The Villainous Noble Lady, who looks like a Young Girl, is in the Arms of the Fearsomely Cute Crown Prince - Chapter 5

“I’m bored.”

“Indeed.”

For the past three days, I had nothing to do but stare into space in my assigned chambers.

I had already grown restless, so I had borrowed books on imperial history and geography—though, at four years old, there was no way I could read them fluently.

Officially, they were for Enzo’s studies, but in reality, they were for me.

“I’ve informed the head steward that Princess Ria is bored. He should pass the message along to His Highness!”

“Magot… thank you.”

“Not at all!”

Magot’s wording was far too blunt.

High-ranking nobles preferred indirect, formal expressions, but her honesty was refreshing.

And apparently, it was effective.

Shortly after, a palace attendant arrived, carrying a letter.

“Princess Lianne, I bring a letter from His Highness, Prince Folkharte.”

“Thank you. Enzo.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Enzo accepted the letter, immediately drawing a paper knife from his coat to open and inspect its contents.

After a quick scan, he turned to me.

“Prince Folkharte invites you to a tea party. What shall we do?”

“Of course, I will attend. I’ll write a reply. Please wait a moment.”

The attendant visibly stiffened.

He must not have expected a four-year-old to be capable of writing.

“Magot.”

“Yes, here you go!”

At my request, Magot promptly placed a sheet of paper and a quill on the low table, her face beaming with pride.

She had witnessed my daily practice, as I worked to adjust to my small hands and unsteady grip.

To outsiders, it must have seemed like the diligent efforts of a young princess striving to adapt to her new home.

“Let’s see… ‘Thank you for your invitation. I would be delighted to attend.’ …There. All done.”

“Oh my! Such elegant penmanship!”

The palace attendant was openly astonished, turning to Enzo in disbelief.

“Her Highness… can write?”

“Of course. She can read as well.”

“That is… quite remarkable.”

“She is a diligent scholar.”

Enzo was quick to cover for me, making my unnatural level of knowledge seem more believable.

“Her Highness’s handwriting is truly beautiful. I will deliver this to His Highness at once.”

For just a few lines of text, he seemed excessively moved.

A slight pang of guilt settled in my chest.

◆

“Thank you for your invitation, Your Highness.”

“…Ah.”

The imperial palace gardens basked in the warm breeze of early summer.

Beneath a white stone gazebo, an elegantly carved tea set was arranged.

A three-tiered stand displayed delicate sandwiches, scones, and cakes, arranged impeccably.

Clusters of dahlias, poppies, and lavender lined the flower beds, where ladybugs flitted about.

As I approached the gazebo, Prince Folkharte stepped forward, waiting just outside to receive me.

I performed a flawless curtsy.

Today, the prince was dressed in a pale blue ascot tie, a vest over a crisp white shirt, and trousers tucked into knee-high riding boots—an effortlessly refined yet casual look.

A rapier rested at his hip, likely for self-defense.

Meanwhile, I had chosen a lavender dress, one of the pre-selected outfits I had prepared for such occasions.

“What a beautiful garden.”

Though etiquette dictated that I compliment the surroundings before taking my seat, my words were not just formalities.

The vivid colors of nature felt almost dazzling.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes.”

Prince Folkharte’s aquamarine eyes softened slightly.

Bending at the waist, he extended his hand toward me.

I accepted his escort without hesitation.

Behind me, Enzo pulled out my chair, but—unsurprisingly—it was far too high for me to sit comfortably.

“Enzo.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As usual, I lifted both arms, signaling for him to help me up.

At that moment, Prince Folkharte’s gaze lingered on me, as if he had something to say.

I hesitated, lowering my hands, and turned to him.

“Your Highness?”

His expression darkened slightly, and he muttered,

“It’s Harte, Ria.”

There was something almost childishly sullen about his expression, and I had to resist the urge to smile.

“Harte-sama. What is it?”

“…Would it be acceptable for me to do it?”

(Do what?)

I tilted my head in confusion.

Enzo, who had been about to lift me into the chair, suddenly straightened. With a crisp movement, he placed his right hand over his chest and his left hand at his waist in a formal attendant’s bow.

“Your Highness, if I may, I would like to yield this duty to Prince Folkharte.”

(Oh! He means lifting me up!)

“Um… well…”

I might have the appearance of a four-year-old, but internally, I was eighteen—a proper lady who had never been lifted by a man before.

Enzo didn’t count. I had never seen him as a man in that sense, so the action had never felt strange before.

But now that I realized how unusual it was, I hesitated.

Noticing my silence, Prince Folkharte furrowed his brows slightly.

“…Is it not allowed?”

(I get the feeling that rejecting him now would be a bad idea…)

(We’re engaged, after all. Maybe it bothers him that my attendant carries me instead of him?)

After a brief internal debate, I shook my head.

“No, Harte-sama. Please do.”

Taking a deep breath, I raised my arms again, this time toward him.

“…You’re light.”

He must have miscalculated my weight because he lifted me a little too forcefully, causing him to take a step back.

At the same time, his silver hair brushed against my cheek, and before I could stop myself—

“Achoo!”

“Are you cold?”

As he gently settled me into my seat, Prince Folkharte looked at me with concern.

“No. Harte-sama’s hair tickled my nose… Ah-choo! Pardon me… Ahh-choo!”

“…Pfft. Haha.”

(He laughed!)

His normally stoic, expressionless face crumpled as he chuckled, and I couldn’t help but stare at him in surprise.

Immediately, Enzo dabbed my face with a handkerchief, snapping me back to my senses.

I realized I had been too caught up in his reaction, and refocused my thoughts.

Meanwhile, Prince Folkharte, now seated across from me, fell silent, covering his mouth with a fist—perhaps embarrassed by his own laughter.

“Um… There are no maids or royal guards here?”

Realizing that I needed to keep the conversation moving, I pointed out the lack of attendants.

Prince Folkharte straightened his posture before responding.

“Ah. That attendant there.”

“His name is Enzo.”

“Enzo. Brew the tea.”

“…!”

I felt Enzo’s breath hitch.

For a moment, I too, held my breath.

It was unusual—no, unheard of—for the Crown Prince to directly address another’s attendant by name.

Yet Prince Folkharte’s expression remained unreadable, his gaze steady.

“If he is your personal attendant, then I should know his name.”

“I am honored.”

And I meant it.

This was a gesture of respect toward me.

An attendant’s status was tied to their master—by acknowledging Enzo, Prince Folkharte was recognizing me as well.

“…The reason I invited you here today is simple.”

As soon as Enzo finished pouring the tea, Prince Folkharte took a sip without hesitation, then locked eyes with me.

“Ria. Who are you?”