The Villainess was Loved

Chapter Seventy-Four: The Chosen One

Rheyes Kerhid Norvig Yarez.

A few hours earlier.

“Say that again.”

“I don’t like shopping.”

Rheyes, in what could arguably be counted as his most patient tone, replied to Mitchelle who, since morning, had been hell-bent on dragging him around various shops.

“Oh! But this is the best place to be for house shopping. We can get furniture, maybe pick new drapes…”

“You’ve said that about all the stores.”

“All the stores sell different things!”

“That aside, the maids can do all these things.”

“You say ‘that aside’ as though that was a general point for argument’s sake.”

“Mitchell.”

He called her name warningly, but all that did was make her talk louder.

“Things feel different when you do them yourself!”

At her tone, the passersby around them turned their gazes in an attempt to eavesdrop.

This, he found himself admitting, was yet another thing he detested.

No, it wasn’t the walk he despised.

But the chatting.

Rheyes wanted to be in his world.

He longed for the days of working in solitary in his office for hours on end, with the best part of it being that everything in the house remained functional and efficient.

With Mitchelle’s recent and abrupt move into his residence, his workers, who rightfully feared him, assumed her immediately the duchess and began making amendments to his meals, schedule, and time.

It was growing annoying.

Their marriage was an arrangement between childhood friends. Should matters not be easy if that were the case?

“Mitch, I don’t want to do th-,”

“It’s hard, Rheyes!”

She interrupted, her tone raised more sharply than he had ever heard.

“It’s hard to spend time with you when you won’t give me budging room.”

Mitchelle stopped walking, which caused the four knights around them to surround their frames in order to grant them some semblance of privacy.

“People in love compromise. I always do what you want to do, go where you take me. I don’t ask questions when you perform questionable acts, so why, why is it so hard to be with me?”

“Mitchelle, our arrangement has nothing to do with love. Are you perhaps confused as to where we stand?”

Her expression turned pale.

Hastily she cleared her throat, then muttered something under her breath.

“How can I be confused when you hardly give me the chance?”

“Is the arrangement hard on you? I can-“

“Can what? Ask for a bridal replacement? Ohh how smooth! Who in-…”

She sighed.

“I am doing this for publicity purposes. A husband or fiancé in love with their partner dream of starting their home together, decorating and all.”

“Is that so?”

‘Well… she does have a point, the press has been eating up our act of late. Plus, if things turn positive, we can hire doubles to go on the honeymoon.’

“Fine, how much longer must we roam the streets? We have been at this all morning, surely the paparazzi must have spotted us once or twice?”

“Don’t you want to see the amphitheatre you’ll be proposing in? Perhaps you can set something exciting up?”

“The surprise is the proposal, if not for the publicity, we could have just signed the drawn contracts and moved on.”

A finger flicked his forehead.

“Be romantic. Not for the paparazzi, but for me!”

Again, this conversation.

How many times must he explain that he was not meant for such a genre? He would love her with the pheromones induced by their mating. Before that, what is the point?

That he would much rather spend the night killing the beasts roaming his territory that cuddle under the stars.

This can’t be the first time such a topic has come up.

She would be perfect as the duchess, and as his wife. She walked and carried herself with a rare grace that spoke volumes of her proficiency, plus her family would be very influential for Elora in the elections.

Suddenly, a thought that had never once before crossed his mind, did.

Elora would gain financial backing for her campaign, he would gain a wife and acceptance from his mother’s paternal side. What did Mitchelle gain?

It can’t be that her only motivation was aiding a friend, such idealism was only text-based.

So then what?

'Perhaps I should increase her freedom?'

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a man hunched over in the bushes, in his hand a crystal made photon catcher, a make only photographers, photograph enthusiasts or paparazzi can afford.

Since the device was aimed solely at them, it was easy to deduce who it was.

He caught Mitchelle’s hand mid-air, the same one she used to flick his forehead, then pressed it to his lips.

The paleness in her cheeks turned to peach.

“Okay...”

She snatched her hand and rubbed where he kissed.

‘Does she not like my kiss or…what does it matter? Mating will solve everything.’

After dragons mate, they live and breathe for their mate.

Because of the repercussions of that, he wanted to finish important matters before making such a commitment.

