The sun was high by the time I finally disentangled myself from the sheets.
Breakfast was a quiet affair, mostly because a seat of specific person from afar me was empty. A servant mentioned in passing that Princess Elena hadn’t come down; she’d requested her meal be sent to her room, claiming "slight exhaustion" from yesterday’s training.
’Exhaustion?’ I thought, stirring my tea. ’Or is she just trying to avoid me?’ I shook the thought away. I couldn’t be the reason. She was a master swordswoman with a will of iron; she wouldn’t skip a meal over a few words from a "trash" brother. Probably.
Deciding to use my newfound energy productively, I set out to map the Aragon Palace. I knew the general layout from outside, but experiencing the sheer scale of it was different.
This place wasn’t just a home; it was a sprawling fortress of marble, obsidian, and golden arches. I had been walking for over an hour, navigating through high-vaulted corridors and past silent, armored guards, yet I had barely covered half the grounds.
As I looped back toward the path to my room, I noticed a familiar shock of brown hair near a junction.
It was Elena. But she wasn’t walking. She was pressed against a marble pillar, peering around the corner with an intensity that suggested she was tracking a dangerous assassin. She looked tense, her posture stiff even under her casual morning tunic.
’Elena?’
What was she doing? Who could she possibly be stalking in her own home?
Curiosity got the better of me. I softened my steps. And without making a sound. I drifted up behind her, closing the distance until I was standing right at her back. She was so focused on whatever—or whoever—was around that corner that she didn’t sense me.
I reached out and placed a light hand on her shoulder.
"Elena, what are you looking at?"
The reaction was instantaneous. She flinched so violently her shoulder nearly hit my chin. She spun around, her hand instinctively flying to where her sword would usually be, a sharp gasp escaping her lips.
Our eyes met. For a second, her pupils dilated, and I saw a flash of something that looked suspiciously like being caught doing something embarrassing.
[NOTICE: EMOTIONAL SPIKE DETECTED]
[RESONANCE STABILITY: 7.5% → 7.8%]
She stared at my face, her mouth opening as if to snap a retort, but no words came out. Her face flushed a deep, sudden red that reached the tips of her ears. Without a single word of explanation, she tore her shoulder away from my grip and walked past me.
She moved with a stiff gait, her back as straight as a board, disappearing down the hallway at a pace that was borderline running.
I stood there, blinking at the empty space she had occupied.
"Okay... she’s definitely acting weird," I whispered.
I looked around the corner she had been so interested in. The hallway was completely empty. There was nobody there.
Wait. Was she... was she looking for me?
....
The next day was no different.
If anything, it was worse. Elena actually showed up for breakfast this time, but her presence was like an iceberg—cold, silent, and immovable. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on her plate, and the moment she finished, she vanished before I could even clear my throat to speak.
Throughout the afternoon, the pattern continued. Every time we "accidentally" crossed paths in the corridors, she would abruptly pivot on her heel, or suddenly become fascinated by a suit of armor in a side hallway.
She wasn’t just avoiding me anymore; she was treating me like a cognitive hazard.
I was heading toward the courtyard when I saw her coming from the opposite direction. She was walking with a purposeful stride, a young maid trailing at her side, carrying a stack of fresh linens. There was no way to avoid this one—the hallway was narrow and long.
As we closed the distance, the maid’s eyes widened with recognition.
"Young Master Rio," the girl said warmly, beginning a respectful bow.
"Don’t."
The word was sharp, biting through the air like a winter wind. Elena didn’t stop walking. She didn’t even slow down. She reached out and caught the maid’s shoulder, straightening the girl up before she could finish her greeting.
"Don’t bow," Elena commanded. "In fact, don’t greet him at all. From now on, just act as if he isn’t there."
"Huh... Huh?!" The maid stuttered, her eyes darting between us in sheer panic. "B-But Princess... why? He is the Young Master..."
Elena didn’t explain. She didn’t look at the maid. Instead, she gave me a single, fleeting side-look, before marching past me.
The poor maid stood there for a heartbeat, mouth agape, before scurrying after her mistress like a confused duckling.
I stood in the center of the hallway, the silence of the palace ringing in my ears.
My plan to "manage the dosage" had backfired; instead of balancing her out, I had clearly short-circuited her entire social protocol.
"Okay, this is getting out of hand," I muttered, turning to watch her retreating figure. "How can she just change that much in forty-eight hours?"
If I let this continue, she’d either have a mental breakdown or find a way to make my life a living hell out of pure, panicked spite.
"I think I have to talk it out with her."