AWLC 17

Chapter – 17

 Asha was a little confused.

Was this man giving her survival tips for life in the imperial palace?

Or was he subtly mocking her in a highly sophisticated way?

One thing was certain—the faint sense of condescension that had felt almost rude before had lessened. But why?

Did I look pitiful pretending to be tragic?

It was a plausible guess.

In cliché-filled novels, large, intimidating-looking men often had a soft spot for someone who appeared pitiful.

And if that person happened to be oblivious, innocent, and quick to learn whatever she was taught?

Asha thought this might be her chance to win Jerold—who was close to Alesto—over to her side.

Even if he weren’t that close to Alesto, it didn’t matter.

Though the original story wasn’t centered on court intrigue, in a novel set in the imperial palace, it would always be useful to build goodwill with anyone who held power—whether that power came from authority, wealth, or influence.

It would be great if, now that she had become the female lead, she could be clever and calculating, skillfully manipulating those around her…

But she knew her limits.

She couldn’t honestly claim to be smart. So instead, it would be better to appear a little foolish—kind, harmless, and capable of stirring protective instincts.

“…Huh? That’s actually a great idea.”

It would probably work quite well even on Alesto, who was warm only to his woman. And if she acted appropriately clueless and a bit silly, life would likely become easier for her.

Should I pretend I don’t understand when someone’s subtly insulting me?

It hurt her pride to admit it, but she had plenty of experience pretending not to hear or understand slander. It wouldn’t be difficult.

Having decided the mindset and attitude with which she would live from now on, Asha carefully parted her lips.

“Um, so…”

“Yes, please speak comfortably.”

“Thank you…?”

The moment Asha thanked him, Jerold squeezed his eyes shut.

Damn it.

A curse nearly slipped from his mouth.

At this point, she wasn’t just gentle—she was bordering on stupid.

“What are you thanking me for?”

Unable to suppress his irritation, Jerold asked in a crooked tone. But Asha’s eyes remained guileless.

“You told me to use His Highness the Crown Prince. I’ll make good use of him from now on.”

Her eyes sparkled as if she were proud to have learned something new.

Her tone was surprisingly firm. Anyone who didn’t know better might have thought she was quite sharp.

This is driving me insane.

At the same time, he began to understand, vaguely, why his older brother had said she was his ideal type.

She held no hostility.

As they spoke, she gave the impression of saying exactly what she felt—without calculation.

She was the type of person one could neither find nor encounter in the imperial palace.

Miss Asha seemed endlessly pure and transparent.

Before he knew it, Jerold had completely forgotten his past dissatisfaction with her and was instead worrying about what she would face in the palace.

Flustered, he pressed his lips together.

Meanwhile, noticing the softened look in Jerold’s eyes, Asha smiled inwardly.

Honestly, if she could firmly secure Alesto—the promising future tyrant—and his right-hand man Jerold on her side, she would have nothing to fear.

She would feel secure enough to chase away even the Grim Reaper himself.

A trace of unconcealed satisfaction appeared on Asha’s face.

Life is going to be very comfortable.

Of course, seeing her pleased expression only made Jerold feel more troubled.

That was the end of their conversation.

After arriving at the ballroom, and even while Jerold escorted Asha inside, they spoke not a word to each other, as if by mutual agreement.

Every year, from spring to early summer, it was the season of imperial balls.

During this period, countless nobles and influential artists scattered across the empire gathered in the capital.

They attended balls to build connections and to search for marriage partners for themselves or their children.

Cedric attended the ball with the same purpose as other gentlemen.

To expand his network—and perhaps find a beautiful bride.

Though Miss Asha’s graceful figure still lingered vividly in his mind, he couldn’t go on thinking only of the Crown Prince’s fiancée forever.

“There’s this cat, and after a few days it brought all its kittens along, you know?”

Cedric had absolutely no interest in the kittens nesting in the young lady’s garden before him. Still, he smiled and nodded.

“That must have been adorable.”

“Of course! Have you ever seen kittens that fit in your palm? If you visit our estate, I’ll show you.”

As she chattered on, Cedric let her voice go in one ear and out the other while staring at her hair.

The only thing she shared with Miss Asha was the color of her hair—and even that shade was darker and stiffer.

“Then I shall visit sometime. Ah, please excuse me for a moment. Steward!”

Spotting his aide, he quickly made his escape as if something urgent had come up.

The steward beamed at his approaching superior.

“I had heard the capital’s ball season was impressive, but I never imagined it would be like this. Isn’t that so? And everyone is quite favorable toward you, Marquis.”

Cedric nodded vaguely.

“Have I met everyone I needed to today?”

The steward’s eyes widened.

“Already? You said you’d expand your connections and gather information, but didn’t you also say you’d look for your ideal type?”

“Doesn’t seem like she’s here today. I’ll return tomorrow.”

“Very well. I’ll sort through the people you greeted today. And those who are clearly aligned with the Crown Prince—you know, those with palace chambers in Blossom—I was thinking of sending them salt and anchovies in bulk tomorrow. What do you think?”

Though he expected a dismissive answer, the steward still waited.

“…?”

After a long silence, he stopped walking and turned around.

“Marquis?”

The marquis was gone.

Where on earth did he go?

As the steward retraced his steps, he found Cedric not far away—standing still, staring at something.

He had spotted Asha.

Among all these countless people, he didn’t know how only she could stand out as if glowing.

His gaze followed her movements. Then he realized someone was missing.

Where is the Crown Prince?

Cedric’s brow furrowed.

To send one’s lover alone to a ball…

An inexplicable irritation rose within him, and his heart dropped.

Cedric was the head of a territory and a noble house.

He was a man guided by reason over emotion.

Yet whenever he looked at Miss Asha, his emotions strangely intensified.

To the point that he felt unfamiliar with himself.

Is it normal for my heart to waver this much just by seeing her?

Even as he recognized how strange it was, he couldn’t stop thinking.

That bright smile of the radiant woman over there somehow looked lonely, and something deep in his chest throbbed painfully.

He knew it wasn’t his place to care, but the thought kept surfacing.

Could the Crown Prince, burdened with endless duties, truly love Miss Asha enough?

Could he keep her from feeling lonely?

…If that were the case, he wouldn’t have sent her alone to a spring ball.

Fixing his gaze on Asha, Cedric began to walk toward her.

Upon entering the ballroom, Asha marveled again and again.

It was wider and more magnificent than she had imagined.

A grand chandelier hung from the ceiling as though floating in midair. The pillars were sculpted as if they belonged in a heavenly temple. The ceiling paintings, the layered, voluminous curtains, and the flowers that breathed life into the space—all formed a breathtaking spectacle.

As Asha climbed to the upper floor and lingered before a large flower arrangement in a ceramic vase, Jerold silently guarded her from behind.

For some time now, he had felt an irritating gaze and was on edge.

Fixing his eyes on a man standing at the second-floor railing, Jerold stopped an owl—disguised as a champagne server—passing by.

In a voice too quiet for Asha to hear, he asked:

“The blond man at the second-floor railing.”

Lowering his voice as well, the owl replied,

“If you mean the one wearing a gold neckerchief and a white checkered suit—that is Marquis Cedric Dalbert. He was conversing with a few gentlemen and ladies, but nothing particularly noteworthy. Shall I find out who he spoke with?”

“No need. If we were to assign an owl to him, who would be suitable?”

“Curtis, Hughwald, or Hauser. If we’re looking to open the southern sea trade route, merchants would be the better choice.”

Though three names were given, the options were limited.

Hughwald and Hauser were unlikely to have attended the ball.

“Assign Curtis.”

“I will relay the order.”