A Fortune-telling Princess

At those words, Jaile flashed another grin. He bared his gums wide, as though he were greatly amused.

Grab!

“......!”

But the smile did not last long.

“You... you, what are you doing?”

Ravi had pulled him straight into an embrace, arm over his shoulder.

Jaile stiffened in alarm at the sudden closeness. Ravi only tightened his hold and whispered at his ear.

“Is that all?”

“What?”

“Is bragging about family all you’ve got?”

“Let me go!”

“Well... with a family like that, maybe it’s worth bragging, hm? Even this time—it seems they did you quite a favor.”

“What are you talking—”

“I heard you made quite a spectacle.”

“What?”

“Throwing money around.”

“......!”

“I hear a few of your masters took a very active hand in writing that thesis of yours.”

Jaile flinched. Ravi crushed him closer.

“Make sure to take good care of your family from now on.”

“......”

“Because aside from that, you’ve got nothing worth boasting of, you pathetic bastard.”

Pat, pat.

With that, Ravi released him, gave Jaile’s shoulder a light tap as his face burned crimson with fury, and turned back toward his seat.

Or rather—he tried.

He halted.

“......?”

If not for the sudden shift in atmosphere.

The presentation hall, noisy a moment ago with greetings and chatter, fell utterly silent, as though a hush had been thrown over it.

Ravi turned his head. Everyone’s eyes were fixed in one direction. His gaze followed theirs.

And widened.

Someone was entering with a radiant smile.

A woman in a crimson dress, vivid as a rose in full bloom.

What... why are you here?

It was Camilla.

****

“Duke, word has come that Ludville has just reached the edge of the domain.”

“Is that so?”

In the study, Duke Sorpel halted his pacing at Jector’s report and gave a vigorous nod. At last, his eldest son had returned.

“Shall we go out to meet him?”

“Of course.”

The duke would gladly go himself to greet the son who had brought them victory.

“The festival and banquet preparations are in order?”

“Completely. The entire domain is in the streets even now, waiting with eager eyes for Young Master Ludville and the soldiers.”

“Then let us go.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Oh, one more thing.”

The duke’s stride toward the door paused.

“Camilla? She ought to come as well.”

Now that he thought of it, he had not seen her all day.

Busy with banquet preparations? She had not even brought mist-flowers to his study today.

“Well...”

“What is it? Has something happened to Camilla?”

“She is not here in the house.”

“Not here?”

“She left in a hurry a short while ago.”

“Where?”

“She said she was going to the Magic Tower...”

“The Tower? Why there all of a sudden?”

“Likely to see Young Master Ravi.”

“Ravi? Ah—!”

The duke realized at once.

In his elation over Ludville’s victory, he had completely forgotten. The Magic Tower was hosting some grand event in which Ravi was involved.

“Foolish ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) of me.”

He clicked his tongue again and again. He should have paid closer heed.

But Camilla went there?

That was unexpected news. Since when had she ever cared for such matters?

The duke’s expression showed fresh surprise.

****

“Our next presenter is Ravi Sorpel.”

At the announcement, Ravi mounted the dais. He cast his eyes over the audience—and had to stifle a laugh.

All gazes were still fixed on one person.

Of course.

Camilla met his bewildered look with a light wave.

I warned you, didn’t I?

That he might be compared. That he should at least have some clothes made.

She even gave him a smooth, radiant smile for effect, and gasps rippled through the hall.

That girl was always beautiful, you know.

But she had never once managed to make use of it. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

What good are costly dresses?

They had never suited her.

Camilla had always bought the most expensive gowns and jewels, draping herself in them from head to toe. But never once did she find something that truly matched her.

And I know why.

The reason she armored herself in such finery was singular: to shield herself.

From the quiet contempt and ridicule that always hung in the air.

The false daughter of House Sorpel.

No one felt that truth more keenly than Camilla herself.

She had faced those cold stares, and to withstand them she had swathed herself in luxury, desperate for protection.

But what good is that?

She had no confidence of her own.

Before people, she shrank; to hide it, she filled her eyes with poison.

No wonder the aura she gave off had been strange and off-balance, the kind no one would ever wish to approach.

