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“Surely not, but you haven’t already secured that particular cook to cater for Prince Corald, have you?”

If anyone could pull such a stunt, it would be this woman. Playing coy and wrapping men around her finger must be second nature to her.

The boy behind her exchanged a subtle glance with the young nobleman, their expressions somewhere between unease and curiosity.

“Th-that’s not true at all! I only learned today that Prince Corald even liked giant slugs!” Clara stammered, waving her hands in a frantic denial.

Eliza, however, continued to glare at her with half-lidded eyes of suspicion, while Simonetta, her face averted, sneered under her breath, “What an insufferable woman…”

Observing the girls’ exchange with a dimpled smirk was Sir Simon.

Caught under the room’s collective gaze—ranging from suspicion to hostility, pity, mockery, and curiosity—Clara pretended to whistle, though she couldn’t, and deliberately looked away, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. No matter how absurd her actions, her status as a peerless beauty seemed almost supernatural, shielding her from any real criticism.

Eliza’s gaze shifted from Clara’s profile to Simonetta, who exuded prickly animosity in every direction. Something about the sight brought back a memory of poor man’s gold.

When placed beside pure gold, the color difference was obvious—poor man’s gold had a stronger yellow tint, while real gold was more orange. But when it came to gold coins, the distinction wasn’t as clear at first glance. After all, only the Superempire minted coins with pure gold; most others used alloys as standard practice.

Now then, among the three girls of the same age in this room, is there anyone who could truly be called pure gold? Or are they merely an alloy, deluding themselves into believing they are genuine, or perhaps nothing more than poor man’s gold?

Uncharacteristically sentimental, such thoughts flitted through Eliza’s mind.

♦♢♦♢

Savoring the lingering taste of the fruit wine from dinner, the Frontier Count, Corrad Simon Aulanthia, seated at the host’s position across the table, watched Luke’s expression as he sipped from the same kind of glass with a noticeably better mood than before.

“How did you find it, Prince Lucas? The main dish earlier? I don’t usually have any particular preferences when it comes to food or drink, but that one is special to me. Let’s call it… a dish that brings back the memories of my youth.”
“It was marvelous. I’ve been in Cilento for over a year now, but this was my first time encountering such a rare and extraordinary dish.”

There’s nothing more annoying than an old man who, once tipsy, starts reminiscing about the past. However, the man across from him wasn’t just any old man—he was the former king and now a key figure in the Imperial Kingdom. For Luke, an imperial royal family member who had yet to acquire a title, maintaining a polite smile and responding diplomatically was his only choice.

That said, even Luke, accustomed to savoring gourmet delicacies daily at Letindüte, couldn’t deny that the dish had been remarkable. What on earth could it have been? It was certainly meat, but beyond that…?

“When I was younger, it was a hidden delicacy you could only find in the capital of the Holy Eunice Theocracy. To be honest, I’d sneak away incognito to a small eatery in the downtown area to have it. And now, to think you can taste it here in Cilento… Truly, we live in good times.”

The Count chuckled heartily at his own recollection.

Though not intoxicated, Luke found his mind wandering, absently noting, So the Count gets dimples when he laughs.

“Ah… I’m exhausted.”

Luke slouched in a shallow seat in one of the unoccupied guest rooms, leaning forward and letting his shoulders drop.

It wasn’t as though the conversation had been particularly difficult. Quite the opposite, in fact. Perhaps out of consideration, the Count had deliberately avoided topics like politics or Luke’s family—matters that were undoubtedly under the scrutiny of not just the Livitium Imperial Kingdom, but the entire continent. Instead, the discussion had been relaxed, filled with lighthearted anecdotes about his youth, amusing stories from Luke’s academy days, and casual banter.

And yet, something about those eyes… Being under that gaze made him feel strangely unsettled, as if his every intention were laid bare and he were being skillfully manipulated within the palm of someone’s hand.

