"Your Highness, do you truly think I'm the type of person who would drug the tea?"

Hearing Celicia's words, Moen froze for a moment. Then, as if struck by some profound betrayal, his expression turned despondent. He looked as though he was on the verge of pounding his chest, crying up to the heavens, and declaring his innocence, with snow starting to fall in June to prove his unjust suffering.

"If Your Highness distrusts me, then I have no choice but to prove my sincerity with action!

Here, I'll drink mine first as a gesture of good faith!"

Moen grabbed his cup of tea without hesitation and about to gulp it all down in one breath.

"Wait."

Celicia’s voice suddenly interrupted, halting Moen in his tracks.

"Moen, there’s no need to take offense like this. I was merely joking."

"A joke..."

That face of yours with no hint of expression from the beginning until now doesn't exactly scream 'joke'!

"As Moen's fiancée, I have always placed my trust in you."

A faint curve appeared on Celicia's lips, which, for her, might as well have been a full-blown smile.

"I was just teasing you earlier. Don't take it seriously."

"Is that so?"

Moen lowered his tea cup discreetly, letting out a small sigh of relief in his heart.

"Your Highness, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn't make those jokes that could damage the trust between us."

"Of course. Now I see my misbehavior."

Still, she didn’t drink the tea.

Celicia lowered her head, tracing the rim of the cup with her fingers. Through the rich crimson tea, it seemed as though she were gazing into her own reflection.

"Actually there's a reason I made that kind of joke."

"Hm?"

"Moen, you should know this—I am actually a few months younger than you."

"...I know, of course."

Like hell I knew!

You scared the living daylights out of me!

Celicia, the student council president of Saint Marica Academy, someone two entire grades ahead of Moen, was actually younger than him?

The original story didn’t mention this at all, did it?!

Wait a minute, does this mean that Celicia here, despite seeming like an elder schoolmate, is technically like a younger sister? After all, there’s always some form of shared bloodline within royalty and nobility. Calling her "little sister" wouldn't be entirely out of line.

Could this be that legendary combination of "cute and commanding" at play?

Dangerous.

The more Moen imagined the icy, high-and-mighty school council president calling him elder brother in private, the more dangerous the idea felt.

Such juxtaposed contradictory attributes were completely heart-stopping!

"Since I’m a prodigy who skipped two years, this isn’t that surprising, is it?"

"But just because of this, I often feel exhausted. None of the people around me are my peers, yet I must act just as mature as them—no, even more mature."

"So when I’m in private, where I feel secure, sometimes… I might act a bit childish."

"Childish?" Moen was stunned. He never would have expected that the word "childish" could ever come out of Celicia's mouth.

"Yeah. Just like earlier."

Celicia's silver eyelashes fluttered slightly, and she softly asked, "You’re not upset with me, are you, Moen?"

"Of course not."

A smile naturally crept onto Moen’s face, and he replied without even thinking, "If it’s Your Highness, no matter how childish you are, I can always handle it. In fact, such a side of you makes you even more approachable."

"Really? That’s wonderful."

Celicia suddenly raised her head.

"Because, as it happens, I have one more childish request for you, Moen."

"Eh?"

"Your tea seems to taste better than mine. So… could we exchange cups?"

"Huh?"

Moen’s expression froze instantly.

Staring at Celicia, a cold dread crept through his extremities.

Her gaze still carried that distant, untouchable chill, but beneath that layer of frosty reserve, Moen thought he glimpsed a slyness… and mockery.

Damn it! I let my guard down, and now this woman has me completely in her grasp!

All that talk about being childish was bullshit—she’s clearly suspicious of her tea!

Still, she probably didn’t think I’d have the nerve to actually spike the tea, or else I’d already be encased in a block of ice by now.

"This… this isn’t appropriate," Moen stammered.

"What’s inappropriate about it? Didn’t you just say you could accept all my childish behavior? Or could it be—"

Celicia tilted her head slightly, enunciating each word slowly:

"Could it be you’re afraid, Moen?"

"How… how could that be? I haven’t done anything wrong, so what could I possibly be afraid of?"

Moen strained to keep his smile from cracking.

"So then, why not—"

"Because…"

"I've already drunk by this cup!" Moen decided to go all in, clutching his tea cup with both hands and loudly announcing:

"If Your Highness drinks it, then that would mean… that would mean an indirect kiss!"

"Oh, is that all?" Celicia’s expression stayed perfectly composed as she replied serenely.

"Yes, that’s all."

Moen widened his eyes, staring her down.

How about that, Princess?

As the embodiment of icy dignity, can you withstand the sheer INDIRECT KISS? Surely, as pristine as you are, just hearing those words is enough to make your cheeks flush red!

"It doesn’t matter. I don’t mind," Celicia said calmly, with no even a bit shyness.

"After all, as your fiancée, I should be able to accept something as minor as this."

Perhaps truly embracing her identity as a fiancée, Celicia even placed her soft, delicate fingers onto Moen’s hand.

But instead of feeling warmth, Moen felt only an icy chill, like plunging into a freezing abyss.

Because Celicia had begun to gently pry his fingers, one by one, reclaiming the tea cup from his grasp.

But now, it was too late. He could do nothing but silently, despairingly watch her take it away—as though he were witnessing the countdown to his own doom.

"Speaking of which, I’ve been curious about how Moen’s tea tastes," she said.

Celicia showed no hint of actual enthusiasm in her expression, yet she brought Moen’s original cup up to her lips.

And while fixing her gaze on him, she nonchalantly asked, "Why don’t you drink, Moen?"

"Of course I’ll drink," Moen murmured, forcing a rigid grin that looked more like rigor mortis than anything else.

He too lifted the tea cup—the one originally meant for Celicia—and slowly began to bring it to his lips.

The motion was torturously deliberate, as though wishing that this moment could stretch into eternity. But under Celicia's piercing gaze, even the slowest of actions eventually reached their conclusion.

Resigned, Moen closed his eyes and tipped the cup, letting the tea flow into his mouth.

Seeing this, Celicia’s eyes narrowed slightly.

She glanced down at the tea in her cup, hesitated briefly, then turned her eyes toward the scene outside.

Beyond the walls of this room, amidst the clinking of glasses and melodies of music, a grand ball was underway. Countless nobles from across Belland were attending.

Surely, even the son of a Duke wouldn’t dare to act foolishly in such a public setting.

Finally, Celicia took a small sip of the crimson tea.

Hmm?

Why does the tea still taste a bit… strange?

Celicia frowned slightly, lowering the cup to examine it more closely.

The liquid inside swirled, its deep red hue as striking as blood.

Could it be…

Her head snapped up, alarm dawning in her usually impassive gaze.

From the very beginning, Moen hadn’t said a word.

And now, he was smiling.

It was the sort of grin like a devil but his mouth still stayed clamped shut,—a smile so eerie it sent shivers down her spine.

"You!"

For the first time, Celicia’s eyes revealed a trace of panic.

But it was too late.

Her limbs began to weaken.

And Moen?

He finally opened his mouth.

"Waaaargh!"

He spat out every last drop of the tea.