IDLYA 12

chapter 12

That was why Niveia deliberately cast herself as the weak one.

She had a natural talent for being blamed and insulted just for breathing.

All she did was add a little fuel to the commotion.

That way, Joachim XII would also be drawn to the disturbance—and notice her.

If she succeeded, she would gain a chance to get close to him.

If she failed, she would be torn apart by this pack of wolves until nothing remained.

‘…All the more reason I can’t afford to fail.’

Like someone jumping off a cliff while clinging to a single rope, Niveia slowly closed her eyes.

‘Joachim.’

Look at me.

Look at me being stoned for no reason.

Only you can pull me out of this.

I need you.

So I—

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

—I trust you.

Niveia slowly opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was silver hair like moonlight.

Then, a face twisted with anger.

“Is this how things are done in Thierry? I can hardly believe that nobles of a nation treated as equal to Winfrit would behave so disgracefully.”

Arendt Timotheus Joachim stood in front of her, blocking her from the crowd.

He did not disappoint.

To think such a gamble would actually succeed.

Niveia could confidently say she was just as surprised as anyone else present.

Even she hadn’t expected much from it.

‘What a relief.’

Letting out a quiet breath, she shifted her gaze.

And locked eyes with someone in the crowd.

Valer.

His face was marred with unease and desperation—emotions he couldn’t hide.

The man she had devoted herself to for ten years stood among those mocking her.

Meanwhile, Arendt—who had no connection to her whatsoever—stood in front of her, shielding her.

The irony was almost laughable.

Niveia let out a laugh that sounded close to tears.

That man is kind?

The man who hid among the crowd while his former fiancée was being torn apart?

‘This is what kindness looks like.’

She lifted her gaze to the man standing before her.

Arendt Timotheus Joachim.

A man with no ties to her, yet one who chose to protect her.

The gamble had succeeded.

And yet—

why did she feel so hollow?

Rüdiger Torben, the First Knight of Arendt Timotheus Joachim, pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed.

Naturally, the cause was once again his lord.

‘Your Majesty, honestly…’

There was only so much kindness one could afford—especially in a foreign country.

But the words he truly wanted to say circled endlessly in his mind.

Just moments ago, Arendt had asked him with a puzzled expression,

“Is today the last day of the party?”

“That’s right. And since Your Majesty just rejected all the bride candidates Thierry presented, you’ll have to choose one by the day after tomorrow at the latest.”

At that, Arendt frowned.

“Does Thierry really think human relationships are that simple? These people have no sense of leisure—none at all.”

“Most political marriages start with a chosen partner, Your Majesty. You’re the one being unreasonable.”

“That may be true. But what am I supposed to do if none of them appeal to me?”

Rüdiger shot him a look that clearly said, If you weren’t my lord, I’d have punched you.

He had first met Arendt at twelve, when he was still a trainee knight.

And even now, well into adulthood, his lord hadn’t changed one bit.

In other words—he had been consistently eccentric for years.

When they were younger, Rüdiger could at least understand it as rebellion against his power-hungry mother.

But now?

Even he couldn’t defend this.

Rejecting countless marriage proposals wasn’t enough—now even a political marriage?

So this is what you meant by getting married soon, Your Majesty?!

His lord had apparently grown bored of causing trouble within Winfrit alone and decided to take it international.

Rüdiger had no choice but to follow him, but the moment he heard about the political marriage, he had nearly collapsed.

If only he had, he wouldn’t be here now.

Half-resigned, he muttered,

“What exactly is Your Majesty’s standard? This is no different from back in Winfrit.”

“They’re all the same.”

“Is it because of that ‘love’ nonsense again?”

“It’s not just love.”

“So there’s more than one condition?”

As Rüdiger’s irritation grew, Arendt chose not to answer.

Of course, that didn’t mean Rüdiger would stop.

As Arendt’s childhood friend, he was one of the few who could openly complain to him.

“Anyway, I heard Duke Eustache also broke off his engagement yesterday. Is remaining unmarried some kind of trend among high nobles these days? Most marriages are political anyway—why not just marry someone suitable?”

“Yes, you should do exactly that.”

As Rüdiger’s grumbling gained momentum, Arendt casually began to walk away.

Partly to escape him—

but not entirely.

“Where are you going, Your Majesty?”

“That way seems noisy. I was wondering why there were fewer people around here—turns out they’ve all gathered over there.”

Only then did Rüdiger understand why Arendt had asked about the last day of the party.

For once, there were fewer people around him.

Normally, as the star of the event, Arendt was always surrounded by crowds.

Now, only Rüdiger stood beside him.

Glancing at the crowd, Rüdiger nodded in realization.

“So it’s not that fewer people came—it’s just that they’ve all gathered over there.”

“Exactly. Strange, considering I’m right here. Thought I’d go take a look.”

Though his smile looked as pleasant as ever to others, Rüdiger noticed the subtle twist in it.

That smile meant he was displeased.

“…Surely you’re not upset about not getting attention?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

“With all due respect, where did your age go?”

“I must’ve eaten it and gotten sick.”

Arendt smirked and continued walking.

Of course, Rüdiger knew he wasn’t actually upset about attention.

‘Something feels off.’

Rüdiger’s instincts sharpened.

Years of training as a knight had honed not just his body, but his intuition.

Enough to sense that something unpleasant was in the air.

“…Sometimes it’s better to stay out of things.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve only ever lived in the spotlight.”

Arendt dismissed him and kept walking.

Rüdiger followed with a complicated expression.

The ballroom wasn’t that large, so it didn’t take long to reach the crowd.

People naturally stepped aside as Arendt approached, creating a path.

Leaving Rüdiger behind, he stepped into the center.

The closer he got, the more suffocating the atmosphere became.

Still, he didn’t stop.

At first, he only intended to see what was happening.

To understand what was causing such discomfort.

At least—

until he reached the center.

“And to shamelessly show your face at a party after being discarded… no wonder His Grace grew sick of you.”

Two women stood facing each other.

One attacking relentlessly.

The other enduring in silence.

The imbalance was obvious at a glance.

Arendt’s expression hardened.

“His Grace is the one I pity. Ten years wasted on a woman as clingy as you. Or is that simply a trait of lowborn people? I wouldn’t know.”

From the outside, it might have looked like a typical noble dispute.

But one thing was different.

No one stood on the blonde woman’s side.

Only one spoke—

but many mocked.

Everyone present was silently throwing stones at her.

It wasn’t just Arendt whose expression stiffened.

Rüdiger, too, unconsciously tensed.

‘Ah… he won’t listen even if I try to stop him.’

The moment he gave up—

Arendt stepped forward and stood in front of the blonde woman.

Rüdiger had been right.

At that moment, Arendt was in no state to think rationally.

A crowd ganging up to mock a single weak person?

That was something only lowlifes should do.

And yet nobles were doing it—openly?

Were these truly the people meant to set an example?