To You Who Will Destroy Me - Chapter 140

Rane’s response to the question was, as expected, sharp.

“Old habits die hard. Same as always.”

“I see.”

“Selfish. Treats me like a doll. Every time they open their mouth, it’s just repulsive. I have no idea why anyone would act like that.”

Hmm, shouldn’t have asked. Irel regretted it with a forced smile. What topic could she bring up now to salvage this sinking mood?

“But still…”

In the midst of her complaints, Rane suddenly muttered.

“It has gotten a lot better.”

It was clear that the effort had increased two or threefold compared to before. Of course, since the baseline was so low, even multiplying 1 by 3 still only gets you 3… But if they keep trying, one day they might reach 100.

There was only one reason why Rane had started to open up her tightly shut heart a little.

“They assigned me a writing tutor, if you can believe that. That arrogant man.”

“Oh my, really?”

Not bad at all, huh? Irel felt a twinge of guilt for having secretly written Phaesus off as a lost cause.

“Though, they still put up a partition in the middle so we couldn’t even make eye contact.”

Of course. Figures that nothing truly goes smoothly.

“But still… I was happy. Just the act of learning to write.”

When Irel had first sent her an invitation, Rane felt both happy and ashamed. As an orphan from a humble background, she had never properly learned to read or write. She had picked up a little during her second adoption, but that family had soon been wiped out by Kitan.

The short, clumsy reply Rane had written, hoping to join the Lisevre gathering, was the best she could manage. How much embarrassment she had to swallow to respond to such an elegant invitation, written in such graceful handwriting!

Rane had feared that Irel might laugh at her response. But Irel had never shown the slightest sign of it. To her, Rane was just another rightful member of the group.

‘She’s really a kind person.’

Irel would surely continue to send invitations to the gatherings. To confidently respond to them, Rane was determined to learn how to write.

To Rane’s surprise, Phaesus had taken her request seriously.

‘That’s probably thanks to Irel, too.’

After Irel had a one-on-one conversation with Phaesus, he had changed a little. Before, he had dismissed Rane’s struggles as petty complaints, but now he at least pretended to listen.

‘How do you stop a goldfish from banging its head against the fishbowl wall?’

He still muttered strange things sometimes, but oh well.

Even if Phaesus’s changes were small, they meant something to Rane. It gave her hope—hope that their toxic, hate-filled relationship might one day change.

And not just that—Rane had also become closer with Bianca through Irel’s gatherings, which was a breath of fresh air. The relationship between her and Phaesus had felt suffocating, like being trapped in a windowless, doorless room.

But thanks to Bianca, Rane could finally feel a bit of fresh air. Bianca’s positive attitude toward her own companion, Masaka, was particularly impressive. It had helped soften Rane’s own irritable and sensitive nature.

“I’m… doing better than before, Irel.”

Rane gave a cautious smile after gathering her thoughts.

“I’m not quite happy yet, but I’m improving little by little every day. And I think I’m content with that.”

Rane smiled gently, like a small violet, as if to say, “Don’t worry.” Irel couldn’t fully let go of her concerns, but she was glad nonetheless.

“I always wish for your happiness, Rane. I’ll pray for it every day.”

“Thank you so much, Irel.”

As they clasped hands, Rane’s eyes glistened with tears. Irel’s warm touch seemed to embrace her weary heart.

Knock, knock.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Irel tilted her head before realizing.

“It must be Bianca, here to fetch Jin.”

It was about time, after all. Even though they were plotting rebellion, they couldn’t afford to be late for an audience with the king.

“I’ll go.”

Rane tried to stand, but Irel stopped her and went to open the door herself.

“Bianca?”

“Wrong.”

Leaning against the doorframe, Varkan smiled mischievously, pushing out his sensual lips in a playful pout.

“So, I guess you weren’t waiting for me? Starting to feel a little left out here.”

Whenever Varkan felt left out, chaos usually followed. But his menace didn’t faze Irel in the slightest.

“Oh my goodness!”

Instead, Irel’s attention was drawn to his outfit.

“Your clothes are… uh, well.”

