Chapter 17
Ersivan’s repeated praises were beginning to put Diana in a difficult position.
Whether as Lillian or Diana, she had been complimented on her appearance more times than she could count.
She had long since mastered the art of responding with polite humility.
And yet, for some reason, Ersivan’s words unsettled her in a way others never had.
Sensing her hesitation, he smiled faintly.
“What’s there to contemplate? Just accept it.”
“Mm…”
“Why? Would you like to return the favor and tell me I’m beautiful too?”
It was another one of his teasing provocations.
Not wanting to back down, Diana responded without hesitation.
“Why not? You are beautiful, after all.”
“Lily, that lacked sincerity.”
“…Fine. What do you want me to do?”
“At the very least, you should look me in the eyes when you say it. Otherwise, how am I to believe you?”
He gestured toward himself with his slender fingers.
“Alright then…”
Diana widened her eyes, scrutinizing him carefully.
The strands of his silver-tinted black hair, slightly tousled over his forehead, looked like the night sky soaked in deep ink.
His complexion, pale and luminous, was tinged with a subtle, natural flush—soft yet striking.
His sharp, well-defined features, sculpted with deep lines, occasionally softened into an almost ethereal beauty.
As her gaze traced over him, Diana caught herself nearly sighing in silent admiration.
His slightly hooded, upturned eyes framed his vivid crimson irises—eyes that had been ridiculed by many, yet gleamed with a mesmerizing brilliance.
Simply put, he was breathtaking—every part of him perfectly composed.
“And?”
His voice jolted her from her thoughts.
Only then did Diana realize she had yet to finish her sentence.
“…So, Evan, you are… incredibly handsome.”
Ersivan had his moments of stubbornness, and tonight happened to be one of them.
If someone was silent, shouldn’t he assume they were thinking?
His impatience forced her to blurt out exactly what was on her mind.
And now, mortified, she couldn’t even bring herself to meet his gaze.
“Thank you for the compliment, Lily.”
“…You don’t sound very sincere yourself.”
“Oh? Should I shed a tear to express my gratitude?”
“Forget it. I’ll just stop talking, Your Highness.”
Flustered, Diana abruptly ended the conversation.
She hadn’t called him Evan this time.
Instead, she used a stiff, formal title—one reserved for public settings.
Noticing the slight sulk in her tone, Ersivan moved closer, settling beside her.
“‘Your Highness’? That’s a rather distant title. Have I offended you?”
He leaned in and, with a whisper, intertwined their fingers together.
His hands—much like their owner—were absurdly graceful.
As his fingertips traced along her skin, the slow, deliberate motions made Diana’s toes curl in response.
By the time his touch extended past her fingers and onto the back of her hand, he handed her the drawing.
“A bribe.”
Ersivan’s eyes gleamed with amusement.
Her logic told her not to accept, yet her instincts had already reached for it.
“Flower.”
The word was neatly inscribed in the lower right corner of the page.
Ersivan then reached for the bouquet of lavender resting on the sofa.
“I’ve never considered lavender a mere flower.”
“Then what is it?”
“A miracle. I only began sleeping peacefully after I brought it into my room.”
Resting his face against the bouquet, his half-lidded crimson eyes flickered toward her.
“Thanks to you, I’ll sleep well again tonight.”
His gaze, which had been fixed on her until now, slowly dropped to the lavender.
The pale violet hue of the petals reminded him of a certain someone’s eyes.
As if, for a fleeting moment, he were gazing at them instead.
“It’s late. Shall we head to bed now, Lily?”
Rising from his seat, Ersivan extended his hand toward her.
Yet Diana hesitated.
A lingering thought troubled her.
“I’ve never considered lavender a flower.”
She wanted to ask.
Then who does the “flower” written beneath your drawing refer to?
“Yes. I should get some rest. Thank you for a lovely evening, Evan.”
But she swallowed the question.
And only once that nagging curiosity faded into the background did she finally take his hand.
Back in their respective chambers, both Diana and Ersivan prepared for bed.
“You still haven’t taken it off?”
Ersivan’s tone held a quiet satisfaction as he noticed the dainty flower ring still adorning her finger.
Diana absentmindedly brushed her fingertip over the delicate petals before replying,
“I thought you’d be disappointed if I did.”
“Is that so? I was under the impression you liked it.”
She was growing used to his cryptic manner of speaking.
What he really meant was—I know you’re lying.
He already knew the truth.
“…I do like it.”
“Ah. That’s good to hear.”
The master of deception, Ersivan, had bested her once again.
