Chapter 79
Clara Reston could not contain her excitement at her first masquerade ball, to which a friend had brought her.
Clara, who would turn seventeen that year, had already made her debut in society, but tonight was her first masquerade ball.
The splendid palace, the people dressed up and wearing masks—everything made Clara's heart flutter.
(Amazing, amazing, this is wonderful!)
Clara was the third daughter of Viscount Reston, a demure girl who was always overshadowed by her glamorous older sisters.
But wearing a mask made her feel liberated, and she felt she could be a little more forward than usual.
And so... she fell head over heels for the man who spoke to her, almost instantly.
"That hair ornament is lovely. It suits you perfectly, my charming lady."
The man who spoke to Clara was a tall, blond young man. He wore a dazzling scarlet formal suit and a peacock-green mask.
His bearing was graceful, his posture confident and imposing. He was surely a member of the upper nobility, unlike a minor noblewoman like herself.
The young man lavished Clara with compliments.
Clara was by no means a woman of peerless beauty, but the young man's praise was skillful. He flattered her by saying things like, "Your refined and intelligent modesty is reminiscent of Lady Aileen, once known as the flower of the court."
He was comparing her to Aileen Nightley, the daughter of Duke Crockford—a woman who had once made her mark on high society and was now Queen Consort Aileen, the king's second wife. Though Clara thought it an exaggeration, she was overjoyed.
The young man praised her with sweet, flattering words and offered her wine.
Clara was unaccustomed to drinking wine, but since he had gone to the trouble of offering it to her, she drained her glass.
A warm glow spread through her body, and her heart began beating faster than usual. Yet her head felt light and pleasant. She felt as though she could do anything now.
"Are you all right?"
The young man, who had been glancing at his pocket watch, caught Clara as she staggered.
It was then that Clara noticed the royal crest engraved on the surface of the pocket watch in his hand.
Clara remembered what her friend had said on the carriage ride to the ball.
──Apparently, the Second Prince, His Highness Felix, has been secretly attending masquerade balls lately. If he happened to notice me... Wouldn't it be just like something out of a novel?
The Second Prince had renounced his claim to the throne and was now said to live quietly on his own territory.
But even if he had renounced his claim to the throne, he was still a member of the royal family. And the Second Prince was said to be perfect in every respect, as well as a handsome young man who had inherited his beautiful looks from his mother, Queen Consort Aileen.
(Could it be? Could this really be...?)
Clara pressed her cheek against the young man's crimson formal suit.
The young man stroked Clara's hair and whispered into her ear.
"Shall we go rest in another room?"
Clara placed her hands on his chest and gave a small, shy nod.
The young man smiled gently, put an arm around Clara's waist, and began walking. There was no hesitation in his stride. He left the ballroom, passed through the corridor, and opened the door to a room beyond it.
Just as the young man was embracing Clara and closing the door behind him──
"Hey, you've done a pretty good imitation."
"My master would probably say, 'That's not the golden ratio.'"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
A voice came from the corridor.
When Clara turned around, someone had wedged a shoe into the gap of the closing door and was trying to force it open.
(What? What? What's happening?)
As Clara stood frozen in fear, the door flew open.
The person who had roughly opened the door was a black-haired young man wearing a scarlet mask. Beside him stood a blond young man in a black mask.
"Who are you? How dare you be so rude?"
The young man who had brought Clara this far glared at the black-haired and blond pair with displeasure.
The blond young man in the black mask gave a soft chuckle from the corridor.
"...Rude, huh."
At that moment, Clara saw it clearly.
Behind the black mask, a pair of blue-green eyes—like pale blue with a single drop of green mixed in—gleamed coldly.
"Do you know that anyone who isn't royalty and is found in possession of the royal crest without a legitimate reason is subject to execution as a traitor for impersonating the royal family?"
The young man holding Clara stiffened.
The agitation conveyed by the trembling arm around her was not an act.
As Clara stood bewildered, the young man in the black mask turned his eyes toward her and gave her a gentle smile.
"Lady Reston, your friends have been looking for you in the ballroom."
"...Huh? Ah... I-I..."
"You never left the ball in the first place... did you?"
The young man in the black mask tacitly suggested that she forget what she had seen and heard here, then urged her, "Now, go."
His voice was calm and gentle, but it left no room for refusal.
──This man stands above others.
Obeying her instinct, Clara slipped free of the man's arms and ran away on trembling legs.
She needed to get away from this place as quickly as possible. Surely what had just happened was only a bad dream brought on by unfamiliar wine.
＊ ＊ ＊
Having confirmed that Lady Reston, who had nearly been taken to a private room, had left, Isaac—the man in the black mask—stepped into the room.
Nero, wearing a scarlet mask, followed with a smirk.
The man in the peacock-green mask was visibly shaken and pale, despite the fact that his face was hidden.
──The Second Prince has been attending masquerade balls, giving witches' love potions to girls he takes a liking to, and toying with them.