“‘Once Syltianna is ready, why don’t we have some tea together? No need to be so formal—just think of it as your own home and relax,’ huh? That’s unreasonable… Wait, did he mean something by ‘home’?”
“Not at all. There’s no hidden meaning there.”

Without a sound, the door behind him opened, and someone entered the guest room, causing Luke’s complexion to change.

“M-, Mr. Emil!?”

It was the man who had first been introduced as the butler.

Having served the Count for over thirty years, he had to be well past forty. Yet with his smooth teal-blue hair and flawless, youthful skin, he appeared as though he were still in his twenties. His calm and composed demeanor, however, made him seem perfectly suited to his actual age—a peculiar figure indeed.

With fluid, practiced movements, Emil approached Luke and placed a glass cup on the table beside him, drawn from the silver tray he carried. He then poured cool water from a pure silver pitcher.

“Please, help yourself.”

Luke instinctively picked up the glass as Emil suggested, taking a sip.

Unbeknownst to him, his throat had dried out from tension. The cool water, with a faint hint of lemon, spread through his body, soothing him.

He downed two more glasses in quick succession before finally feeling at ease, a relieved sigh escaped his lips.

“Thank you. That was refreshing.”
“No need to thank me. This is merely my duty.”
“Right… so, um…”

Luke faltered, recalling his earlier slip of the tongue. As he hesitated to choose his words, Emil watched him with an almost approving gaze, briefly glancing at the doorway.

“I’ve arranged it so no one will disturb us for a while. Please consider what I’m about to say as the idle musings of an old man, and feel free to disregard them. …It’s best not to concern yourself with subtle manipulations when you’re young. Clever individuals may seem to gain the upper hand initially, but over time, they are often dismissed as shallow.”
“Do I seem like I’m trying too hard to you?”
“Let’s see… Today, it seems you’ve been in a bit of a hurry.”
“In a hurry… huh. I suppose it’s obvious to anyone perceptive enough.”

Ever since Jill’s departure, Luke had repeatedly defied calls from the Graviol Empire to return home, choosing instead to remain in the Livitium Imperial Kingdom. Even though he tried to maintain a composed demeanor, it was a thin facade that Emil had seen through with ease upon their first meeting.

Luke gave a wry smile, tinged with both self-awareness and self-reproach.

“When your heart feels restless, I highly recommend falling in love. Tell me, Master Lucas, do you not have a woman you fancy?”

—Pfft!!

Luke nearly spit out the lemon water he’d just taken to soothe himself.

Jill’s face flashed unbidden in his mind, but he quickly shook it away, trying to calm his racing heart. Slowly, he swallowed the water to regain composure.

“W-What!? Why would you even say something like that!?”

“Love is the panacea for any ailment of the heart.”

Perhaps this was what they meant by “age brings experience.” Emil dismissed Luke’s visible fluster with the grace of a willow swaying in the wind.

“Ah, love is truly a wondrous thing.”

Emil mused melodiously, placing the tray and water pitcher on the table. He then stepped in front of Luke, as if to emphasize his point.

“E-, Emil…?”
“A love that burns like fire, a passion overflowing with vigor—truly remarkable.”

As he spoke, Emil gazed down at Luke with misty eyes and began loosening his bow tie.

“Wait, huh? Um, what are you—?”

With an air of calm determination, Emil shed his tailcoat and reached for the buttons of his crisp white shirt.

“Rest assured. No one will interrupt us for a while.”
“Wait! Hold on! I-, I don’t swing that way!”

Luke’s panicked cries echoed through the soundproofed guest room of the Margrave’s estate.

“HELP MEEEE~~~ JIIILLLLLLLLL!!!”

“Hm?”
“What is it, Jill?”
“Just now, I thought I heard a boy screaming like silk being torn.”
“……… Probably your imagination.”
“Hmm… Was it, though?”

Note: There will be no BL tag added in the future, so please rest assured.