Andrea came looking for me the next morning.
"Chloe!"
He burst into my chambers without permission, throwing the door open with enough force to make the hinges protest.
Later than I expected. I thought he'd come storming in the moment the banquet ended last night.
Andrea was the first person I'd encountered after waking from death and returning to the past. Back then—just days ago, though it felt like lifetimes—I'd been startled by how he'd approached me. That mixture of manufactured concern and barely concealed anger. The anxiety rolling off him in waves.
But now, watching him advance into my room with that same expression...
He just looks... weird.
I used to be so intimidated by Andrea. He always seemed so polished, so sophisticated, so impossibly in control. But now he just appeared... excessive.
In my memories, Andrea had loomed large—grown-up, impressive, powerful. A figure who commanded respect and obedience simply by existing.
But actually facing him again with clear eyes, he didn't seem nearly as magnificent as I remembered.
He wore garishly bright clothing—the kind of ostentatious outfit that screamed of someone trying too hard to project status. His dirty blonde hair was pulled back in an elaborate style that covered his neck, and his collar was puffed out to ridiculous proportions.
The entire ensemble was so extravagantly overdone from head to toe that it actually looked absurd.
Like a clown.
I'd worried that seeing Andrea again would shatter my composure. That I'd be consumed by rage, unable to maintain my facade.
This was the man who'd killed my mother. Who'd manipulated me into a living nightmare. Who'd orchestrated every misery I'd endured.
But my worries proved unfounded.
When I actually met Andrea face-to-face, I felt... calm.
Why have I been afraid of this person for so long?
He'd seemed so powerful. So essential. As though the world would end if he stopped approving of me. As though the only protection I had would vanish if he turned away.
But now I understood the truth.
He wasn't my protector—he was my tormentor. And no matter how desperately I tried to earn his love, he would never truly care for me.
Maybe that's why fear no longer touched me when I looked at him.
He was just another person. Someone I didn't need to impress or feel intimidated by.
Just a funny little clown playing dress-up.
Besides, after meeting Callius last night, Andrea seemed even less impressive by comparison.
Was he always this small? This... diminished?
The surprise I'd felt encountering Callius was still vivid in my mind. That towering presence. Those predator's eyes. The sense of barely contained power.
He was enormous. Like a man forged from steel.
And those golden eyes—like meeting a wild wolf. The way my spine had tingled in recognition of something dangerous and magnificent.
Whether it was psychological effect or simply Callius's overwhelming reality, Andrea no longer seemed remotely impressive.
Still, I kept my expression carefully neutral, affecting my usual timid demeanor so he wouldn't suspect anything had changed.
"Brother..."
"What the hell were you thinking yesterday? Showing up at a formal banquet in your pajamas? Are you out of your mind? What's gotten into you these days? What were you possibly thinking? Have you gone as mad as your mother?"
The casual way he invoked my mother—as though her death were simply a convenient talking point—sent a flash of genuine shock through me.
The shameless audacity of it.
Andrea must have seen something in my expression, because he let out a deep sigh, as if my reaction pained him.
"You don't look well. You're not feeling unwell because I'm worried about you, are you? You know what the physicians said—your maternal family has a history of mental instability."
I tried to maintain my usual timid act. Really, I did.
But when Andrea opened his mouth again with that same transparently false concern—"I'm saying this because I care about you"—something inside me snapped.
Not with rage. With laughter.
"Ha... hahaha!"
"...?"
"Ahahahaha!"
"What? Why are you—"
I couldn't help it. When something becomes so absurd that crying seems inadequate, laughter is the only response left.
Andrea's face twisted with confusion and dawning anger. Which only made me laugh harder.
"You're right. Of course you're worried about me, Brother."
Worried that I'll ruin your carefully paved road to the throne.
You must be absolutely desperate, coming here so quickly just because I attended one party. So afraid I'll surpass you somehow and threaten your claim.
That's why you manipulate me with words like 'worry' while simultaneously destroying my mother's reputation.
Looking at Andrea's increasingly distorted expression, understanding crystallized.
It's me that Andrea fears.
The realization made fresh laughter bubble up.
Andrea's composure slipped further.
"Why are you acting like this?! Have you truly gone mad?"
"Maybe. Perhaps I have."
"What? You're actually admitting—"
Andrea's eyes widened, clearly not expecting me to agree so readily.
"Then tell me everything, Chloe. You know you can confide in your brother about anything, don't you?"
His demeanor shifted abruptly—suddenly kind, gazing at me with manufactured warmth in his eyes.
I recognized that false kindness now. The lie that had deceived me countless times before.
I want to rip that mask right off his face.
But perhaps there was a better approach. A more satisfying game to play.
I spoke calmly, keeping my tone light and reasonable.
"I really, desperately wanted to attend a party yesterday. So I went. That's all."
"Is that the only reason?"
"Yes. It would be crazy to disobey your instructions, wouldn't it? But I wanted to do something crazy for once."
Andrea sighed heavily, as though deeply troubled.
"Why so suddenly? Chloe, this isn't like you at all."
"I had a sudden thought—if I wanted to attend a party, shouldn't I be able to? Brother never asks my permission for anything, so why must I ask yours for everything? Isn't that rather pathetic?"
"What...?"
"I wanted to lighten your burden, actually. You've worked so hard caring for me all these years. I can't make you continue carrying that weight forever."
"Chloe, that's not—!"
