IVAGHD 03

Chapter 3

Sometimes, when people are caught off guard, they display extraordinary strength.
Viretta was a master of that particular art.

Without missing a beat, she leapt to her feet, grabbed the teapot, and seized Iola by the front of his shirt—just below the collar, as if she meant to shake him by the neck.

“Iola, why don’t we have a nice, quiet cup of tea—just the two of us?”

With one hand clutching his clothes and the other holding a cold teapot, she smiled sweetly. Before anyone could intervene, she whisked him out of the sitting room.

It had been only a minute since she’d declared it was “too soon to be alone together.”
She flipped that statement as easily as turning over her palm.

As they walked down the long corridor, Viretta poured him a cup of cold tea. Iola, bless him, had thought to grab the cups on his way out. He drank the bitter, lukewarm brew without a single complaint.

They didn’t start their real conversation until they reached a quieter hallway, one free of servants.

“Iola,” Viretta began carefully, “I need to tell you something.”
“So do I.”
“Yesterday, I had no idea you were my fiancé.”
“And I had no idea I was yours.”

“Then—” she began, intending to untangle the mess between them, but Iola spoke first.

“I can’t believe that the villain who drove you into a loveless marriage and doomed you to a tragic fate turned out to be me. They say you can study the world and still never understand yourself… I’m reflecting deeply on that truth.”

“Villain? That’s going too far.”

His regret was so genuine that Viretta found herself defending him. After all, she’d been the one bad-mouthing him as some shady, heartless man. Now her conscience pricked her hard.

“No, it’s true. To think I nearly brought sadness to someone already devoted to another—that’s unforgivable.”
“You didn’t know about that. You’re completely blameless, Iola.”
“You’re kind to say so. But ignorance doesn’t erase guilt.”
“You’re… very humble.”

Viretta began to see why everyone praised his character.

“As I said yesterday,” he continued, “I used to believe I could find happiness with anyone, so long as we built mutual trust and respect. Everyone has something worth loving, I thought. Love isn’t the only key to a peaceful life.”

He smiled softly at her—a bright, clear smile, like sunlight on still water.

Even without judging by appearances, it was obvious: Iola was genuinely kind.

He knew she supposedly loved someone else, yet there wasn’t a hint of resentment in his tone.

It wasn’t betrayal—how could it be, when they’d just met? Still, anyone would feel deflated knowing their fiancé’s heart already belonged elsewhere.

But instead of blaming her, he blamed himself. So considerate, so earnest—it made it impossible for Viretta to simply say, “Actually, that was all nonsense.”

“You have a wonderful way of thinking,” she said instead.

Viretta Medlit had always accepted the idea of an arranged marriage to a man she’d never met.

And that was because she was the second daughter of Kadlen Medlit, head of the Medlit Trading Company.

The Medlit business was a large, family-run enterprise—Kadlen at its center, with his siblings and their spouses each managing a share.

No one could afford to ruin such an empire by choosing an incompetent heir, so the Medlits taught their children accounting and trade from an early age.

The gifted ones inherited key positions in the company; the rest were married into good families to strengthen business ties.

It sounded cold—calculating, even—but Kadlen wasn’t heartless. If one of his children ever found true love, he’d gladly give them a fortune and send them off to live as they pleased.

That’s how Viretta’s aunt ended up abroad, and how her cousin opened a shop in the capital to live with his musician lover.

Still, anyone who couldn’t pull their weight in the company bore an invisible mark—“merchant disqualified.”

Even if they opened a shop with their inheritance, they’d likely just scrape by, or slowly eat through their fortune.

So, accepting an arranged marriage wasn’t heartless—it was pragmatic.

If Kadlen Medlit arranged it, the partner would surely be respectable. And if anything went wrong, he’d have their back.

And, as Iola had said, every person had something worth loving. With time, affection could grow.

Her elder sister had once said she’d never live without money, and yet, years later, she was happily married through an arrangement.

Viretta had planned to follow that same path.

She’d never experienced fluttering, storybook love, and the gallant knight of her dreams had never shown up.

So why not take her father’s solid support and live comfortably?

Her fiancé valued respect and trust—what more could she want? It was shaping up to be a pleasant, uneventful marriage.

“You’re right,” she said. “Trust and respect—those are what really matter.”

“There’s no need to agree with me,” he said. “It was foolish of me to assume my fiancée would share my views on love. But your words yesterday taught me something powerful.”

If we even make it to marriage, she thought.

Their engagement was already hanging by a thread—thanks to her own big mouth.

And Iola, bless his soul, was unwittingly pulling them further from safety with every sincere word.

“I’m glad I could help,” she offered weakly.

“When you said you couldn’t stand a loveless marriage,” he continued, “I realized you didn’t mean blind passion. You meant striving to live a life true to your heart—to chase what you truly want, no matter the cost.”

“R-right. Exactly that.”

Even when she spoke nonsense, he managed to make sense of it.

She could only laugh, her voice thin with nervousness. He just wouldn’t stop praising her—and even now, the compliments were dangerously sweet.

Viretta took Iola’s empty cup and set it beside the teapot on the windowsill. He pressed a hand to his chest and lowered his gaze, looking pensive.

“Your father, Kadlen Medlit—he’s quite an extraordinary man. It can’t be easy defying someone like him.”

That, at least, was true. As the head of one of the largest trade houses, Kadlen had as much authority as any lord—and unlike a noble, his power came from skill, not birthright.

Running such a vast business for decades took more than charisma—it took genius.

It was a relief, really, that Iola understood that. Viretta nodded, eager to ride the wave of his assumption.

“Yes, exactly. My father’s quite… formidable. And actually—”
“I know,” Iola interrupted, eyes shining. “And yet, you made your decision anyway.”

No, I didn’t.
Deciding to “go along with it and live nearby” hardly counted as a bold decision.

“To defy your father’s will—you resolved to slay a dragon!”

I absolutely did not.

“W–What? A dragon?”

A dragon. A terrifying creature whose wings could shake the earth and whose breath could incinerate forests. Even seasoned hunters fled at the sight of its tracks.

And she’d supposedly vowed to kill one? When?

Frozen stiff, Viretta tried to recall exactly what she’d said.

‘For the one I love, I’d even slay a dragon.’

Yes. She had said that.

But as a figure of speech, not a promise.

To put it plainly: it was an exaggeration.

“I was truly inspired,” Iola said earnestly. “Even suggesting a visit to a dragon’s nest is something most refuse. But you—wanting to slay one? Remarkable.”

No, that was a misunderstanding. He had never actually met anyone who wanted to hunt a dragon.

“To risk everything for your goal—to stand unshaken in the face of oppression. I’m ashamed of how easily I used to accept things as they were.”

His eyes sparkled with pure conviction, and there was nothing fake about it.

Viretta stared at him, dazed.

“Wait… you’re serious?” she asked.