The Price Is Your Everything - Chapter 14: I'm Not a Spy

A white flower at the tip of a tall stalk reflected the sunlight brilliantly.

Nerys walked slowly, inhaling the subtle floral fragrance. She was on a secluded stone wall path, where the nearest building would take ages to reach on a child’s stride. Her skirt caught the shadow of the short buildings as she struggled through the bushes. From afar, her efforts looked nothing short of endearing.

The place she was heading to was her secret spot. Though she hadn’t been there in a while due to an unexpected interruption, she couldn’t think of a reason to avoid it any longer.

It wasn’t the only place she had enjoyed alone during her eight years at the academy. But other places now carried unpleasant memories, making her reluctant to revisit them.

‘It feels like I’m running away if I leave things as they are.’

She had spent her previous life accommodating everyone. Back then, circumstances had forced her to care about others’ opinions, but in truth, Nerys hated losing. Her sharp mind came with a strong sense of pride.

She just hadn’t had the right environment to express it before.

Finally arriving at her destination—the top floor of the Zakaria Library—Nerys listened attentively to her surroundings. Hearing no sound of pages turning or footsteps, she felt relieved and approached the pillar.

“You’re here again.”

Nerys froze, her eyes widening as she stopped near the pillar. The voice, cold and firm like a gem, seemed to come from the other side of the bookshelf next to the pillar. Though she couldn’t see the speaker from her vantage point, it was clear the spot provided an excellent view of her approach.

“Why do you keep coming here?”

Had they been hiding? Feeling a mix of wariness and anger, Nerys responded icily. Cledwyn Maindulante’s voice was light, almost like a whisper, but even in its brevity, it carried authority and confidence.

It was the voice of a ruler. Perhaps—no, definitely—stronger than Abelus’.

“This is my spot. Didn’t you come here knowing that, Nerys Truydd?”

Cledwyn knew her name. Nerys wasn’t surprised by that fact. Among the first-year students with violet eyes, only Megara and Nerys existed, and their mannerisms and attire were vastly different. It wouldn’t have been hard to identify her.

“This is my spot, no matter what you think, senior,” she retorted with a sharp tone, irritated by his claim.

Cledwyn likely discovered the place before her—his confidence in navigating to the pillar without hesitation on that day suggested as much. But why would someone like him, with access to luxurious dorm rooms, use such a cramped place?

“The chair here? I brought it.”

Nerys flinched. The chair did look expensive—befitting the son of the Duke of Maindulante.

Still, the thought of Cledwyn napping idly in the library felt strange. Suspicious, she questioned him, “Really?”

“When necessary, you need a hiding spot, right? Like when you switched that child’s ribbon.”

“You saw that?”

“I know a lot.”

Nerys was startled but also a little impressed. High-ranking individuals often had subordinates, but Cledwyn was still young and hadn’t officially inherited the title of Duke. The academy’s headmaster kept a close watch on all students as the emperor’s eyes. Yet, Cledwyn seemed to maintain a hidden network here. She’d heard Abelus only acquired such resources after coming of age.

“Good for you, knowing so much.”

“You’re not scared, are you?”

A chuckle, light as a cloud, drifted over. Nerys responded indifferently.

“If you intended to expose me, you wouldn’t have mentioned it so kindly. What do you want, Cledwyn Maindulante?”

“That’s not it.”

Cledwyn laughed softly again.

“Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

“I’m not a spy sent to monitor you, if that’s what you’re curious about.”

“Then?”

“I’m just a normal twelve-year-old freshman.”

“A normal twelve-year-old freshman who isn’t afraid of the blade, scored the highest marks in the academy’s history without any formal education, and knows how to manipulate public opinion about childhood friends using diplomatic language?”

Nerys frowned, her small, sharp nose wrinkling slightly.

“Digging into a lady’s past isn’t very knightly, is it? You should know better, considering your formal education.”

“And was your behavior ladylike? Perhaps I’ve been mistaken about the virtues of modern ladies.”

He shot her words back at her without missing a beat. Nerys, annoyed, snapped back sharply.

“Perhaps you’re just too old and out of touch. Should’ve paid more attention in your etiquette classes!”

From beyond the bookshelf came a sound like a soft sigh—almost like a laugh. Could Cledwyn Maindulante have laughed?

‘Must’ve misheard.’

In diplomacy, the ability to wait for your opponent to speak was crucial. Nerys waited, letting Cledwyn continue.

“Your record’s clean.”

“What?”

“Your background. Neither the Elandria Duchy nor any other noble family in the capital appears to have provided you special education. It seems your claim of growing up in a rural village is true. But the priest in your parish likely doesn’t speak the sacred language as well as you do.”

“Our priest is quite skilled,” Nerys shot back, unsure what else to say.

She wanted to see Cledwyn’s face. Dealing with him was hard enough, but without seeing his expressions, it felt even more challenging.

Maybe she shouldn’t have come.

“If you want, come here. Let’s talk face-to-face.”

His suggestion made her hesitate. After a moment’s thought, she reached a conclusion.

Taking a few steps forward, Nerys leaned against the side of the bookshelf, turning her head slightly to glance at Cledwyn diagonally across from her.

He stood with his back to the bookshelf, arms crossed, gazing down at her.

To Nerys, who was much shorter, it felt as if Cledwyn’s head touched the ceiling.

