Seymour should have won 68,024 times more than his bet, but my meddling cut that in half.

“L-L-Laria?” Evan stared at me with a look of utter disbelief. He was due for a nineteenfold payout, but his success was nothing compared to mine.

The duke silently stared at me with his arms folded tightly and a bewildered expression on his face.

“I cannot believe this,” said Olav. The master of the races had personally come to hand me a wager receipt for 34,012 gold coins. But at my request, he amended the number to 34,011 and handed me a single coin with it. “An impossible result... And there were not one but two brave souls who placed their bets on this unlikely outcome.”

I took the single gold coin and returned it to Duke Icardes. “It was possible thanks to your gracious support, Father.”

“Well, I suppose,” the duke drawled.

“You gave me this lucky coin, and I am so thankful for that. I’m returning it to you, Father, and I wish you the best of luck too!”

The duke took the coin in his palm with a slight smile, then secured it in his breast pocket.

Did I just see a smile? It was a genuine one too.

Meanwhile, Evan’s curiosity turned to something else. “Two?” he questioned. He tilted his head, baffled that another gambler had also won. “Who is this other person?” Evan inquired.

“A commoner, my lord. A mere eighteen-year-old boy.” Olav answered, slowly scratching his chin.

You’ll have to forgive me for this, Seymour. But you’ll get your happy ending with Elani. Well... I hope you do, at least.

In the original story, Elani lost interest in Evan and then went looking for love from other men. So it was fate, not Seymour’s riches, that brought him and the princess together. Anyway, the problems of the leading couple, who were destined for a happy ending, were far from my concerns. I had to worry about saving my own skin.

“I predict this will be all over the papers tomorrow. Such results are... unprecedented, to say the least. I would be surprised if your name did not make tomorrow’s papers, madam,” Olav commented with a mischievous little smile.

“Why, I... think that would be rather troublesome for me.” I blushed sheepishly, but inside I was singing a victory song! My grand plan relied on this win, but I needed more. 34,011 gold was a lot of money, but I was going to buy a new nobility title, which would make the remaining amount less than ideal.

I need to disappear without a trace. A sloppy getaway won’t do. The tiniest trail of evidence will lead Duke Icardes back to me, and then he’ll send me to the afterlife. So my plan needs to be absolutely flawless. I had already decided I wouldn’t die unceremoniously in this life—I would go missing.

Evan and Elani can marry only if I completely disappear.

That was the result that counted, right? After that... Well, I hardly cared. But I couldn’t disappear only to end up in a life of poverty. Good gracious, I was not fond of that idea at all.

I have been living the easy life of a noble lady.

It is hard for someone to change their tastes once they’ve indulged in life’s luxuries, so hiding under some rock without a penny to my name sounded too pathetic to me. I preferred to live a queenly life—albeit as a fugitive. My future living standard didn’t have to match the one at the Icardes Estate, although a certain level of luxury had to be met. If I had reincarnated as a filthy rich villainess, I would have desired a grander escape. But at this moment, survival was the name of the game.

If I’m going to live an easy life, I need land I can rightfully rule, which means I need a title of nobility.

Noble titles were expensive but attainable, and once I sorted out the title problem I could purchase land. Even Seymour acquired his viscount title to begin his rise to the top.

There was a small issue, though. You had to be eighteen to buy a title. And, regrettably, I was only fourteen. Waiting four years to make my purchase would delay my plans too greatly. On top of that, there were more things I would need as a noblewoman. So I needed more money. It was as simple as that.

As for my immediate problem, there were alternatives. A false identity! I just needed to create a fictional character. I’ll make sure my false identity will fool the registrar’s eyes. I’ll use my fake persona to buy land and a title of nobility. When that was all finished, I would be able to enjoy life in peace, perfectly hidden.

Ah, there was another thing to consider. I’m fourteen and stuck in the duke’s estate, which means I have no access to the outside world. So I needed an assistant, an agent if you will. It would be so helpful if I had an assistant for the chores that require cunningness. Preferably a capable one.

While I was mulling this over, Olav had been endlessly flattering the duke.

“My lord, the young madam is truly precocious. Is it true, your grace, that you handpicked her as your son’s bride?”

“Yes, well, their mothers were fond of each other,” the duke answered flatly.

“Of course, of course, my lord. But still... I bet that wasn’t an easy decision.”