“Shall I make one for you every day?”
He let his gaze linger on her empty fingers before suggesting,
“Perhaps I should fill all ten.”
“It doesn’t wilt anyway, does it? There’s no need.”
“One ring isn’t enough.”
“…You must enjoy doing unnecessary things, don’t you?”
“How troublesome,” Ersivan murmured, feigning disappointment. “You speak of my gifts as if they’re insignificant. That wounds me, truly.”
“Ah, so making romantic remarks is yet another one of your hobbies.”
Ersivan, who had been sitting close, casually rested his head against her shoulder. The fine strands of his hair tickled the nape of her neck.
At first, Diana thought he was simply leaning against her, but then she noticed what he was doing—his fingers were idly playing with the flower ring on her finger.
Moments later, the petals shimmered faintly, as if dusted with stardust.
“If you found it romantic, then I am honored.”
Diana absentmindedly stroked the now even more radiant ring before pouting.
“Sure. When you find someone you truly love, you should treat them well.”
The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them, prompted by the ever-present shadow of Lillian.
Unlike the fabricated present, Ersivan—when he truly understood love—was nothing like the man sitting before her now.
“His Highness? He’s changed a great deal.”
Daisy had once spoken with a wistful shake of her head.
“It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say the duchess changed him.”
She had almost resented how much her master had changed.
Because in the end, there were things in this world that couldn’t be achieved through effort alone—they demanded something more.
A man who had spent his life seeking revenge, who had clung desperately to survival, had abandoned it all the moment he fell in love.
The cold, indifferent Ersivan had transformed into someone utterly unrecognizable.
His closest aides had been left astounded.
And Diana?
She would have been one of them—watching from the sidelines, in disbelief that Ersivan Valencia, of all people, could devote himself so completely to a single person.
“…It’s as if I—”
His voice pulled her back to the present.
She blinked, only to realize that at some point, his hand had begun weaving through her golden locks.
Ersivan twirled strands of her hair around his fingers, smoothing them as if they were silk.
When she turned toward him in protest, he seized the moment.
“As if you’re certain I’ll love someone other than you.”
His deep violet eyes flickered—just for a second.
“…Ours is a relationship based on nothing but a contract.”
A reply that had been hesitantly delayed, only to come out so clumsily.
For all her intelligence, Diana was remarkably inept at moments like these.
“And yet, we are closer than anyone else.”
“You’re speaking as though it’s inevitable that you’ll love me, Ersivan.”
“Would there be a reason not to?”
He spoke with an effortless ease, but Diana knew that, in time, he would regret these words.
Because even if this was all an act, the only person Ersivan should be whispering love to was Lillian.
“I thought you’d dismiss love as an unnecessary burden. I suppose I misjudged you.”
“And how exactly do you perceive me, Diana?”
Ersivan let out a breath of disbelief.
It was brief, cut short—proof that he was genuinely caught off guard.
Was he really asking out of curiosity?
Or was it simply a rhetorical question, one that required no answer?
“You always have so much on your plate. I just assumed you’d find love too unpredictable to be worth the trouble.”
She hadn’t meant to say that—it was merely what she had been thinking.
Yet the words flowed freely, her mind failing to register where they had come from.
“Love is a burden. There’s nothing romantic about it—it will only drag me down. If I let myself be swayed by such petty emotions, I’ll end up crashing sooner or later. Love creates variables, and variables bring danger.”
Those were his words.
Spoken by the Ersivan from the original story.
“You make a fair point,” he admitted.
“But there is something even more burdensome than love. Which is why love, by comparison, is of little concern.”
His statement seemed like agreement at first.
Yet, if one truly listened, it was closer to a rebuttal.
Diana frowned.
Something more burdensome than love?
She wasn’t particularly well-versed in emotions, but the idea intrigued her.
Sometimes, curiosity ignored all warnings, all instincts.
Just as it was doing now.
“Then what is it? What’s more burdensome than love?”
Ersivan studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable.
“Do you truly want to know?”
A voice inside her screamed at her to stop.
Told her to silence him, to pretend she had never asked.
Some deep, buried fragment of an unknown emotion tried to restrain her.
And yet, just like before—she ignored it.
“…Yes.”
“Guilt.”
No further elaboration.
Just a single, unadorned word.
“Guilt,” he repeated, voice quiet.
“That… that is what truly drives a person mad.”
In that fleeting moment, as she met his gaze, Diana saw it.
The sheer, agonizing weight of it.
A torment so unbearable, it had carved itself into his very being.
