Face Value
Legs gathering speed, he dashed down the corridor. Fortunately—or rather, unfortunately—there was no one around to witness Eugene running through the royal palace with not a shred of shame. Why, of all places, had he ended up somewhere so deserted? He’d barely run any distance at all, yet his breath was already tearing through his chest and his vision was blurring.
When he heard the sound of the men chasing after him, Eugene went pale and searched for somewhere to hide. If he couldn’t hide, he wouldn’t even mind being humiliated—he just wished someone, anyone, would be there to scold a couple of young people for suddenly sprinting through the Queen’s ball.
Stumbling, swaying—even running in a straight line, it would have been hard to shake off his pursuers, but Eugene couldn’t even keep his balance and staggered wildly. He crashed into a marble pillar, groped along the wall, moved his feet however he could. Park Yujin’s steady, modern-day sense of self was being completely disregarded, replaced by a fear that screamed I’m going to die. But even so, Eugene tried not to lose himself, repeating the man’s name over and over in his mind.
Lord Cayron. I have to remember. Lord Cayron, Cayron!
Had he taken a wrong turn somewhere? No matter how far he went, it stayed strangely empty. His breath was climbing to his throat, his legs trembling. He felt like he couldn’t run anymore, but he didn’t dare look back to check if the men were still chasing him. His lungs felt like they were being torn to shreds.
“I don’t know anything about it, so handle it yourself!”
Just as Eugene was about to reach his limit, a door suddenly burst open and someone came flying out. Without even a moment to register who it was, Eugene turned toward the door the person had thrown open. It felt like spotting an exit flooded with light. He was in no state to weigh anything, to think things through rationally.
“Mister Primrose?”
The voice belonging to the person closest to the one Eugene had been searching for this whole time rang out right in front of him. It was Basil Lacromore. But far from being relieved, Eugene—who hadn’t even properly registered who he was—tried to shove past him and push his way into the room.
Basil grabbed Eugene’s wrist to stop him. The moment Basil’s hand touched him, Eugene reflexively shook it off.
A small scuffle broke out between the one trying to block him and the one trying to force his way in by any means necessary. But at a quiet voice from inside the room, Basil released Eugene and turned to glare at the owner of that voice. The fire in Basil’s eyes made him look furious.
“My guest has arrived, so you can disappear now. Basil.”
“Your Grace!”
“Hurry along, now. Didn’t you tell me to handle it myself? I’ll handle it, so you’d best handle yourself as well.”
At the sound of that unforgettable voice, Eugene, even in his dazed state, turned toward where it came from. As though his very soul were being wrenched out of his body, Lucian’s face still seemed to glow. No—if anything, being out of his mind only made him look more dazzling.
The space he’d dashed into without even knowing where he was turned out to be a private dining room meant for small gatherings. There were comfortable chairs, and traces of food on the table suggested someone had already been there.
Lucian Highwinter sat in the innermost seat, pouring himself a drink. Golden liquid filled a clear crystal glass to the brim. There was no ice, no chill to it, but Eugene felt a thirst as though he’d been wandering a desert.
Having filled his glass, Lucian swirled it idly, his gaze fixed not on Eugene but on Basil beyond him. His thick brows were raised higher than usual today, and he didn’t look particularly pleased. With Eugene standing between them, Basil—looking at Lucian—mouthed the words “You can’t” over and over.
Lucian didn’t even pretend to listen. Instead, with an irritatingly languid motion, he crossed his legs, leaned back at an angle, and merely arched a brow at Basil. Whether Basil felt genuinely offended or had simply given up, he let out a heavy sigh, clearly meant to be heard, and shut the door.
The moment the door closed, Eugene approached Lucian and snatched the glass from his hand. The golden liquid sloshed, nearly spilling over—was he trying to become some drunkard with no table manners at all?
In Eugene Primrose’s body, he’d never had a drink before, but this was no time to think about that. As long as it could quench this maddening thirst, he didn’t care what it was.
Eugene downed the drink he’d snatched from Lucian in one go. It wasn’t sweet champagne—more like swallowing some bitter chemical, the taste spreading through his whole mouth—but Eugene didn’t stop.
Gulp, gulp. Judging by how disgustingly bad it tasted, Eugene Primrose’s body clearly wasn’t one that particularly enjoyed alcohol, but right now, it was nothing short of the elixir of life. Admittedly, a truly horrible-tasting elixir of life. One glass wasn’t nearly enough.
The instant Eugene emptied the full glass, Lucian gave a small shrug and refilled it. Eugene cleanly drained the second glass as well. Lucian arched a brow as if to say let’s see how far you’ll go, and filled the glass once more.
It was only with the third glass that the heavy aroma and the taste of alcohol finally registered, and Eugene lifted the glass slightly before setting it back down. At that, Lucian smiled faintly, almost wickedly, and looked Eugene straight in the eye.
“I never imagined you could be this reckless. Eugene.”
