Ten in the morning.
The carriage rolled leisurely along the cobbled street, the rhythmic clicking of its wheels against the stones serving as a monotonous lullaby. I leaned against the window frame and watched the passing scenery, admiring the bustling central district of the royal capital, where buildings with intricately carved balconies stood in dense, lively clusters.
Leonhart's voice floated over from across from me. “Let's watch a performance first.”
I turned my head to look at him.
He wasn't looking at me, but rather out the window, the sunlight sharply defining his golden hair and the profile of his face.
Today's itinerary was entirely his arrangement.
“A morning show at the opera house,” he continued. “They are playing 《The Elf Queen》 today. It is a very old play, but I hear this production's set design is excellent.”
The opera house.
The Royal Capital Grand Theater was the premier venue in the kingdom. They said that only the most elite artists in the country could grace its stage.
And apparently, its private boxes had to be reserved half a year in advance.
But I was also a bit surprised—did he actually remember that I liked watching operas?
No, wait, was the “Loris” character even supposed to like operas? I quickly recalled the game's original settings. The young lady of the Aldheim family had indeed received a complete education in the arts, with exposure to opera, painting, and music—all standard parts of noble upbringing.
But as for whether Loris herself actually liked it, the original game didn't specify. As for me... I quite liked it. After all, in an era so devoid of entertainment, watching an opera was basically the equivalent of watching television.
“Your Highness is very thoughtful,” I said, a standard smile playing on my lips.
Shortly after.
The luxurious carriage drawn by the four white horses came to a halt in front of a white marble building, the retinue behind us stopping in turn.
The Royal Opera House.
The premier venue in the entire kingdom. It was said that only first-rate artists from across the continent could perform here, and its private boxes were booked solid six months in advance.
Yet for royalty, it was essentially a private parlor.
This was what they called power.
I pulled back the curtain to look at the massive archway. Several marble statues stood atop the portico, and a muse holding a lyre cast a long, elegant shadow in the morning light.
A red carpet was laid out on the steps before the portico, stretching all the way to where our carriage stopped.
Because of our reservation, the theater staff were already waiting with utmost respect. It felt less like I was here to watch a TV show and more like an official inspection.
Fortunately, the Crown Prince hadn't ordered a total clearance of the venue.
A few early audience members who were getting their tickets checked paused when they saw the griffon crest on the carriage, casting curious glances our way.
Leonhart stepped out of the carriage first, then turned around and offered me his hand.
That hand again.
Getting out of a carriage had to be elegant: make sure not to step on the hem of the dress, land steadily in my leather shoes, and keep my expression serene. I had practiced these movements countless times; they were practically hardwired into my muscle memory.
I placed my hand in his palm and stepped down the carriage steps. His hand was warm, and his grip was just right—neither too tight nor too loose.
“This way,” he said, letting go of my hand and stepping aside to let me walk ahead of him.
His etiquette was absolutely flawless.
I calmly lifted my skirt and ascended the steps, with Leonhart following at a polite distance. The attendants were already waiting at the entrance. Seeing us approach, they hurriedly pushed open the heavy oak doors.
The moment the doors opened, a draft of cool air rushed out to meet us, carrying the scent of old wood, velvet, and faint perfume.
The dome ceiling was incredibly high, adorned with Renaissance-style frescoes of angels and clouds drifting across a golden backdrop.
The crystal chandeliers weren't fully lit; only a few glowed, casting a soft halo over the deep red seats below.
Our seats were in the center box on the second floor.
The royal private box.
The box was just large enough to comfortably fit two people. The seats were crimson velvet, the armrests were carved walnut, and a row of small brass binoculars was mounted on the railing before us.
Looking down from the box, the entire stage was visible; the view was unbelievably good.
Leonhart pulled out a chair, gesturing for me to sit.
I sat down, my skirt rustling softly against the velvet seat, as he walked around to sit on the other side.
“I hope you are pleased.”
“It is wonderful,” I said with slight surprise.
This was the truth.
The view here really was exceptional.
After a short while, we engaged in brief conversation while waiting for the performance to begin. I didn't know what Leonhart was thinking, but I always got the feeling that he wasn't as detached and gentle as he appeared on the surface.
Then, the lights dimmed.
The curtains parted.
As the overture to 《The Elf Queen》 echoed through the hall, I leaned back in my seat, watching the actors dressed in elf costumes move across the stage. The plot was nothing new—the Elf Queen falls in love with a mortal, undergoes various trials, only to eventually find that the mortal has grown old while she remains forever young, prompting her to let him go and leave.