Style isn’t something you’re born with.

This time, she had not simply called for the ducal seamstress. She had walked the markets herself, for more than a week, combing through every shop.

Price had meant nothing. Whether cheap or costly, whether famous or not, the only point was: Does it suit me?

Because once I wear it, it becomes couture.

It had been the same when she lived as Sia Lee. Anything she put on became a trend, sold out overnight.

Even now, she could feel the stares of the young noblewomen in the hall, hot with envy.

They looked ready to rush up and demand to know where she had found that gown and those jewels.

Not that any of them will dare.

Not after what they had done to her. To fawn on her now would only shame them.

Meanwhile, Ravi’s presentation proceeded smoothly. He carefully explained a new formula he had derived. He cut a fine figure at the lectern.

“Well done, brother.”

A faint smile touched Camilla’s lips.

****

“Why are you here?”

That was the first thing Ravi said when he came to her side once the presentation ended.

Her arrival had been too abrupt, too incomprehensible.

He had wondered through the entire proceeding what her aim was, but could not begin to guess.

And that look...

Truthfully, it had shaken him. Was this what she had always looked like?

Still, when he glanced at Jaile—scowling, furious, since the moment Camilla appeared—he had to admit it felt satisfying.

That fool had been strutting, drunk on the attention of his family. But Camilla’s entrance had overturned it all. Now Jaile could only seethe.

“Even now he’s glaring holes at us,” Ravi muttered.

“I don’t know,” Camilla said.

“What?”

He stared at her in disbelief. She had come here herself, and yet she said she didn’t know why?

“Truly, I don’t.”

“......”

“I just... wanted to. I felt like coming.”

And it was true. She had no explanation. She simply wanted to be here.

Strange.

This brother and sister—they kept dragging her back to her own past.

****

“That child’s parents didn’t come?”

“She’s an orphan.”

“An orphan?”

Every school performance, every event that demanded parents attend—she had heard the whispers.

“Her father... wasn’t he in the news?”

“Ah, yes. The one who tried to kill his whole family.”

“In the end, only the mother died, right?”

And the words that always followed:

“The funniest part is that the father called 119 begging for his own life, while his wife and daughter were dying.”

There had been no warmth of family.

Her mother had never liked her. Though she had borne her, she found the child somehow unbearable. At times even she seemed baffled by her inability to love her.

And the father? Not worth the name.

He treated her like someone else’s child. He beat his wife and daughter for no reason, sneering that he could feel no affection for them.

One night, staggering drunk, he made his decision.

Her mother, worn down, followed him. The daughter, too young to understand, obeyed their command.

“Save me! Please! It hurts too much!”

She heard it clearly. Even as her own consciousness faded.

Her mother and she were dying—and that man was begging to live, calling for an ambulance. Even at her age, she could only feel disbelief.

In the end, her mother died. By some fortune, she herself lived.

Her mother lingered for a time, gazing at her with pity, then vanished.

But before she went, her mother’s face was serene.

She must have been glad to leave it all behind: the daughter she could never love, the husband who beat her.

Afterward, the girl drifted from one orphanage to another, until she happened on a film audition. She passed. Only a supporting role, but still.

Luck was with her: the film drew ten million viewers. Soon she had a place at a major agency.

Every project she chose was a hit. She rose faster than any other actress.

The road lay open—until that man appeared.

A murderer.

He had killed her mother, tried to kill her—and now, brazenly, he came demanding money.

He had served a paltry sentence, excused by “diminished capacity.”

Her teeth clenched at the thought. He even threatened her: pay him, or he would sell her past to the press.

“It’s your fault! Your mother died because of you!”

Mad ravings. She had called a journalist she trusted, on the spot.

“Have I committed a crime?”

It was he who had. Why should she pay to keep his silence?

She had never planned to reveal it. But neither would she hand money to such filth.

While he shouted in panic, she set the meeting. The next day, she told everything.

The incident from the past. The man’s demand for money.

For nearly two weeks, her name hovered among the top searches. Sympathy welled, rage at the man filled the comment boards.

Fear of that attention must have cowed him, for after that he never came again.