I smiled affectionately at Andrea. Warmly. Using the exact expression he'd always employed when first approaching me as a grieving child.
"I did it all with you in mind, Brother. Don't you understand how I feel? Everything I do is for your sake."
Andrea's gaze wavered, uncertainty flickering across features that were clearly struggling to maintain composure.
He looked supremely annoyed that I—who'd always trembled before him—was now speaking my mind without any apparent fear.
His careful control was slipping.
"Don't you realize that your selfish behavior only burdens me more? You made a terrible mistake."
Anger blazed in his eyes—pure, undisguised resentment toward me for not listening, for not doing exactly what he wanted.
"You must have forgotten, being shut away so long, but the royal family must uphold its dignity. You saw how people criticized Empress Kavala before, didn't you? Do you want to be treated the same way? I'm trying to protect you from repeating yesterday's humiliation!"
From the very beginning, he'd had no intention of listening to my perspective. He'd come only to scold me. To make me feel guilty. To reassert control.
To ensure I never went out like that again without his explicit permission.
My actual reasons held no real interest for him.
"Are you in any position to worry about others right now? Everyone's already concerned you might become like Empress Kavala. The royal family has enough stains on its reputation from her. Do you understand? You have no idea how worried I am that you'll follow that path. Your brother is trying to protect you from yourself."
Because I'd heard this manipulation so many times before, words criticizing my mother while wrapped in false concern no longer affected me.
"Chloe, everything I'm saying is for your own good. Do you understand now? Can you see how foolish your thinking was?"
Andrea kept pressing, trying to force me to admit he was right and I was wrong.
But no matter what accusations he hurled, I responded in the same affectionate, agreeable tone.
"I did think of you when I went, Brother. Your happiness matters so much to me."
Then I turned to the maid standing nearby.
"His Highness's throat must be terribly sore from all this talking. Please bring warm tea and refreshments."
"Do you think anything would go down my throat right now?!"
I quickly amended my request, as though I'd genuinely misunderstood his needs.
"Did you hear that? Bring something soft for His Highness the Prince. Perhaps a smooth chocolate pudding?"
Pudding is always delicious, no matter the circumstances.
Andrea's face flushed bright red. He shouted at me, completely forgetting the dignity he claimed to value so highly.
"CHLOE!!"
His features contorted into something genuinely hideous with rage.
There it is. Your real face.
For a brief moment, the startled maids' gazes turned toward Andrea.
It was the exact instant when his mask—the warm-hearted prince who cared so tenderly for his troubled half-sister—completely slipped.
Thrilling.
Andrea, who treasured that mask as much as life itself, visibly flinched when he noticed the maids staring. Panic flickered across his face.
I deliberately made my expression sad, hurt.
"Brother... did you just yell at me? I was only concerned about your throat..."
"No, no. That's not what happened."
He quickly lowered his voice, scrambling to make excuses.
"Your brother simply couldn't contain his anger when I heard that Marquis Rodrian approached you at the banquet. You have no idea how worried I was! How dare someone like that approach you!"
Seamlessly, he redirected—as though his rage had been entirely about Marquis Rodrian all along, rather than about my disobedience.
"How dare he approach my beloved sister while I'm occupied elsewhere! How shameless and ignorant! What could he possibly have said to you?"
I started to shake my head.
"Marquis Rodrian? I don't know anyone by that—"
Of course, Andrea had no intention of actually listening to my response.
"Approaching a young woman who's already engaged to another! People will point fingers and say you're behaving promiscuously. Accepting gifts from strange men? What will everyone think if the Princess doesn't conduct herself properly? They'll talk, Chloe."
It sounded less like concern and more like he was criticizing me directly.
"What will you do if Viscount Pelsus calls off the marriage because of this scandal?"
"Well, I—"
"Marquis Rodrian has a terrible reputation. You absolutely must not associate with him. This is precisely why I forbade you from attending the banquet—I feared something exactly like this would happen."
"..."
"Do you realize now how wrong you were? Chloe, you know how much effort I've invested in arranging your marriage. If it's ruined because of someone like Marquis Rodrian, I'll be so furious I can barely—"
His lectures are exhausting. I'm tired just listening to this endless drivel.
As I was sighing internally, a maid came rushing into the room.
Instead of reporting to me—the mistress of this palace—she spoke directly to Andrea as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Your Highness! Marquis Rodrian has arrived! He's requesting an audience with Her Highness the Princess!"
Perfect!
The timing couldn't have been better.
I wanted to shout triumphantly at Karl, even though he wasn't even present.
See? I told you Marquis Rodrian wouldn't reject me. He came to accept my proposal!
I quickly schooled my expression into one of innocent confusion as Andrea's head whipped around to glare at me.
"Marquis Rodrian? Here? You invited him?!"
"There's absolutely no way I would do such a thing."
I shook my head, projecting complete innocence.
"What a madman. Does he not understand where he is? This is the imperial palace!"
I clapped my hands together as though struck by a wonderful idea.
"Brother, you could personally admonish Marquis Rodrian for his impropriety. Would you do that for me?"
"What...?"
Andrea's gaze shook violently, trapped between conflicting impulses.
He couldn't refuse without appearing to abandon his supposed protective role. But accepting would force him into direct confrontation with the man he feared and hated most.
Let's see you maintain that perfect mask now, dear brother.
I smiled sweetly, waiting for his response.
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