“You said… you’d call for me….”
“Ah, that’s right. Were you waiting for me?”
Even in this state, Eugene thought it was a great relief that he’d managed to properly recognize Lucian Highwinter, even in such a desperate moment. He was in a state where it would’ve been no surprise if he collapsed right then and there—where he honestly wanted to collapse—but Eugene tried his best to answer Lucian’s words properly, one by one.
After all, this was the Grand Duke, someone he couldn’t dare disregard. Moreover, he was the person Eugene desperately needed to hold onto. Setting everything else aside, he didn’t want to lose his head over some perceived disrespect. Driven purely by instinct for survival, Eugene did his best to behave.
The thought of that firmly shut back door filled him with unease. Fear paralyzed his limbs at the thought of running into that mustached gang again at any moment. He felt like he could only think clearly and breathe properly again once he got out of this party. Forcing out a voice that refused to come, Eugene barely managed to convey his intentions to Lucian.
“For now… let’s get out of here. Just… the two of us….”
It really was the faintest, most strangled voice, but to Lucian—who had been staring only at Eugene’s lips, trying to read what he wanted to say—it came through clearly. The voice he’d barely managed to squeeze out lacked the breath to finish “Let’s talk. Please,” but the meaning still seemed to get across.
“Ha. Now this is unexpected. Right now, immediately, just the two of us, you mean?”
“Please… hurry….”
“If that’s what you want so badly. Let’s go, then.”
Lucian’s attitude was strange. Just as he had with Basil, he sneered as though something had irritated him. Far from seeming pleased by Eugene’s visit, his reaction seemed to say, So you’re the same as everyone else, after all. Something about the conversation between the two of them was off. If Eugene had stopped to think it over, he might have realized just how strange it was—but he had no such luxury.
His mind was a chaotic tangle of only a few thoughts: that he needed to get out of here, that everything hurt, and that he absolutely could not let Lucian Highwinter—the man he’d been desperate to meet for days—slip away.
With a soft, breathy laugh, Lucian rose from his seat and took a step toward Eugene. He came uncomfortably close, but rather than avoiding him, Eugene clung to him as though for dear life. He grabbed onto the collar of Lucian Highwinter’s coat, practically throwing himself into his arms. If he didn’t, he felt like he’d collapse right onto the floor and lose consciousness entirely.
Eugene thought to himself. So this is it—this must be why Eugene Primrose collapsed one day after coming home and shut himself away ever since. It was probably something like this—some kind of trauma-induced attack. Does this era even have psychiatrists, or any concept of panic disorder? Lucian’s voice buzzed over the top of Eugene’s head, though Eugene was far from clear-headed.
His heart was still pounding wildly, his chest so tight it felt suffocating. His mind grew hazy, and he couldn’t process the situation properly. Before long, even hearing Lucian’s voice, he couldn’t understand what was being said. Driven by the sole determination not to lose consciousness and to respond with something, he kept nodding his head over and over.
“Drinking isn’t a bad idea. There’s no better excuse for it, after all. Eugene, it seems you really do live up to that face of yours. Well, I won’t refuse.”
With a faint, wicked smile, Lucian gently pried Eugene’s hand from his collar and skillfully wrapped an arm around his waist. Easily steadying Eugene, who was practically melting, Lucian matched his pace to Eugene’s somewhat dragging steps and led him out of the ballroom.
Eugene was utterly confused about what was happening. He’d been sure he was holding onto his consciousness and managing well enough, but every time he shook his head, the scenery shifted abruptly. At some point, Lucian Highwinter’s hand had come to rest firmly around his shoulder.
The warmth of Lucian’s body against his was so comforting that Eugene unconsciously leaned into him. Leaning his weight against Lucian, he blinked once, and suddenly the scenery had changed to an entrance lined with carriages, where Lucian was gesturing and saying something to an attendant.
Eugene lifted his head to look at Lucian. His lips—undeniably full and attractive—were moving continuously, but Eugene couldn’t hear a single word he said. And yet, even so, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Lucian’s handsome face.
Up close, he’s even more good-looking, Eugene thought, in some unreal, detached way, blinking slowly and grinning foolishly, like something had come loose in his head. It was a face that made you smile without meaning to. Apparently a handsome face had no painkilling properties, though—his head, which he’d thought had fully healed, felt like it was splitting open again.
If anything, as a side effect, his heart was racing so hard it felt like it might burst at any moment. If his heart had a mouth, it might’ve begged him to stop the abuse, right then and there. Maybe it already had.
This was unfair. On top of the debt, even though he wasn’t even the real owner of this body, he was suffering through such severe aftereffects. This was going to seriously throw off his future plans. If something like this happened every time that Cayron—or Caaron, whatever his name was—and his gang showed up, there was no way he’d ever be able to set foot at a ball again. Even in this situation, Eugene found his own thoughts so absurd that he let out a short, helpless laugh.