Quite cliché.
But the stage effects were indeed impressive, and since I hadn't watched any TV shows in a long time, it felt so nostalgic I almost wanted to cry. Having spent my previous life as a modern shut-in with constant Wi-Fi and watermelons, only after losing those convenient technologies did I realize how terribly long a single day could feel.
Returning my attention to the opera.
The elves' wings shimmered under the stage lights as if actually woven from moonlight. When the leading actress sang the final act, her voice carried a desolate, helpless sorrow that made my chest tighten slightly.
I found myself far more engrossed than I had expected.
Mm, how touching.
I must have gotten some dust in my eyes.
“Are you crying?”
Leonhart's voice suddenly came from beside me, so low that only I could hear it.
Startled, I quickly tried to cover it up. Would Loris ever invest real emotion into something like this? No, as a villainous daughter, she'd probably mock the fact that an elf would actually fall for a mortal.
I immediately regained my composure and turned to look at him.
He was staring at me, his icy blue eyes carrying a subtle, inexplicable emotion.
“No,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “My eyes are just a bit dry.”
Seeing this, he kept his smile, pulled a neatly folded handkerchief from his suit pocket, and handed it to me.
“Please, go ahead.”
Left with no choice, I took the handkerchief and dabbed at the corners of my eyes.
The handkerchief was made of white linen, carrying a faint scent of pine.
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome.”
He said nothing more and returned his gaze to the stage.
I did the same, taking a deep breath as I reminded myself that I wasn't actually here on a leisurely vacation. Although it was a holiday in name, I was currently sitting next to Leonhart, the most terrifying male protagonist of the future. Who knew when this guy might suddenly run a sword through my heart?
...
By the time the show ended and we walked out, the sunlight had grown even brighter.
It was nearly noon.
I squinted as I walked down the steps. Leonhart walked ahead of me, murmuring a few words to an attendant at the entrance. I couldn't hear what he said, but judging by the attendant's expression, he was likely arranging the next stop.
“The capital actually has many interesting spots. Since we are rarely blessed with a leisurely day like today, I wonder if Lady Loris would be willing to walk a short distance? We can take a look at the shops elsewhere.”
Leonhart walked up to my side and inquired politely.
—As if I were the type of person who refused to walk anywhere.
To correct a misconception: during the first week of school, walking around with Misha and Shirune had nearly run me into the ground. Walking just a short distance now was absolutely nothing.
It was probably just a stereotype.
Jewelry shops, clothing boutiques, perfume stores.
In truth, all of my clothes and accessories were custom-made, taken care of by the family tailors and jewelers; there was absolutely no need for me to buy them in a shop myself.
But today was a date.
Shopping was a standard part of the dating routine.
The carriage dropped us off at the most bustling commercial street in the royal capital. The buildings here were slightly shorter than those near the opera house, but far more exquisite. Neatly trimmed potted plants sat before every storefront, and the display windows showcased the latest dresses and jewelry, glittering brilliantly under the sun.
Leonhart accompanied me into a jewelry shop.
Upon seeing the Crown Prince himself gracing his shop, the owner nearly fell over from behind the counter.
In a frantic scramble, he bowed, offered greetings, ordered the staff to bring tea, and deferentially invited us into the VIP lounge.
“Feel free to look around,” Leonhart said. “Buy whatever you like.”
Looking at the sparkling gemstones and precious metals glittering beneath the lamps in the glass displays, I thought to myself: I have all of these at home, and mine are far better than any of this.
However, my gaze lingered on a pair of stud earrings.
They were very small.
Very simple.
Two tiny sapphires set in white gold, surrounded by a delicate halo of small diamonds.
They would suit Misha beautifully.
“Do you like these?” Leonhart's voice came from behind me.
Shoot, I had forgotten again that I was currently with Leonhart.
But since I had been caught red-handed, there was no easy way to cover it up. I could only steady my nerves and reply calmly, “I just thought the color was nice.”
He looked at them for a couple of seconds, then turned to the owner. “Could you please...”
He bought them for me.
My cheek twitched and I opened my mouth, on the verge of telling him I didn't actually need them. But on second thought, arguing with the Crown Prince about not needing him to buy me something was probably a breach of etiquette in itself.
The shopkeeper was already packing them up with practiced speed, a wide grin spreading from ear to ear.
Leaving the jewelry shop, we headed to a clothing boutique across the street.