Isaac's contracted spirit, Wildianu, had been the first to hear this utterly disgraceful rumor.
As Isaac's stand-in, he looked after things in Isaac's absence, sorting the work sent to him while regularly gathering information about the Second Prince and those around him.
'Please, please refrain from carousing at night.'
When disguising himself as a human, Wildianu, an upper-level water spirit, took on the appearance of a delicate-looking man.
But lately, perhaps because of all the worry, he had gone beyond delicate and now looked like a man haunted by misfortune.
Wondering if he had burdened Wildianu with too much work, Isaac asked about the matter—and was met with a rumor that had nothing to do with anything he remembered doing.
Apparently, someone had been impersonating the retired Second Prince and engaging in disreputable amusements.
That was why Isaac had gathered information and barged into this masquerade ball.
According to the rumor, the Second Prince supposedly had a witch's love potion in his possession—so anyone carrying one was a suspect.
As it happened, Isaac possessed a witch's love potion himself. He had confiscated it after a certain young lady had tried to slip him a dose.
Isaac had studied the witch's love potion and realized that its bottle was a magic tool designed to prolong the effects of enchantment magic.
──Then all he had to do was simple.
He could simply ask Nero, who could sense magical power, to find someone at the masquerade ball carrying a bottle identical to this one.
"No doubt about it. This guy's carrying it. The magic potion."
As he said this, Nero looked at the man in the peacock-green mask and grinned.
Isaac kept watch on the man's movements to ensure he did not escape, then spoke.
"It seems you hadn't given Lady Reston the potion yet. Were you planning to give it to her now?"
"What are you talking about...?"
"I'm talking about the 'witch's love potion' you're carrying, Lord Hector."
The man in the peacock-green mask—Hector—had a twitch in his cheek. The movement caused his mask to slip slightly askew.
Hector was the older brother of Lady Loretta, who had previously failed in her attempt to drug Isaac—in other words, he was Felix's cousin.
The fact that these masquerade balls where a fake Felix appeared were hosted by Mrs. Megan had already given Isaac a fairly good idea of who was behind them.
Mrs. Megan was Hector's mother's sister and doted on him. She had probably also arranged the private rooms where he brought women during the parties.
"So your plan was to spin it as a story in which the Second Prince was abusing the witch's love potion he had confiscated from his sister, indiscriminately preying on women in high society...? Was your motive revenge for your sister getting rejected?"
"...!"
Hector had apparently realized their identities. He broke into a run and tried to ram Isaac, who was blocking the room's door.
But Isaac easily sidestepped him and hooked his foot around Hector's leg. That alone sent Hector tumbling helplessly across the carpet.
The peacock-green mask fell to the floor, revealing Hector's face, twisted with panic and fear.
Hector shook his face from side to side, cold sweat covering it.
"I-I don't know anything...! Eek!"
Still sitting on the floor, Hector desperately denied everything as Isaac brought the sole of his boot down mercilessly on his shoulder.
Hector fell onto his back and let out a pitiful cry. "It hurts! It hurts!"
Isaac's foot, planted on Hector's shoulder, unconsciously pressed down harder.
Behind the black mask, Isaac's blue-green eyes glared down at Hector.
"I don't care what sort of debauchery you get up to, but there's one thing I won't tolerate."
Isaac was angry with Hector for only one reason.
"...You sullied the name of Felix Arc Ridill, didn't you?"
The bones in Hector's shoulder creaked beneath Isaac's boot.
Hector had impersonated the Second Prince and preyed on women in high society, seeking to tarnish the Second Prince's standing.
He had sullied Felix's name, which Isaac had tried to protect at any cost.
"This act of impersonating royalty... Were you prepared to be publicly shamed before the council and take your place on the executioner's platform?"
"Y-Your Highness, please, wait! I... I never intended...!"
This was not the anger of Felix Arc Ridill, the Second Prince.
It was the anger of Isaac Walker, the retainer who had sworn loyalty to Felix.
The retainer whose master's name had been sullied discarded the prince's smile that he had worn for years and looked down at Hector with a cold, expressionless face.
Isaac was unaware of it, but that cold expression and voice closely resembled those of the person who had raised him—Duke Crockford.
Hector cried out, tears streaming from his eyes as pain and fear overwhelmed him.
"Please, please forgive me...! Have mercy...!"
"Unfortunately, I have no mercy to spare for anyone who sullies this name."
"I'll do anything... anything...! Please...!"
Isaac looked down at Hector, whose face was a miserable mess of tears and snot, with eyes devoid of warmth.
"Then swear your loyalty to the name of Felix Arc Ridill until the day your life ends."
After confirming that Hector had nodded deeply, Isaac took his foot off Hector's shoulder.
Nero had watched the exchange with narrowed eyes beneath his mask, as though utterly exasperated, so Isaac asked him quietly,
"...Did you think me foolish for saying something like that?"
Nero shrugged as if he could not have cared less.
"Nope. I just thought humans sure are awfully hung up on names."