The race master’s slimy groveling was on full display, and it was a testament to the duke’s mighty power.

Olav, rubbing his hands together, continued his flattery. “Your discernment has no equal, my lord. The naysayers prattled on about your decision, saying you misjudged the marriage. But in reality, you had long ago recognized that she would bring a great fortune to your estate.”

No. You are wrong, sir. He did not take me in out of goodwill.

With an oddly satisfied expression, Duke Klaudin cleared his throat with a restrained “ahem.” For crying out loud, it was me who won the gold! So what was with that smug look on his face?

The groveler turned his attention to me. “Lady Laria, are you well-adjusted to life at the estate?”

I may have been appalled by the man, but I was as shrewd and opportunistic as him. “Of course, sir. Everyone’s been so kind to me. I’ve only spent a few days at the estate so far, but I hope to get closer to them!”

Olav wasn’t the only silver-tongued suck-up. I wasn’t exactly a novice when it came to the art of deception. Consider me the handbell of the Icardes Estate: Give me a single ding, and I could serve up a fat compliment on the spot.

“My father and dear husband are second to none in the empire when it comes to looks. It brings me great joy to be part of this family outing. In my humble opinion, I’m far luckier to have been accepted into the great Icardes Estate than to have won here.” I even added a bright, little smile for good measure.

The race master, sensing that he was losing in our meaningless battle of flattery, replied, “Ah, yes. Your words exude wisdom. My lord has the most masterful wit. So I daresay you will certainly enjoy the rest of your days at the estate.”

Now, just hold on a minute. “Has the most masterful wit?” Oh, I think not. I knew the little game we were playing. But if there was ever a time to stop it, it was definitely now.

“I rarely make jokes at home,” the duke wryly interrupted.

The unannounced interjection seemingly threw off Olav, whose eyes widened and mouth dropped. “Your Grace! All who listen to your words are bound to bathe in the joy of laughter. It is a pity those at the estate do not have enough chances to revel in your extraordinary feats of wit, my lord.”

“That is because my wit does not come from my ‘feets,’” the duke replied, pointing toward his shoes. “It comes from my mouth instead.”

Hearing that, I froze for a second. My wit does not come from my feets? It comes from my mouth instead? Dear me... That joke just didn’t work! Was that line witty in his mind? What does that even mean?

To my amazement, Olav howled with laughter, vigorously clutching his sides to add to the whole performance. “Wit doesn’t come from our feets! Our feets! My lord, your wit puts the shrewdest people in court to shame!” This was Olav’s ultimate skill as a bootlicker: monstrous, bellowing laughter for corny jokes.

Instantly, I felt blood draining from my face, and I knew I had to accept my loss and inadequacy. Remember this, Laria. The world is big and full of people more skilled than you.

As far as I could tell, there was no end to true flattery. It was an art form, and art had no limits. And as for Duke Icardes, I couldn’t believe such a well-read and relatively young like himself could tell such a terrible joke.

I decided to accept my defeat and focus on studying compliments.

“Whether it comes from your feet or not, I believe your sort of wit doesn’t belong at the estate, Father.” Evan obviously knew he didn’t need to suck up to his father.

“Why not? I found his quip charming!” I exclaimed.

I needed some cheerfulness from our powerful father. So I betrayed my soul once more and sold it to the devil, all for a chance of approval. “Oh, Father, please, oh please, show it to us more at home! I, for one, am mesmerized by your clever words.”

At that instant, I felt an all too familiar tingle deep in my chest. I know you! It was the sure sign of a scarlet eruption.

Feeling what was about to come, I stood up dramatically. Under normal circumstances, it was best to show the duke how sick I was, but it did not serve me to have information about my condition spread. I couldn’t let the public find out, especially not Olav, the man who blabbered more than a parrot. No other man or woman knew that the duke had accepted me solely because of my terminal condition. If the entire empire knew about my illness, my value would tank and render me useless to his grand schemes.

“Y-you must excuse me for a moment, I need to—”

I leaped up, quickly covering my mouth with a handkerchief. For maximum efficiency, I angled my body to make sure Duke Klaudin could get a tiny glimpse of the red speck. These coughing fits were a rarity nowadays, so I had to make every one count. But as I turned to leave, I could have sworn he had a strange look on his face, one I didn’t at all understand.