Mitchelle turned hastily, as though she were confused, then gestured to the store next to them.

“Look, Sofas!!”

He let her drag him into the store, then the next, then the next…

He had absolutely no idea that that many patterns existed. He not only patterns but also colours.

It was…annoying.

“Your highness.”

Stanely’s voice interrupted his third daydream.

“What?”

“Rupert said the auction is happening today?”

“Why?”

“There could be a bust tomorrow? I don’t know, some noble paid to have a staged disbandment, to get the ministers off their tail.”

If the auction would be done today instead of tomorrow, doesn’t that mean that he could attend both rather than one?

A smile crossed his face.

‘I can see the Countess tomorrow in the main event and still-’

‘What the hell…? What the hell is that thought?’

‘I am getting engaged tomorrow yet my excitement comes from-’

“What time?”

He asked the panting Stanley in an attempt to distract himself from the busyness of his mind.

“Eight p.m to three a.m.”

“Alright, get an invite and why the hell are you panting?”

“I didn’t realise how far you would go on foot!!”

He responded through gritted teeth, his eyes holding a silent, angry cry.

“An invite? Invite to where?”

Mitchelle’s voice interrupted their conversation.

“A bar called Luna Cirles.”

There was a pause in Mitchelle’s expression, as though she expected him to invite her.

It felt like a hassle.

“It sounds fancy. I mean you need an invite to enter.”

She drawled.

“It’s pretty good.”

“Hah…well…alright then, I guess I’ll just, eat out with some friends?”

He gave her a smile that in no way softened her mood.

Rather, she muttered the words, ‘unbelievable’, then turned back to the attendant to compare more fabrics that resembled each other.

“Yikes.”

Stanley added, but after a glare from Rheyes, his opinion seemingly shrunk.

*

*

*

Finor Syra

Finor’s day, like most, had started out well.

A stroll in the park with the love of his life, an afternoon shopping spree, then his third lecture from his mother on why a human was more well-equipped at handling their mana than he was.

First of all, it is unnatural for a human to have the ability to manipulate plants, yet none seemed keen enough to question that because none had seen the Countess’s power at play.

None but perhaps, Étienne.

She, from what he can generally recall before her disappearance, preferred using tools in the academy as opposed to mana.

Yet, for some reason, one scene stuck with him.

It was evening, and he had just finished his study session with Ulir; he saw her on his way to the cafeteria after having escorted his fiancee to the girl’s dorms.

She was standing tall in the middle of the isolated field on the girl’s side; none but the commoners played sports, next to an apple tree that, for years, refused to blossom.

It was a famous tree that his mother had carved her name in a heart next to his father’s, hence why he knew much about it.

Arusei had laughed at something, yet there was none around her.

It led him to conclude two things: either she recalled an old joke, or she was, at that moment, conversing with the tree.

To confirm his worry, the tree blossomed a fruit from a bud to a ripe red apple in a few seconds, lowered its branch, then offered it to Arusei, who took it.

He didn’t pursue the sight much; after all, who would think about their rival when exams were approaching?

At least that was the excuse he used, yet truthfully, it crushed him.

All his life, the only comfort he held was being the best at everything.

It was easy, fun… and amusing watching the pathetic nobodies crumble trying to chase his shadow.

He was perfect, wealthy, beautiful and smart. He was chosen.

Chosen…until, out of nowhere, Arusei came, a being nauseatingly perfect in all aspects… as though she was sent from the depths of hell to convince him he was delusional.

Swordsmanship, long-range fighting, and worse academics, she beat him.

He only outdid her in magic and mana control, and he took pride in that…so much so that when he found out that the only reason he bested her was that she intended to hide her powers, he was devastated.

When she left school, everything went back to the way it was.

He went back to being the best at everything without trying yet…

He felt that he was surely an imposter.

Like a pond fish deluded it was the strongest when the ocean awaited it.

All until he met Regina.

So what was he saying…

Why did he ask her to aid him in magic?

Perhaps it was the way she held her belly or the soft easy-going manner in which she conversed despite their argument the last time they spoke.

As though she kept nothing buried.

He wanted to break that façade, break her like she broke him.

Show her that out here, in the real world, he was bigger than she, better…

‘Yes, that has to be it.’

