And just now, Hexion had carelessly revealed his own opinion — that he thought spending a night at the lord's castle wouldn't be a bad idea. The 45-year-old man, worn down by life in a rigid class-based society, held back tears and spoke with forced composure.
"Marquis Hampton, I accept your gracious offer."
"Of course you would answer that way."
Ewan tilted his head as if it was only natural that Gillen would agree.
That— that…!
As soon as Ewan turned away, Gillen glared at him with white-hot eyes. How could there be such an insufferable bastard? If only he could smack that shiny silver back of his head just once, he'd have no regrets.
It was at that moment, while Gillen was secretly clenching his fist, that Ewan suddenly turned back. Gillen quickly relaxed his hand, put on a fake smile, and narrowed his eyes kindly.
"What is it?"
"Shall we have a word in private?"
"…Haha, sure."
At Gillen's reply, Ewan primly stepped off to the side path. Hexion and Cecilia gestured for Gillen to go ahead. He gave a polite bow to Hexion and a knowing glance to Cecilia before heading toward the side alley where Ewan had disappeared. Once the two of them were alone, Ewan dropped the act.
"So it wasn't enough for you to act alone, and now you've roped in both Cecil and His Highness the Crown Prince?"
"What…?"
"Will you only come to your senses if I hand over that recording crystal from yesterday to the newspapers?"
"Hey, Ewan—"
"Since Cecil is here, and so is His Highness, I'll hold back for today. But!"
Ewan fixed Gillen with a sharp glare and pulled something from his breast pocket. Gillen recognized it immediately — a magic contract, worth 200 gold a sheet.
"These are the rules Your Grace must follow while you're staying in Capelli."
The rules written on the contract were as follows:
1. No looking at me in an overly suggestive manner.
2. No squinting in admiration as if dazzled by my beauty.
3. No saying you want to follow me when I say I'm going to the washroom.
4. No claiming I have something on my face and then hugging my face.
5. No interrupting when I'm trying to talk to Cecilia.
6. No bragging about your ancestors or boasting about how much money you've spent on the garden, or anything else about the former dukes.
7. No calling me "Marquis Hampton" in that pompous tone.
8. No acting chummy and calling me "Ewan."
9. No looking at me during a meal and saying, "This is quite delicious."
10. No subtly releasing pheromones to show off your alpha dominance.
Is this… serious?
When Gillen gave Ewan a look of disbelief, Ewan shamelessly replied,
"Go ahead and sign. Cecil is waiting, isn't she?"
"I just don't get number one. When have I ever looked at you in an overly suggestive way?"
"You're doing it right now."
"I'm just looking! My eyes are naturally moist!"
"That's what people call suggestive."
Ewan didn't budge an inch.
"Number two… fine, I suppose you could feel that way. Three through six are at least possible to write down. But what's with seven and eight? If you don't like 'Marquis Hampton' and you don't like 'Ewan,' what am I supposed to call you?"
"Just call me 'Hampton.'"
What a difficult man. Gillen barely managed to swallow a sigh. But despite that effort, one sigh slipped out at number nine, and another at number ten.
"When have I ever looked at you and said something was delicious?"
"Exactly thirteen days ago, in the Blake Duchy's library, while eating cherry pie. You said it in a lecherous tone with a very unpleasant look in your eyes."
"..."
Maybe his habit of calling himself a genius wasn't entirely baseless — Ewan had an exceptional memory. But that didn't mean everything he said was correct.
"I was just saying the pie was delicious, not making some shameless innuendo!"
"Yes, I'm sure that's what you'd say."
"Haa…"
Gillen steadied his breathing. Cecilia was nearby. No raising his voice. For twenty years, he'd practiced self-control so as not to shout in front of his young daughter, and once again, he calmed himself.
"I'll be careful about number ten. Pheromones are a sensitive matter."
In truth, number ten was a point that made Gillen feel a little guilty. There had been a few times when he had deliberately released pheromones to keep Ewan from approaching Cecilia.
Among trait-bearers, keeping one's pheromones tightly under control was considered a basic courtesy. Unless you were openly trying to seduce someone or threaten them, you generally did not release them at all. Yet it seemed Ewan had taken Gillen's pheromones as the former rather than the latter—seduction, not intimidation.
'Now I can just barely… really, only just barely… understand.'
