Yuna felt a little guilty, at a loss for words, unsure how to answer the question.
But Jon had nothing to feel guilty about.
“Miss Yuna was feeling down, so I comforted her and had a bottle of wine.”
He tapped the bottle on the table, speaking frankly, then lowered his head to tidy up the limp Poopoo between his legs.
“In the middle of the night, a man and a woman alone together… drinking?”
Margaret immediately imagined all sorts of things—scandalous tales she’d heard about nobles and the sensational stories printed in books.
The hero’s honesty didn’t dispel her doubts; it only fueled her anger.
How could this man—this lowly, crude Dustfolk—be so shamelessly forthright?
She hated the hero and wanted to end the meaningless royal engagement.
But the so-called “ending” should have been her dismissing the hero, treating him as worthless, while the hero, full of regret, felt ashamed and didn’t dare to hope.
It should never have been—
Something that should have belonged to her was stolen by some shameless nobody!
In the first case, she could trample on the hero’s reputation and become the talk of the noble ladies of the Imperial Capital, a flower on a high peak.
In the latter, she’d be the one trampled, turning into a laughingstock at banquets.
Just thinking of her father bestowing the marriage in court, only for the hero to refuse and request to marry Yuna instead, made Margaret’s cheeks burn with shame, her ears ringing with the echo of cruel laughter.
It’s too much!
How could they do this to her?
They were supposed to be her comrade and her closest friend, yet they did such disgraceful things.
Where had they put their sense of honor?
“Princess, wait, please let me explain.”
Yuna finally found an excuse.
Seeing Margaret’s terrible expression, she quickly took over the conversation, afraid the clueless big guy would say anything more to agitate Margaret.
“Fine, let’s hear your story.”
Margaret crossed her arms, her tone icy.
“Princess, you’ve misunderstood.”
Yuna gave a bitter smile, her face utterly sincere.
“Actually, I went to find the hero to explain about the Twelve Villages Disaster Relief. I was afraid he might think you and I were deliberately withholding the Imperial Guard and the Holy Army, so I visited late at night.”
“Then why drink?”
Margaret turned to Jon, who nodded instinctively, making her believe the explanation a little more.
For someone who could be a Saint, lying was a basic skill—she didn’t believe a word.
But Jon was a terrible liar; he could never hide anything.
“Thinking about all those suffering refugees, both Jon and I felt heavy-hearted. We opened a bottle to vent our frustrations.”
Yuna continued.
Margaret stared at Jon again and saw the deep resonance on his face, making her believe even more.
A Saint feeling pity for Dustfolk?
Not a chance.
But Jon, after months together, she knew well—proud yet compassionate, easily moved to tears over the fate of a few Dustfolk.
A man feeling low and having a drink—normal enough.
Seeing Margaret’s frown finally relax, Yuna felt a bit relieved inside.
The art of language—one sentence could have entirely different meanings and effects depending on the listener.
Jon heard she went to find him, and she opened the wine.
Margaret heard Jon was displeased with them, so she went to explain, and Jon opened the wine himself.
Minor differences in detail could lead to completely opposite conclusions.
Just as Yuna thought the matter had been glossed over and was about to end…
A mischievous, sweet voice rang in everyone’s ears.
“Huh? What’s this? Jon, do you have a thing for cross-dressing too?”
“Ah?”
Jon looked blank.
Margaret and Yuna followed the voice.
Under the round pillow Alida had lifted was a pair of worn white stockings.
Yuna: “???”
Remembering the pair she’d inexplicably lost that morning, a bad feeling crept over her.
Sure enough, Margaret walked over in confusion, muttering, “Why would something like this be under the hero’s pillow? Did some succubus leave it?”
Suddenly, she caught sight of a distinctive lace crest.
Margaret froze as if struck by lightning.
She darted to the bedside, grabbed the stocking, felt a faint dampness, and rage flared across her face.
“You, you—!”
But Jon’s eyes were on Alida.
His hand loosened, and the limp Leah slid like thick pink honey to his feet, wrapping around his leg.
“Miss Alida, this was your prank, wasn’t it? I saw you use Water Balloon Spell on it earlier.”
Jon exposed her.
Alida jumped back like a startled bunny, hiding behind Margaret with a pitiful expression.
“Hero, at a time like this, you can’t accuse me falsely!”
Jon realized at once.
“The morning? You took my Poopoo while doing this in the morning?”
“Hero, that’s a false accusation! Just admit it. I’ve seen you and Yuna sneaking around several times. The Elf Speech recorded it all on magic film!”
Alida puffed out her chest, firmly denying it.
Yuna was stunned.
Two words flashed in her mind: “It’s over!”
This little elf rabbit had come to blow up the party! She hadn’t kept quiet before to help, but to wait for the perfect moment!
“Secret meetings too?!”
Margaret’s face turned ashen with rage.
Alida immediately produced five magic stones, playing them one by one for Margaret.
Each showed Jon and Yuna in cheerful conversation, always in quiet, empty places.
On any normal day, these would be easily explained.
With Alida’s questionable reputation, Margaret would never have believed her.
But now, it was the perfect storm.
“Dear Mr. Jon, do you have any more explanations?”
Margaret bit down on her silver teeth.
Jon was completely lost, unable to grasp the situation.
He wasn’t a noble, hadn’t read the Empire’s history, couldn’t guess His Majesty’s intentions in granting the marriage, and thus couldn’t understand Margaret’s anger.
To him, wasn’t it obvious? He and Miss Yuna were the victims of Alida’s prank.
This wasn’t even the first time.
“What exactly do you want me to explain?”
Jon’s head hurt.
“Nothing happened between Miss Yuna and me. The recordings are just us talking about ordinary things.”
“So you admit to meeting in secret?”
“Not in secret.”
Jon explained impatiently.
“We just needed to talk about something.”
“How private could it be that you had to avoid everyone else?”
Margaret’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
Jon was even more bewildered.
“There are always moments when no one else is around. And… Miss Margaret, I don’t understand, what does this have to do with you?”
That sentence completely infuriated Margaret.
She stopped questioning, stormed over to Yuna.
“Slut!”
“Pa—”
A bright red palm print appeared on Yuna’s face.
But she only moved her lips twice, not even daring to frown, swallowing the insult in silence.
The Calradia Empire was at its peak, His Majesty in his prime.
She didn’t have the courage to fight back against a favored princess.
Even if that princess, in her eyes, was arrogant, foolish, and full of faults.
If not for her own weak position, who would willingly resort to scheming?
After striking Yuna, Margaret turned to the hero, raising her right hand for another slap.
But the crisp, satisfying sound never came.
Jon looked puzzled as he easily caught her wrist, as if restraining a delicate succubus.
Margaret’s rage burned even hotter.
Since childhood, only her father and a few brothers had dared to evade her slap—let alone someone defy her outright.
Her face flushed with effort as she tried to break free, but the hero’s hand was like a seal.
No matter how much strength she used, he didn’t budge.
“What are you doing?”
Jon’s tone grew harsher.
“The village chief told me that even if I’m strong, I shouldn’t bully others. I was taught that much. Didn’t anyone teach you?”
A ringing noise filled Margaret’s mind.
She was stunned.
Then, as she came back to herself, a suppressed fury and humiliation exploded inside her.
Suddenly, she lowered her head, raised her leg, and kicked at the Poopoo clinging to the hero’s leg.