‘I will be the one to break the Countess.’

“Before that, the baby is not Étienne’s, is it?”

A frown crossed her beautiful face-, no, not beautiful.

Anyone who made Regina cry could never be deemed as such.

“I recall how you left the engagement ball, You made it quite obvious how mad you were for him. How did you even get the invite, were you someone’s plus one like you are to me now? Is this how you got in such an exclusive party, far beneath the stature of a Counte-,”

“Well, there you go.”

In a voice louder than his she interrupted.

“I can already tell working with you will require my commitment to several therapy sessions, so spare me. I am not as wealthy as the prince. I suggest you search for another instructor, perhaps one with the tolerance of a saint.”

“I will not be difficult.”

“Oh I believe you, I am saying this for you. You are not the problem, no…never you, the problem is me.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“Nooo.”

He rolled his eyes then changed his line of argument.

“I am well past academy years, our house will lose prestige if I do that.”

“Then hire in secrecy, I don’t really care, I mean what’s the big deal?”

“I’ll keep it a secret that you are pregnant…out of wedlock no less.”

“Who says that it is out of wedlock?”

“Wait, you are married?”

*

*

*

Arusei Evergreen

‘Oh my god! I am spewing lies left, right and centre.’

‘I should marry a commoner from Clay- wait, why have I never thought of this..’

‘Oh right, I don’t intend to keep it.’

My hand reached for the gentle swell, a swell that I had gotten accustomed to.

Perhaps, it was all that talk and perusing baby clothes I did with Alivai.

But I am not Hafsa.

I am Arusei…and to Arusei…this was a mistake.

Gods, not to mention Rheyes.

I burned my lids shut.

“So who is the father? No, sorry, where is your husband?”

“You think yourself the only one leading a double life?”

“I am serious about the mana lessons.”

‘Maybe…but the Finor I know is a narcissist….’

‘AH…! My life is going to hell... why the hell do I keep attracting psychos?’

‘Perhaps I should head to the capital tomorrow…urgh, that means meeting Étienne, I don’t want to meet him….’

My hand rubbed circles against my belly, it was weird but, that always soothed me.

“If you are serious, you would have hired an instructor by now.”

“For the aforementioned reasons-,”

‘Ding!’

“Oh, look, we are at the designated floor.”

I chirped, then took a step toward the opening doors, only Finor grabbed my wrist to prevent me from leaving then pulled me back into the lift.

It was unintentional, but the anger I felt at his forcefulness, manifested in the form of thorns on my wrist, ones which pierced his hand to the point of protruding to the other side.

“GODS!!”

He cried, but he couldn’t pull his hands out without tearing them further.

“Oh gosh!”

I retracted the thorns.

“‘Gosh?’ ‘Gosh?’ ‘Gosh?!’ You stab me, and all you can say is ‘Gosh’.”

“Oh, calm down; it’s not even that bad.”

‘It is… it’s really bad- no, the wound is terrible.’

The thorns left two massive holes in the palm of his hands.

Since the pregnancy, my power, to say the least, has grown ravenously.

As though the body, without my permission, intended to protect the life growing within it by any means.

Great for the baby, but what about me?

What will happen if I take the medicine.

In some aspects, it was meant to ‘get rid of the embryo’, but isn’t that just ‘harming the embryo’ to my black and white defence system…? Gods, does that mean my body will work against me.

‘Urgh…what if this i***t dies from blood loss?’

“Gimme your hand.”

“Are you psychotic? How about no.”

“No, I am not psychotic. What I am…is helpful.”

I took his hand by force, and he squirmed.

“Urg..don’t squirm! You’ll get blood all over me. Just stick it out.”

“Are you fu**ing kidding me…you heartless b***h!”

‘Yikes! Someone’s got a potty mouth.’

Greenlight flowed from the palm of my hand, and slowly, the tremendously gaping wound closed.

He stared at me in awe, as though I was his fairy godmother or something.

“You’ll feel some phantom pain for a while because your nerves as still sending pain signals, but only for a few minutes, but it should be good as new by tomorrow.”

“Y-you can heal as well?”

His question was asked weakly, but the guards rushing in to ‘protect’ his highness saved me from having to answer.