This was an upscale establishment specializing in custom gowns, with several incredibly exquisite dresses on display in the window, each looking as if it had stepped right out of a sketchbook.
Leonhart sat on a sofa in the shop, watching me hold a light purple dress against myself in front of the mirror. In truth, I was quite flustered. Choosing clothes was something I normally just let Shirune arrange; I didn't really want anything myself.
We finally finished browsing the street.
I kept the smile plastered on my face despite how exhausted I felt inside. Still, considering that lunchtime was fast approaching, good food would surely comfort my weary soul.
Twelve o'clock noon arrived, and the clock tower chimed.
The entire restaurant was reserved for just the two of us.
The owner was a white-haired elderly man wearing a clean chef's uniform. He came out to greet us personally, his expression so solemn he might as well have been welcoming the king—well, the Crown Prince was the king's son, so such gravity was certainly warranted.
“Your Highness's table is inside,” he said, leading us to the best table by the window. He pulled out our chairs, laid out the napkins, took two steps back, and bowed slightly.
Leonhart sat down opposite me, glanced over the menu, and then looked up at me.
“Is there anything you don't eat?”
“...” Could I even say anything? Weren't nobles forbidden from being picky eaters? In the end, I could only say, “I will leave the choices to you, Your Highness.”
His expression remained pleasant and gentle, but because of this response, he was already eighty percent certain of his suspicions.
Loris was no longer the Loris he knew.
He nodded without asking why. Turning to the owner, he murmured a few instructions. The owner nodded repeatedly before jogging off to the kitchen.
The courses were served one by one.
The appetizer was foie gras pâté on toasted bread; the main course was pan-seared cod with seasonal vegetables; dessert was crème brûlée with fresh fruit.
The portion sizes were quite small, suggesting that the style of a three-star Michelin restaurant existed even here. The good news was that every single bite was exquisite.
The cod was cooked perfectly, with a slightly crispy skin and flesh so tender it practically dissolved on my tongue. The vegetables—young asparagus and cherry tomatoes—were drizzled with a light glaze of olive oil, refreshing and sweet.
To top it off, we even had to raise our glasses. Dammit.
Leonhart smiled slightly and raised his glass—which contained chilled lemonade, as neither of us was of legal drinking age—and offered a small toast.
I was slightly flustered. Can't we just eat in peace, dammit? In the end, I pressed my lips together and kept my gaze steady.
I also picked up my glass and clinked it against his.
The crisp chime of our glasses ringing together echoed through the empty restaurant before fading away.
“There are some things I do not know if I should say.”
“?...” Gulping, I strained to swallow my food. So this wasn't a standard toast.
This was the prelude to dropping the goblet as a signal for an ambush!
At this moment, the silence of the second half of lunch grew exceptionally heavy.
The soft, crisp clatter of silver knives hitting white porcelain rang out over and over, like the steady tick of a countdown. The cod before me was finished, and the crème brûlée was completely gone. I sipped my lemonade, trying to appear calm. Dammit, three-star Michelin-style dining is great and all, but the portions are way too small!
The man opposite me set down his knife and fork.
The action was incredibly light, the utensils making almost no sound as they touched the rim of the plate—the polite manner of setting cutlery down taught countless times in royal etiquette class to avoid disturbing others.
I had seen too many of these subtle habits of his.
Ever since I first met the Crown Prince, he had been flawless. Every single gesture of his was as if measured by an invisible ruler: precise, proper, and impeccable.
But now, his right eye changed.
From icy blue, it shifted to a flowing golden radiance, and meeting his gaze felt as if he were staring straight into my soul. In this world, there existed a type of magic called Innate Magic—a rare talent possessed by only a select few. Leonhart happened to be one of them, and whenever he activated his Innate Magic, his right eye would turn gold.
Its abilities included seeing through lies, identifying weaknesses, discerning truth from falsehood, and foreseeing the future.
This was Leonhart's Innate Magic:
「The Eye of Longinus」
(Note: Derived from the Spear of Destiny (Longinus) that pierced Christ, symbolizing the ability to pierce through all lies and disguises to reach the truth, while Longinus itself also carries the connotation of divine judgment.)
It was also the Golden Eye representing authority and power.
“Lady Loris.”
He was silent for about two or three seconds. Golden light swirled subtly in his right eye as he looked directly at me, employing only his most basic ability to detect lies.
It felt like an entire century to me.
“You are different.”
...
Rate on N.U.
