Borrowing a Knife to Kill

[‘Perfect, success!’]

The moment Iris’s face darkened, Elia’s heart bloomed with glee. Her act had been flawless. After all these years, even Iris hadn’t seen through her true colors.

From Iris’s perspective, the two were as close as master and servant could be—best friends, practically sisters.

Thus, Iris trusted and adored Elia while constantly worrying about her safety.

Normally, Iris proactively eliminated any threats or traps.

If someone with ill intentions or a bad reputation tried to approach Elia, Iris would instantly shelve her gossip-loving, romance-obsessed side to warn and protect her mistress.

This was exactly what Elia planned to exploit.

By all rights, meeting the Hero for the first time and feeling neutral, positive, or mildly favorable would already be a great outcome.

Yet Elia acted utterly lovestruck, as if Luke had swept her off her feet.

This forced Iris to grow wary.

Magic curses were commonplace in this world, and mind-control techniques abounded.

Heroes and Saintesses often possessed out-of-spec abilities granted by the Goddess of Light.

Previously, whether facing domestic or foreign nobles, famous beauties, or handsome men, Elia had always maintained a serene, untouchable holiness.

To suddenly fall head-over-heels for a Hero she’d met only once? Suspicious didn’t begin to cover it.

Of course, Iris wasn’t foolish enough to question the Hero in front of Elia, whose eyes were practically heart-shaped. She quickly plastered on an intrigued smile.

“That’s wonderful! Your Highness, could you tell me more? What exactly did you and Lord Hero talk about tonight? What did you do?”

These were questions Iris asked all the time, but Elia nearly jumped for joy inside. This was exactly what she wanted!

“Lord Luke, he…”

If she were under suspected mental magic from the Hero, how could she further enrage the listener? Simple—describe Luke’s coldness and neglect with a smitten expression, pretending to be blissfully unaware.

“Oh, I see. Lord Hero really is a good man…”

As expected, halfway through, Iris was trembling with rage, barely choking out a monotone compliment.

By the end, when she heard the Hero never returned to a hopeful Elia all night, Iris snapped.

“Your Highness, wasn’t Lord Hero a bit excessive in the end?”

“No, not at all!”

Elia retorted urgently—her voice a few decibels higher than usual, yet still perfectly gentle. “Lord Luke is new to the kingdom and unfamiliar with everything. He must be nervous and overwhelmed. Everyone was clamoring to speak with him; he didn’t have time to adjust…”

While making excuses for Luke, Elia adopted her usual expression of tender concern for others—heartbroken, compassionate, gentle, as if the fault lay with her own guilt rather than him.

The full combo left Iris smiling again, but a closer look at her emerald eyes revealed seething fury.

[‘Full marks! Huge success!’]

Elia mentally pumped her fists at her stellar performance.

Nothing infuriated people more than watching someone they cared about remain obliviously smitten, even defending the scoundrel while everyone else saw the scam clear as day.

Given Iris’s personality, she’d never take her anger out on Elia, the “victim.” Instead, she’d target the perpetrator. And given Iris’s connections, her method was obvious—

“Your Highness, you must be exhausted after such a long night. Please rest early.”

Rising with a gaze that could devour someone whole, Iris forced a stiff smile, barely containing her tsunami of emotions.

“Mhm, I will. You too, Iris.” Elia smiled gently, then gazed dreamily out the window. “I can’t wait for tomorrow. I wonder if Lord Luke is resting well…”

That final fuel to the fire made veins pop on Iris’s forehead.

Leaving a curt “Please rest well, Your Highness,” she slammed the door and stormed off.

Once certain her golden-haired elf maid was far away, the pink-haired Saintess finally dropped her mask and cackled.

“That bastard Hero dared to slight me? Let’s see how you suffer now!”

Meanwhile, the moment Iris left Elia’s room, she marched straight to the palace guard barracks.

Despite the heavy snow and biting winds, most of the palace had retreated to rooms warmed by fireplaces or heating magic. But one man was the exception.

In the center of the open-air training ground stood a red-haired, spiky-headed youth, shirtless, swinging a flaming greatsword taller than a man.

Burly and rippling with muscle, his stance was as steady as a mountain.

Every strike was powerful and majestic. Wherever his blade passed, snow melted, winds scattered, carving a blazing sanctuary in the freezing world.

Sensing Iris’s approach, he halted.

Even so, the swirling snowflakes dared not cross into his domain.

This was the ally Iris sought—the kingdom’s mightiest warrior, vice-captain of the Royal Guard Knights, and Elia’s chief bodyguard: Charlie.

“Iris, what brings you here so suddenly? Did something happen with Her Highness Elia?”

Like Iris, Charlie was one of Elia’s most devoted followers, so his first thought went there.

But that was also his downfall. Hot-tempered and extreme among the fanbase, Charlie often caused headaches with his antics.

He’d skipped tonight’s ball because the king had grounded him for a month after one such incident. Tomorrow was his release date.

“Tonight, Her Highness met the Hero.”

“Did that Hero insult Her Highness?” Charlie’s grip tightened on his sword.

“No, it’s… complicated.”

Iris relayed her observations and suspicions.

When she finished, visible steam rose from the red-haired youth’s head. “You’re saying that bastard Hero might have used mind control on Her Highness? Or sweet-talked her into deception?”

“I can’t confirm yet, but tomorrow I’ll accompany Her Highness to see the Archbishop.”

“He’s a Hero. If he used a Goddess-granted ability, can the Church even undo it?” Charlie gnashed his teeth.

Iris had no answer.

The alternative—deception—was even worse and unprovable.

Elia’s words showed no cracks, but every victim starts by insisting they weren’t fooled.

“Tomorrow, I’ll confront him myself.”

Charlie abandoned thought, deciding to let his greatsword do the talking.