Ewan's own infatuation with his "perfect" self was a factor, but Gillen's pheromones from the very start had only served to cement his delusion. In the end, Gillen signed that absurd magic contract.
Party A: Ewan Hampton.
Party B: Gillen Blake.
Duration: For as long as they stayed on Capelli Island. If the contract was violated, Party B would have to fulfill as many of Party A's requests as the number of broken clauses. The content of these requests would have no restrictions.
Gillen immediately realized that the moment he broke even a single clause, Ewan would ask him to arrange a meeting with Cecilia.
'That will never happen.'
So for the next six weeks on Capelli Island, Gillen had to avoid Ewan as much as possible, hinder him when necessary, and at the same time advance Cecilia's relationship with Hexion. It was a daunting mission, but not entirely hopeless.
Fight fire with fire. Defeat an enemy through another enemy. Fortunately, Gillen currently had the greatest possible ally.
"I worried the conversation was going on too long, so I came to check. Are you all right, Your Grace?"
It was the future thief—no, the future son-in-law—Hexion.
"I'm fine, Your Highness. I was just about to head back. My apologies for keeping you waiting while Hampton and I caught up."
"Not at all. I only came to suggest that if there's still more to discuss, perhaps it could be done at the lord's castle, since Cecilia seemed to want some rest. It appears you're unexpectedly close with Marquis Hampton."
Hexion spoke with an affable smile, not even glancing at Ewan standing in front of Gillen. If anyone else had done that, Gillen would have thought it a subtle hint or a veiled reproach. But this was the male lead of this world—someone utterly incapable of such social maneuvering. It was obvious he had not the slightest intention of snubbing Ewan or blaming Gillen.
Even so, Ewan's cheeks flushed slightly with indignation, as if he thought the Crown Prince was passive-aggressively angry with him. Gillen merely beamed at Hexion.
Six more weeks… I'm counting on you, main lead.
***
Since it wasn't yet time for dinner, Gillen's party was first shown to their rooms. Hexion was given the largest room on the third floor, while Gillen and Cecilia were assigned rooms on the second. The problem was the location of Cecilia's room—right next to the lord's chamber, the very room traditionally used by the lady of the house.
It was only after they reached the second floor that Gillen realized the situation. His face flushed red, ready to lodge a protest—but Cecilia was faster.
"Ewan, I don't like that room. In fact, it feels a bit creepy. How could you give such a significant room to a female omega guest? It's just begging for people to misunderstand."
Gillen gazed fondly at his bold, intelligent, and confident daughter. Who had raised her to speak so well?
"But Cecil, you're going to be my wife, so it's only right you use that room."
"...?"
Gillen stared at Ewan in disbelief. How could a disaster of this scale occur less than an hour after the two had even been in the same space?
Hexion was also staring at Ewan with a dumbfounded expression.
Gillen blinked and thought, My 'fight fire with fire' strategy… the very thing I protected by enduring the disgrace of being rumoured to like that lunatic Ewan…
"I'm going to be your wife?"
"Yes. We promised ten years ago, remember? To get married."
That unusually naïve comment from Ewan lightened the mood a little. Gillen laughed awkwardly, "Ha! Ha! Ha!"
"What an adorable promise. I have no idea when or where the two of you met, but ten years ago, Cecil would have been a thirteen-year-old little lady."
"Truly adorable. For a moment I really thought you were talking about marriage and was quite startled, Marquis," Hexion chimed in.
But Ewan replied with a puzzled look.
"The promise from ten years ago was, of course, just childish play. I'll send a proper proposal separately. I've already spoken to Duke Blake about it."
Yes, you have. You've gone on and on about it. Which is why I stopped you. Gillen smiled sharply and pulled Cecilia slightly behind him, as if to shield her.
"And I told you, didn't I? That the marriage could only happen with Cecil's consent. I want my daughter to marry the man she loves, when she truly wishes it."
"That's right, Ewan. What difference does it make if you told my father? You haven't even sent the proposal yet. And I have no intention of marrying you."
Cecilia peeked out from behind Gillen.
"Dad, let's switch rooms."
"Hm? Sure, let's do that."
Without much thought, Gillen accepted her suggestion. Soon, Cecilia disappeared toward the farthest room on the second floor with the servants carrying her luggage. Hexion, looking restless, watched her go before heading upstairs to the third floor.
And then… only Gillen and Ewan remained in the second-floor hallway.