How could she even describe this? As she looked him up and down, Irel’s expression soured. Of course, Varkan noticed, but he still grinned and asked, “What do you think?”

You look like a male peacock in mating season, desperately dancing for a female’s attention. Irel scarcely held back from saying it. While she had dressed as modestly as possible for their visit to the palace, Varkan was a beacon of flamboyance.

“Are you wearing a blue suit right now?”

Varkan chuckled as if it was no big deal. Irel, increasingly unimpressed, gave his bright blue suit a more scrutinizing look.

“And the collar… it’s gold? Velvet, no less.”

“I thought solid colors were too dull, so I added a little flair.”

That “flair” was practically blinding. Even the silk shirt underneath shimmered in light gold, gleaming like rippling water under the light.

And then there was the pocket square. A red velvet rose, matching his hair, bloomed extravagantly from his suit pocket, commanding attention.

In short, it was excessive on top of excessive on top of excessive. If clothes could send a message, the king would likely consider this a provocation. Staring blankly at the jeweled cufflinks on his sleeves, Irel slapped her forehead.

‘Why did I even bother with this modest dress?’

What was the point of dressing conservatively when Varkan would be right next to her, sparkling like a phoenix mid-flight?

“Why that face?” he asked.

“Are you seriously asking?”

“I thought it looked good on me, honestly.”

Doesn’t it? Varkan feigned a wounded expression, lowering his sharp eyes even more in mock hurt. His face, like a living sculpture, only made her angrier.

‘Why does he have to be so ridiculously good-looking?’

The most frustrating part was that the ridiculous peacock look actually did suit him. Irel felt utterly betrayed by her own eyes for acknowledging his beauty.

“But my fiancée looks absolutely stunning,” Varkan said, admiring Irel’s newly tailored teal dress. He smiled as he expertly took her hand and spun her around in one smooth motion.

“From head to toe, you’re flawless.”

Even though her outfit was nowhere near as eye-catching as his, Varkan couldn’t stop praising her. The atmosphere in the room suddenly became sweet and a little too intimate. For Rane, who had already missed her chance to slip out, the tension became unbearably awkward.

“I, uh, I think I’ll be going now.”

“Hurry and get lost.”

“Yes! Sorry!”

Though Rane was scolded, she didn’t mind at all—she was actually grateful. Without looking back, she bolted out of the room like a startled rabbit. Watching her retreat, Irel gave Varkan a subtle reproach.

“You really have a bad personality, you know that?”

“And you really are beautiful, you know that?”

She almost laughed. Irel coughed lightly, pretending to clear her throat as she quickly suppressed her smile. Varkan chuckled and placed his hand on her hair.

“…? What are you doing?”

“Shh. Don’t move.”

At first, she thought he was just stroking her hair, but that wasn’t it. His hand remained on her head as he measured something. Upon closer inspection, he was holding the large gemstone of his platinum ring against her hair.

“Being modest is nice and all,” he whispered with a wicked smile, “but I think something more extravagant would suit you better, my queen.”

At that, Irel’s face went pale. So that’s what he was up to—he was imagining a crown on her head.

“You know if someone hears you, we’ll be dragged off for treason, right?”

Irel asked seriously, recalling something she’d heard in passing a few days ago when she met with Louisa.

‘Did you hear about that farmer from the neighboring country? A commoner got so full of herself, she called herself “princess-like,” and the royal guards dragged her off to be executed.’

Treason for impersonating royalty, or something like that. Louisa had scoffed at both the foolish peasant and the petty royal family for taking such extreme measures. Now it seemed like that fate might befall her, too.

“We really need to be careful,” Irel added, shooting him a glare. Varkan grinned mischievously in response. Then, without warning, he scooped her up and spun her around the room.

“Is there anything to worry about, my queen! Long live the queen! Long live! Long live!!”

Oh no. Irel squeezed her eyes shut in exasperation. She could feel the hours of effort put into braiding her hair unraveling, much like her patience.

‘Please, if there is a god, hear my prayer.’

If I’m sentenced to hang, please make sure Varkan is buried right next to me. I beg you.

As she prepared to enter the palace, Irel prayed harder than she ever had before.