Chapter 65: Arya Winster Horse Racing
Liliane leaned against the cool bench, eyes closed, the morning breeze chilling her already frail body. A strange cold seeped from her bones, sapping her strength—an unfamiliar sensation.
Silent footsteps approached, elegant and measured. A figure sat on the adjacent bench, exuding noble grace. “How rare,” a smooth, cello-like voice teased. “The invincible Lady Winter, unwell?”
Prince Leon.
Liliane didn’t bother opening her eyes, her long lashes casting shadows on her pale cheeks, shutting out him and the world. Leon, unfazed by her chill, turned his gaze to the girls clearing the dueling field, where Ailiya gestured wildly, her voice echoing across the grounds. His smile deepened. “You’ve got quite the lively maid. Like a sparrow that never tires.”
His words pricked Liliane’s nerves. Her brow twitched, and she opened her amethyst eyes, cold as ice. Fixing them on Leon’s smiling yet detached face, she said, “Prince Leon, you’ve taken quite an interest in my maid since our classes merged.”
She straightened, her gaze piercing. “Why? Surely not because she punched you by mistake and you’ve fallen for her?”
Leon’s grin widened. Leaning an elbow on the bench, he turned, his flawless face catching the morning light. “With your keen insight, Lady Winter, what are the odds of that dramatic twist?”
“You’re a schemer, Your Highness, always calculating,” Liliane said, her words sharp but factual. Her icy eyes locked onto his, carrying a warning. “Whatever your aim, leave Ailiya out of it.”
“Oh? Why’s that?” Leon’s eyes glinted, like a hunter eyeing intriguing prey. “The greatest family in the kingdom, controlling commerce and shadows alike, and its most gifted heir, Liliane von Winter…” He lingered on her title, savoring its weight. “You pulled strings to get a commoner into St. Freya, and now you shield her at every turn.”
He leaned closer, voice low and enticing. “I’m just curious—what charm does Ailiya have to make proud nobles orbit her?”
Liliane glanced at the field. Ailiya, flailing, pitched a ridiculous strategy to Aurora: “Have Aurora dance weirdly to distract them!” Aurora, fed up, grabbed her neck, delivering a swift “Lightning Dragon Drill” to her forehead. “Owowow! I’m sorry!” Ailiya wailed, clutching her head.
Liliane’s gaze softened, a warmth she didn’t notice creeping in. “She’s… different from us nobles,” she said quietly. A world free of scheming, pure, almost foolishly so. Her tone held a trace of longing. “Someone as cunning as you, Prince Leon, wouldn’t understand.”
“Cunning? Me?” Leon spread his hands, feigning innocence, his elegance theatrical.
“For instance—” Liliane’s eyes sharpened like blades. “Is your ‘curiosity’ about Ailiya really so simple? Or is it a cover for your true intentions?” Her words struck like stones on ice. “You were in the dungeon yesterday, weren’t you?”
Leon’s smile froze for a fleeting moment, then returned. “I’m flattered you track my movements, Lady Winter.”
“Who has time for that?” Liliane tucked a windblown silver strand behind her ear, her movements graceful. “I just heard students mention seeing you on the dungeon’s first floor.”
Her lips curved mockingly, like a lazy, dangerous cat. “Fame has its downsides, doesn’t it?”
The smile vanished as quickly as it came, her face reverting to cold indifference. “What were you doing there? With your strength, you’ve no business lingering on the first floor.”
“I was returning from deeper floors when I heard the commotion, so I checked it out,” Leon said, his playfulness fading. “By the time I arrived, your fight with the Calamitas Rubicorne was over, and officials were handling it. I didn’t intervene. That’s all.”
Silence fell. Liliane studied him, her piercing eyes weighing the truth in his words. Finally, she looked away to the distant sky. “I’ll take it as such, then.”
They sat in quiet, each lost in thought, watching the dueling field.
“Best of three, so the strategy’s simple!” Ailiya, rubbing her red forehead, scribbled a crude diagram with a stick, addressing Aurora and Seraphina. “No more dance nonsense, or I’ll show you real dirty tricks,” Aurora warned, glaring at the doodles.
“Hey, with a solid plan, who needs that?” Ailiya puffed out her chest, pointing her stick grandly. “I checked—they’re not evenly matched! We pit our weak horse against their strong one, our strong horse against their middle one. It’s the ‘Ailiya Winster Horse Race’—they’re doomed!”
Her eyes gleamed with visions of a thousand gold coins, practically drooling. Cordelia was their top horse, Genevieve the middle, Beatrice the weakest.
“And us?” Aurora pointed at Seraphina, herself, then Ailiya. “I’m the top horse, Seraphina’s middle, and you, Ailiya, are the bottom-bottom horse.”
“Why an extra ‘bottom’?!” Ailiya protested.
“But,” Seraphina fretted, twisting her fingers, “how do we know their lineup?”
Ailiya grinned, tossing the stick. “Three parts mind games, seven parts luck! And everyone knows my luck is—”
“First match: Aurora versus Beatrice (bottom horse),” Isabella announced as referee, her voice flat, signaling the start.
Ailiya’s confident smile cracked, her face crumpling like she’d bitten a sour cucumber. After being pawned off for her parents’ debts, punching a prince by mistake, and facing a legendary red-named beast on her first dungeon day, she still thought her luck was good?