Chapter 83
Nerys quickly realized that all eyes in the room were on her.
Back when she had first returned to the past and entered Noble Academy, she had been too young to meet those stares head-on. So many faces that had once looked at her with nothing but scorn in her previous life now gaped in stunned silence. Their eyes followed her every move. They stared blankly at Cledwyn.
Even more reverently than they had during her time as the Crown Princess—when she’d been considered more noble than any woman in the empire, short of the imperial bloodline itself.
“That girl with those violet eyes…”
“I had a class with her once. It was one of the most advanced lectures…”
“Did you hear? That senior Valentin hates is graduating this year.”
“Did you hear? That insanely handsome man next to her…”
Eyes, whispers, murmurs—Elandria’s violet eyes. Graduation. Valentin. The Duke. Cledwyn Maindulante. Every hushed conversation carried some level of awe.
No students currently enrolled at the Academy had ever taken a class with Cledwyn. And unlike the typical nobles of the capital’s high society, Cledwyn’s face wasn’t widely known.
But once a few students recognized him, their voices drowned out the rest and swept through the hall like a wave. The others stared at each other in disbelief.
Really? That’s the Duke of Maindulante? That deranged northern tyrant? The one who’s said to be too insane to ever leave the North?
With a breezy smile, Cledwyn leaned in and whispered to Nerys.
“Looks like the pranksters are over there. Should we return the favor?”
“I think my just showing up already feels like a prank to them.”
Megara’s smile, always so serene and innocent, was visibly trembling. Nerys had expected this and responded coolly.
No one could hear what she and Cledwyn were whispering, but the way the two poised figures leaned toward one another looked almost too picturesque.
As if they were exchanging secret words of love.
“Riz.”
Diane and Bran, who had entered right after Nerys and Cledwyn, were already overwhelmed by the attention they weren’t even receiving themselves.
Diane called to Nerys softly. Nerys turned around and asked,
“Yeah, Diane. What is it?”
“I got us a table. Let’s all sit together—the four of us.”
It was rare for the usually boisterous Diane to speak in such a hushed tone.
Was she scared of Cledwyn? Nerys found it endearing.
Of course, Cledwyn’s notorious “Duke Ascension Bloodbath” had become a well-known tale even here, and Diane had certainly heard about it. Nerys had seen her get worked up talking about it before.
‘She doesn’t need to be scared of him, though.’
Every time she spoke to him—through letters, spells, or in person—Nerys felt it.
Though he had changed somewhat over the years… at his core, he was still the same.
A man with strong principles, guided by his own internal code, unwilling to break his rules. And in a world where threats to one’s life lurked in every corner, Nerys knew just how hard that was to maintain.
She smiled and said,
“Sure, let’s do that. Is that alright with you… um…”
The moment had come when she could no longer get away with the vague “you” she’d used in the carriage. It was time to decide what to call him in front of others.
When it was just the two of them, it hadn’t mattered. But in public? What was appropriate?
Nerys tried to recall what she had called him when they were younger.
You. Or senior. But Cledwyn was now clearly a grown man, and she herself had long since reached the age of legal adulthood according to Bistor’s laws. Neither of those felt quite right to say aloud in front of others.
Frowning slightly, she found Cledwyn smiling.
“Just call me by name.”
Absolutely ridiculous. They weren’t even engaged. Nerys scowled and shot back,
“How could I?”
“Why not?”
“What would people think?”
“That we’re close.”
He didn’t back down—not even once. Nerys glared at him. Diane’s eyes, watching them, had gone wide.
“We’re not close.”
“We’re not strangers either.”
“You know exactly what I mean, Your Grace. Why say unnecessary things?”
“So are you choosing the most distant form of address on purpose?”
“Actually, yes. I think that’s for the best.”
“Harsh. If we were so distant, would we be attending the ball together like this?”
As if he hadn’t just shown up unannounced today.
Nerys opened her mouth to argue but then shut it again. It wasn’t worth the trouble. Besides, the growing closeness between their faces during the exchange was making her uncomfortable.
The four of them headed toward one of the elegantly arranged tables near the edge of the ballroom. Around a dozen small round tables had been covered in white linen and decorated with fragrant flowers.
Each table bore a different name card at its centerpiece, marking the owner’s name.
Diane scanned the empty tables, looking for one marked “MacKinnon.” Ganielo, Elandria—eek, that must be Valentin Elandria’s table, scary… O’Brien, Maindulante…
Maindulante?
Nerys spotted it too—undeniably, Maindulante—marked on the innermost table, with the best view of the entire ballroom. The highest seat of honor. The name was written in jeweled ink on a high-grade ivory card.
Nerys glared at Cledwyn. Why would you pull something like this?
Cledwyn, feigning innocence, simply smiled. And when Nerys didn’t look away, he took it further and said,
“I reserved a nice quiet table for us, so how about we sit there? Lady MacKinnon’s table is nice, but this one seems more comfortable.”
Nerys was speechless.
But Diane was clearly tempted by the table, and anyone could see it. In the end, the four of them headed toward what was likely a table reserved by Cledwyn.
