Chapter 190 : Chapter 190

The sunlight was lovely.

Iruya sat in the garden pavilion. Before her stood a small round table, set with an exquisite white porcelain tea service and a three-tiered dessert stand. The stand was filled with all kinds of sweets—pink macarons, golden cream puffs, cakes dusted with sugar, and thinly sliced fruit arranged in the shape of a flower.

A breeze drifted through, carrying with it the faint fragrance of the unknown flowers blooming in the garden. The scent was light and elusive, mingling with the smell of grass and earth. Butterflies fluttered among the flowerbeds, their wings flashing with tiny splinters of light under the sun.

She had been here for five days.

All the wounds on her body had already healed. The cut beneath her ribs, the bruises on her back from the gravel, the ankle she had twisted when she fell from the wall—all of them had mended quickly under the effects of those high-grade potions. Only the faintest traces remained now, and in a few more days even those would vanish completely.

The food had been excellent as well.

Every morning, the maids would bring her an elegant breakfast made from the finest ingredients. Lunch and dinner were even more sumptuous, with all kinds of dishes she could not even name, plated so beautifully they looked like works of art. There were always pastries available too, whatever she wished to eat, whenever she wanted them.

The clothing was excellent too.

Every dress the maids brought her was made from the finest silk or linen, tailored to fit her perfectly and embroidered with delicate skill. She had never worn such beautiful clothes in her life. Back in the clan, they had worn rough cloth, patched when torn and worn again. At the academy, she had owned only a few uniforms, washed and reworn, then washed again.

Everyone in the residence treated her with great respect.

The maids curtsied when they saw her and addressed her as “Miss.” The guards, when they spotted her from afar, stopped and waited for her to pass before moving again. Even the steward would ask whether the meals suited her taste and whether she needed anything more.

Royal Princess Cecilia had said that everyone in this residence had been trained by her personally and could be trusted. There was no need to worry here.

Iruya did not know whether she could believe that.

But these five days had indeed been the most comfortable five days she had known since leaving the clan’s homeland.

Even when you know you should not grow used to such things, they still seep into your bones little by little.

A soft bed, for example.

Delicious sweets.

Being addressed respectfully as “Miss.”

Across from her, Cecilia was lifting a macaron to her lips.

Her movements were slow and elegant. She took a small bite, chewed delicately, then lifted her teacup and took a sip. Sunlight fell across her, setting her golden hair aglow and tracing her profile in a soft, luminous line. Today she wore a dress of pure white, utterly different from the deep violet she had worn that night.

White lace. Silver embroidery. Layer upon layer of skirts.

She looked like someone who had stepped out of a painting.

Iruya lowered her eyes to the little cake before her.

She held a knife and fork in her hands, cut off a small piece, and placed it in her mouth. The cake was soft, the cream sweet, with a layer of tart jam in the middle.

It was delicious.

But she ate slowly, as though her mind were elsewhere.

Cecilia set down her teacup and looked at her. There was a hint of amusement in those ice-blue eyes.

“So,” she said, “have you agreed to my proposal?”

Iruya’s movements paused for a moment.

She lifted her head and looked at the woman before her.

Sunlight lay between them, leaving that exquisite face half in brightness and half in shadow. Those eyes were still as warm and gentle as ever, as though she were looking at a cherished friend.

Iruya was silent for several seconds.

Then she spoke.

“I can agree,” she said, her voice still slightly hoarse. “But I have two conditions.”

Cecilia’s eyes curved slightly.

“Let me hear them.”

She picked up the macaron again and took another bite.

Iruya looked at her and spoke slowly.

“First, I cannot promise that I will definitely bring back whatever is in that ruin for you. But if I come across... relics connected to the elves, and if I bring out a number of them, then I need to be allowed to keep one or two things that I consider useful.”

Cecilia stopped chewing for a brief instant, then smiled.

“Oh?” she said, a trace of playfulness entering her tone. “You want a share?”

Iruya stared at her without answering.

In those violet eyes there was caution, stubbornness, and something else as well—the posture of someone negotiating.

When one has been cornered with nowhere left to go, one somehow finds the courage to bargain, because there is no worse outcome left to lose.

Cecilia watched her, the curve of her lips deepening further.

“Very well,” she said. “I accept. But when the time comes, I will decide how the spoils are divided.”

Iruya nodded.

Cecilia swallowed the bite of macaron and gently dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

“And your second condition?”

Iruya lowered her eyes.

Her fingers tightened around the knife and fork, the knuckles whitening slightly.

A few seconds later, she raised her head again and looked at Cecilia.

Something flickered in those violet eyes—hesitation, resolve, something difficult to name.

“I need you to help me get... an item from someone.”

Cecilia arched a brow.

“Who?”

Iruya drew in a breath.

“Ryan Velt.”

When she said the name, her voice was steady, but her fingers tightened all the more.

“A third-year student in the lower division at Saint Roland Magic Academy.”

Cecilia did not answer immediately upon hearing the name.

She merely tilted her head slightly and tapped a pale, elegant finger against her smooth chin.

Then she raised her hand and clapped lightly.

The sound was soft, but in the quiet pavilion it rang with startling clarity.

From behind a nearby bed of flowers, a maid in a gray dress hurried over. She stopped at Cecilia’s side and bent low.

Cecilia turned her head and whispered a few words into the maid’s ear. Her voice was so low that Iruya could not make out what she said. She only saw the maid nod, then turn and hurry away, disappearing toward the far end of the garden.

Cecilia lifted her teacup once more and took a sip.

She looked at Iruya, and there was a very peculiar light in those ice-blue eyes.

“Ryan Velt,” she said, her tone faintly amused. “To hear a human’s name spoken from your lips does strike me as... rather novel.”

Iruya bit her lip. She lowered her eyes and was silent for a few seconds.

Then she spoke, her voice very low.

“He has something in his possession. Something that belongs to the elven race.”

Cecilia lifted a brow, but said nothing.

And so Iruya began to explain.

She began with the white crystal she had found in that little shop in the back alley. She spoke of the patterns carved into it, of the way her heart had skipped a beat the moment she saw it, of the ancient symbols hidden beneath ordinary decorative lines—symbols that only an elf could have recognized.