Evil Dragon, Without a Princess, I Had to Transform Myself!

Chapter 116 : Can It Be?

In the center of the garden stood an exquisite long table, crafted from fine oak and polished to a mirror-like sheen that reflected dappled light and shadow.

Patunasankus sat silently beside the table, watching the autumn wind dance hydrangea petals into the tea garden. Blue and purple blossoms drifted down, settling on the lace tablecloth covering the surface.

She occasionally glanced at Serina behind the pastry stand, as if worried she might suddenly burst out into a comical dance—a concern that, given the latter's developmental age, was certainly not unfounded.

Fortunately, Patunasankus saw Isha approaching with an assortment of tea utensils. Isha casually handed Serina paper and colored crayons, successfully keeping her settled—at least for a while.

Soon enough, Serina began treating the tablecloth as a larger canvas.

The table was spacious, with each of the three occupying a corner.

"She's Serina, the master's new pet. Giving her drawing materials keeps her quiet for a bit," Isha explained nonchalantly.

Caring for a mischievous princess had initially been trying, but her good upbringing had seen her through.

"Just a pet, that's all," she added.

"Some tea? I saved your favorite brand—a fine Darjeeling from the Elven Plains. You'll love it," Isha said warmly, holding the teapot.

"But Isha always makes tea taste better, as if by magic," Patunasankus said with a smile.

"What I need most isn't expensive tea, but the person to share it with," Isha tilted the teapot, allowing the amber liquid to flow gently from the spout.

The tea swayed softly in the cup, releasing a subtle fragrance.

"Your Highness, it seems there are still things you haven't clarified with us," Isha murmured, her gaze fixed on the flowing tea, her bangs obscuring her expression.

Patunasankus knew Isha was getting to the point.

This question was inevitable.

The funeral, the death.

She had been waiting for Isha to bring it up.

Patunasankus remained silent for a moment, offering no reply, merely glancing at the empty seat directly across from her.

She knew it was prepared for her, but not for who she was now.

The moment Isha "recognized" her, Patunasankus had already decided how to explain.

But deep down, she wanted to tell Isha.

There was more to the story—things she wished to voice.

"..."

Patunasankus leaned closer to Isha.

She whispered into her ear.

Isha heard her.

Or perhaps Isha had been expecting her to say something at such a moment. It didn't matter; it was all the same...

"I wanted to see the outside world. The death was preplanned."

She lied.

Patunasankus thought perhaps she was willing to be a little liar, deceiving those she cared about, letting them believe—she was fine, lovely, gentle, vulnerable, in need of protection.

And in doing so, she could occasionally comfort herself, believing that the one she cared for, and who cared for her, was always by her side—never meeting, never parting.That way, she would never lose anything again.

Patunasankus knew some might become addicted to her lies, yet she would still treat everyone with more elegance, kindness, and compassion—because she mattered in their eyes.

Look, here she comes, light and ethereal, like a rose-tinted cloud drifting toward the rising sun.

Only occasionally might her eyes betray the hypocritical sentiments buried deep within.

But as long as this falseness remained undetected, it was enough.

Then again, if the world were stripped of the embellishment of lies, life might become so pallid it felt devoid of flavor. Because some lies are white lies, brimming with kindness and warmth that touch the heart.

Melancholy is only relative.

"...I see, I see..." Isha murmured, her tone flat and unfluctuating.

"I'm sorry," Patunasankus apologized.

She saw Isha's hand trembling incessantly, the teacup nearly slipping from its saucer.

So Isha set it down on the tatami mat. Though the cup didn't fall, tea spilled across the table.

"..." Isha said nothing, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the table.

Patunasankus didn't know what Isha was thinking, but she had almost prepared herself for a stern scolding from her head maid.

"Next time," Isha looked up, her emotions calmer now, "you mustn't do this again. Lord Patunasankus would be very angry, Lord Liulan would be angry, everyone in the nest would be angry. So next time, don't leave without a word, and don't play such jokes again. At least give a heads-up next time...

—Can you, Your Highness?"

Isha whispered, almost pleading.

...Patunasankus said nothing, her eyes suddenly darkening.

She closed her eyes, as if she could shut out the coming voices from her mind.

But she knew she couldn't.

"The crayon!" Serina dropped a colored crayon, which rolled under Patunasankus's seat. She crawled under the table, all the way over, and lifted the tablecloth to peek out.

Patunasankus bent down and picked it up from beneath the cloth.

She examined the crayon for a few seconds, then curled her lips and, imitating Serina's earlier mischief, drew a big smiling face on the tablecloth.

"You're starting to learn drawing too? How silly," Serina laughed heartily, "but it's fun, isn't it?"

Patunasankus glanced at Isha, who was now glaring at Serina. Only then did Isha notice that a corner of the pristine tablecloth had unknowingly become Serina's canvas, a chaotic mix of colors.

"It is fun," Patunasankus said, returning the crayon to Serina.

"I won't do it again," Patunasankus replied to Isha, her voice low and gentle, like soothing a child. "I definitely won't."

She drank the tea, feeling it flow heavily into her chest, her heart thumping wildly in the warmth.