Not too far from them, Alecto was seated. Her table was marked “Ganielo,” most likely purchased by Colin Ganielo—the young man currently standing beside Megara.
Alecto’s gaze was sharp. Nerys didn’t even acknowledge it—she didn’t see the point in dealing with someone so beneath her notice.
Before he’d even fully sat down, Diane’s date, Bran, turned to her and asked,
“Um, Diane. Want to dance?”
Though the opening ceremony hadn’t officially begun, music was already playing throughout the ballroom. The tempo was a bit fast for Diane, but not unmanageable.
She took Bran’s hand.
“Sure. We’ll just dance slow.”
Nerys briefly debated stopping Diane. But she was already on the dance floor, and honestly, Nerys still had a lot to say to Cledwyn.
Now left alone, Nerys asked irritably,
“Why did you reserve a table? What if I hadn’t shown up?”
“Then I would’ve left it empty. It’s not like the world ends just because a table goes unused.”
“Still. What if you hadn’t come?”
“Then you’d have sat there, Miss Truydd. That’s what I got it for. I see you’re calling me like before again.”
‘You.’ She had used the familiar form without thinking—loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.
Nerys felt slightly embarrassed. How many years had she studied etiquette? While casual address was normal between students at the Academy under Bistor culture, Cledwyn had already graduated, and she too was about to leave the school.
Cledwyn seemed perfectly satisfied with the term, but Nerys found it annoying.
Preparing for early graduation had been challenging—even for her.
She had already learned to speak five major languages fluently in her previous life, and could hold basic conversations in about thirteen others.
That’s how she was able to meet the graduation requirements even while juggling other responsibilities in this life.
Cledwyn hadn’t lived twice. And no one could claim he was less busy than she was.
Though he sometimes acts like he’s got too much free time, meddling in things that don’t concern him.
Yet he had still managed to leave the Academy effortlessly—despite how much they surely tried to keep him. Honestly, Nerys felt a twinge of rivalry toward him.
She’d lived each day to the fullest, hoping that when they met again, she could face him with more confidence. That she’d be more capable, more perfect in every way.
And now, she’d gone and shown him a clumsy side of herself. She didn’t like that.
Her bottom lip puffed out in a slight pout before she realized it—and quickly corrected it.
Did he see?
Letting her old habits show like that was the furthest thing from the “capable and perfect” image she wanted to project. Nerys glanced at Cledwyn to check.
Thankfully, he was distracted, receiving a drink from a passing servant. Nerys let out a sigh of relief and turned to watch Diane dancing.
Meanwhile, on the dance floor, Diane was swaying slowly with her date, Bran, when she suddenly shivered.
Just before she turned, she had clearly seen Cledwyn glance over and chuckle quietly.
“Bran.”
Diane whispered to him. Bran was kind and dependable, though a bit timid—which, in Diane’s opinion, was the single most important trait in a man.
Smart and selfish types were completely off the table thanks to her cousin Nualan—someone she never wanted to see again for the rest of her life.
That same reasoning was why Diane didn’t particularly like Nellusion Elandria, either. He reminded her too much of Nualan. She hadn’t said so to Nerys, worried it might offend her.
“You asked me to dance because you felt awkward sitting at that table, didn’t you?”
Bran, whose face wasn’t bad at all, looked sheepish.
“Was it that obvious?”
“You think I wouldn’t notice? Wow, I’ve never seen a guy play innocent like you do.”
Bran was a year above both Diane and Nerys, so by principle, Diane should be calling him senior and using honorifics. But Bran didn’t care about that sort of thing, and Diane—whose birthday was only a few months after his—spoke casually.
Shaking her head, Diane recalled the scene in her dormitory lounge earlier that day.
Bran had arrived shortly after Cledwyn. But since both girls were still getting ready, the two men had apparently spent quite a while together in the lounge.
Smooth, shining golden hair styled just as she liked. That pretty face adorned with violet eye shadow and winged eyeliner that made her look mysterious and aloof.
Diane had felt more proud seeing Nerys step out of her powder room in that dress than she had seeing her own reflection. Her friend looked like an angel descended from heaven.
When Diane first met Cledwyn in person—just like Betty had described—he looked like the perfect partner.
Nerys hadn’t seemed displeased with him either, so Diane had happily agreed to go together.
But then, just as Nerys turned her head for a moment, Diane saw it.
Bran, trying to speak to Nerys—only to be met with Cledwyn’s heavy, frigid stare, like a northern windstorm.
No, even a blade to the throat might not have been that chilling. Diane, though not even the direct target, had felt it run down her spine.
Poor Bran, who had only meant to give a polite compliment, hadn’t spoken a single word to Nerys since.
Diane was a bit concerned. If this guy turned out to be bad news, she needed to keep him away from her friend.
His reputation was intimidating, after all.
But seriously, how was the daughter of Count MacKinnon supposed to separate the Duke of Maindulante from her friend…?
As she turned again with the music, her eyes landed once more on Cledwyn.
Nerys seemed delighted by the drink that had been served to her, holding up an ornately decorated crystal glass with wide, sparkling eyes. Cledwyn, pretending not to notice, was quietly chuckling at her again.
Like he was watching the most adorable thing in the world.
