
“I am most pleased to announce the birth of a new saint.”
Murmurs spread through the crowd. Several guests were already glancing toward her knowingly. Ren shoved Rix’s hand away completely.
The crown prince—now Emperor—lifted a finger. All eyes followed the gesture, to where Ren stood half-hidden behind Rix.
“Come here.”
Even in the novel, the crown prince had often been called arrogant, but seeing it in person was downright unpleasant. Still, she had no choice. With a quiet sigh, she stepped past Rix and walked the red carpet. Stares pierced her like thorns.
The Emperor’s gaze burned. His brow creased.
Ren lowered her head and executed the bow she’d learned from the Countess of Mapla: feet together, body inclined, one hand to her chest and the other behind her back—like a man’s bow in uniform, not a lady’s curtsey.
“Saint Ren greets His Majesty, the Sun of Ovilrod and the one blessed by the goddess Fiora.”
The Emperor twitched his trembling fingers upward; she straightened. His pallid face flushed red, nearly to bursting—clearly angered that she hadn’t worn the “dress” he had mentioned.
Ren gave a small, empty laugh. To think the crown prince she’d once admired in the original had twisted into this… She had been forced to learn something she’d rather not know.
“Where is the saint’s sacred dress?”
“…A dress is just a dress. It’s not me.”
“What?”
“I am not the same as any other saint.”
Her voice was steady, perhaps from defiance, perhaps from the sting of betrayal. The Emperor’s jaw tightened.
“A saint is a noble being.”
“Then see me as noble just as I am.”
A collective gasp rose. To talk back to the Emperor was to risk one’s life. But Ren held his gaze, unflinching.
A soft cough broke the tension—it was the Count of Mapla.
“The new saint has a strong personality,” he said with an easy smile.
All eyes turned to him. His composure remained unshaken.
To Ren, it was bizarre—standing here with the aged versions of the novel’s male lead and sub–male lead, speaking about her. It felt less like she had fallen into the main story and more like she was reading some hidden side story the author had kept secret—a story whose words wrapped like a noose around her throat.
Was the Emperor obsessed with the dress—or with a saint like Lena? Ren clenched her fists.
“That can be a unique charm, can it not, Your Majesty?” the Count added.
A shiver ran from Ren’s toes to her scalp. An unspoken look passed between the Emperor and the Count. Finally, the Emperor gave a dry chuckle and nodded.
“I’ve made the atmosphere too heavy.”
He glanced at the musicians, who tightened their strings nervously.
“Who shall have the honor of dancing first with the saint?”
At once, the men nearby edged forward. Dancing first with the saint meant being the focus of the entire hall—and perhaps winning favor with the Emperor himself.
“The saint seems popular,” the Emperor said, a wet rasp in his voice.
Ren frowned slightly, scanning the faces around her. The young men’s eyes glittered as they all but begged her to choose them. Only Rix remained still, like a moon hidden behind clouds.
And yet, seeing him calmed her. Even if he’d admitted he meant to use her, he was the most familiar person here. Their start hadn’t been pretty, but he had walked this road with her.
Ren strode forward. The crowd parted around her. The Emperor’s sallow eyes narrowed, and the Count of Mapla adjusted his grip on his cane with a soft “hm.” The kind-looking Countess glanced at him, clutching her fan so tightly her hand must have hurt.
Victor watched her pass, tempted to reach out, but Sophia’s arm in his stopped him.
Ren extended her hand to Rix, who stood beside Viola. Viola lowered her gaze. Their polished shoes drew closer together.
Rix studied her blue eyes and lifted one corner of his mouth. Ren raised her hand gracefully, like a butterfly.
“It would be my honor,” he said.
Ren did not reply. Rix took her fingers gently and brushed a kiss over the back of her hand. She tensed, and he led her to the center of the ballroom. The crowd stepped back.
In the glow of the chandeliers, they stood—she in a white uniform that shone like moonlight, he in black as dark as night itself.
Rix’s arm went around her waist; her hand rested on his shoulder.
The violin strings began to dance.