“You didn’t call me over here just to make it easier to kill me, did you?”

“If you thought that, why did you come?”

“If you’d decided to kill me, running away wouldn’t stop you,” she replied.

Cledwyn’s lips curved slightly, almost imperceptibly.

“Throwing out a question you already know the answer to, just to gauge the other person’s reaction. Well-learned.”

Nerys’s violet eyes gleamed coldly.

“Are you some kind of mind reader?”

In her diplomatic dealings, Nerys had met her fair share of difficult people, but Cledwyn seemed to top them all. She wondered if she had become overconfident due to memories from her previous life. Perhaps. Nerys adjusted her expression carefully.

“Does it matter?”

Cledwyn was still smiling. Without giving her any time to dwell, he moved straight to the point.

“What do you want from this school?”

“What?” Nerys frowned, suspicious. Unaware of how she looked, her expression resembled a child imitating an adult’s worry about worldly matters—an amusing and endearing sight.

Cledwyn lowered his brilliant gray eyes, gazing at her face for a while.

“There are many things. Academics are important, for starters.”

After a pause, Nerys gave a noncommittal answer. His gaze carried an undeniable authority that was hard to resist. Not even Abelus or Princess Camille could match the perfect ruler’s aura he radiated. It was unusual for the heir of a ducal house, who had grown up alone, to outshine royalty.

“Really?”

His jet-black eyebrows rose slightly.

“Should I hire Henri Voltaire as your personal tutor?”

“Sir Voltaire is already teaching me,” she replied.

“No, I mean as your private instructor. You understood me, didn’t you?”

Nerys’s eyes widened. Cledwyn’s smooth smile revealed his satisfaction as he observed her startled expression and her clever attempt to grasp the hidden meaning behind his words.

“Why would you do that?”

“Because it’s what you want.”

“No, I mean why would ‘you’ want to do something like that?”

“Because I need talent.”

Yes, satisfaction. Nerys was sure of it. His refined smile betrayed his pleasure.

“Talent? You think a twelve-year-old like me is a talent needed by the future duke?”

“Why else would I come here to meet you?”

Nerys’s mind raced. She had to admit the truth.

She needed protection—at the very least, something to ensure her safety, and if possible, her mother’s safety too.

But could she trust Cledwyn?

If she made the wrong choice, she might end up working herself to death for someone else’s benefit, just like in her previous life, only to be abandoned and discarded. She didn’t have the power to manipulate a future duke—not yet, at least.

“Think about it.”

Cledwyn straightened, stepping away from the bookshelf. Then, suddenly leaning down to meet her at eye level, his beautiful eyes captured her gaze, holding it for a long moment.

His long, jet-black lashes cast shadows over his clear, jewel-like irises and ivory-toned cheeks.

“Nerys Truydd, rulers always need people. If you ever find yourself in desperate need, come to me. I’ll treat you according to your worth.”

—

If the first-year students were asked who they most wanted to befriend, the answer would converge on a single person—save for a few exceptions.

The Marquess of Lykeandros’s family was wealthy and steeped in history. They had illustrious ancestors and treasures so abundant they seemed mundane. Freshman Megara Lykeandros embodied the pinnacle of such a distinguished lineage.

To Angarad Nine, this beautiful peer was an object of admiration. In the Nine Barony, even dreaming of someone wearing a dress of the finest purple silk adorned with frills like Megara’s was unthinkable.

How wonderful it would be to be friends with someone like her.

This had been Angarad’s thought ever since she first entered the academy.

Of course, there was no reason for Megara to befriend her. But who knew? Someone as dazzling as Megara, already surrounded by wealthy, high-status friends, might also need a less privileged, obedient companion.

Yet, despite now having tea alone with Megara in her luxurious dormitory sitting room, Angarad felt no joy.

“I… I can’t do it.”

“Why not?”

The grand room held only the two of them, aside from a maid and attendant. Megara tilted her head in genuine confusion.

Angarad’s fingers grew cold.

She had followed Megara’s earlier instruction to put a spider in Nerys’s bag. Megara had said Nerys upset her and deserved it, promising it would be worth it. She even suggested it might help Angarad adjust to school life more easily.

But Nerys, instead of panicking, had simply handled the spider calmly. Anyone else would have upended their bag in chaos, their usual composure entirely shattered.

Did she not find insects disgusting? To Angarad, Nerys was almost unnervingly strange.

An odd girl.

Though many admired Nerys, Angarad, who had known her since childhood, felt no such sentiment.

More than anything, Nerys was simply peculiar. The Truydd family in small Rohese didn’t even have enough money to hire a private tutor, a fact Angarad knew all too well.

Yet upon entering the academy, Nerys had outperformed everyone.

To Angarad, it wasn’t just strange—it was unsettlingly wrong.

If Megara had taken the top spot among freshmen, it would have made sense. Everyone would have congratulated her, acknowledging her education and pedigree. But a mere knight’s daughter?

Angarad faintly recalled the younger Nerys from her childhood.

In the Nine Barony, there weren’t many children Angarad’s age. That’s why she remembered feeling happy when Nerys became her playmate. Though it was a long time ago and the memories were faint and blurred, they still lingered.

So, she tried to endure the discomfort and get along with her.

But Nerys had coldly rejected the hand extended to her. What a nasty girl.