Siman’s expression was riding a roller coaster.

At first, she’d been thrilled to hear Hale reject Letitia—*Finally, my cousin saw the light!*

But then Hale flipped the script, and fury surged through her.

*Hale, do you even know what you’re saying? Letitia sit on your lap?*

If he weren’t the Duke’s son, he’d deserve to die a hundred deaths.

No matter how lust-driven someone might be, this was beyond the pale.

She could’ve accepted it if he’d just agreed plainly—but this? This move stunned her.

When had he ever been this sharp? Noticing ten new classmates and deducing a prior vote?

Now Siman worried for the little princess. Inviting Hale was a courtesy—he was overstepping.

She was utterly speechless.

Was Hale getting arrogant? Thinking he was some heartthrob?

Siman finally got it: Hale flirted because he believed his charm was irresistible—every girl liked him, winning them over was easy.

*So that’s why he’s been ambiguously involved with so many women all these years!*

Hmph. Did he not understand? It wasn’t his charm—it was what they wanted. Noble girls dreaming of becoming Duchess. Female spies from Xia Kingdom with hidden agendas.

No. She had to rein Hale in.

Forget his questionable habits—those scheming women eyeing her “useless” cousin? Thinking they’d become Duchess just by snagging a man? Not happening.

While Siman’s thoughts spiraled, the hall fell into deathly silence.

No one dared speak. Hale had openly flirted with Letitia—whoever added fuel now would be doomed if she held a grudge.

Only the vice principal broke the quiet.

“Young Master Hale, we can simply add another chair.”

“No.”

The voice that refused sent fresh shockwaves through the crowd.

Had they swallowed half a ton of Sichuan peppercorns before leaving home? The numbness was real.

*Why did Letitia say “no”? Shouldn’t that line be Hale’s?*

The Rose Princess’s milk-pale cheeks now bloomed rose-red. Gazing at the black-clad youth, she murmured, “Fine. I’ll sit on your lap.”

…

How to describe it?

Hale felt deeply uneasy. He never expected Letitia to accept such a rude request—it mirrored yesterday’s off-putting move with Christine.

But he had no time to question himself.

The Theology Day lecture had been running half an hour.

All this time, the lovely girl sat on his lap. Her rose-colored hair brushed his cheek, releasing a captivating scent. A faint, mysterious fragrance clung to her.

Letitia was slender, yet her hips held surprising softness—a subtle, springy warmth.

Even through two layers of fabric, Hale’s thigh sensed that tantalizing curve.

To avoid catastrophe, he had to clamp down hard on his urges.

Letitia seemed utterly unguarded—sitting quietly like a life-sized doll, glancing back only occasionally.

Yet Hale saw the blush creeping to her ears even when she faced forward.

He was trapped.

*Could such a sweet girl genuinely like me? Wait… wasn’t she into girls?*

Even if she did… the future was grim. Beyond House Childe’s resistance lay his cursed fate.

If they became intimate, he’d be gone soon. Letitia—a widow before twenty? Unforgivable.

His restraint came only from lingering responsibility. One misstep now could ruin her life.

But distracted from Christine’s lecture on church history, he struggled. Letitia shifted slightly on his lap again and again.

Two attractive teens pressed close—hormones surging was inevitable.

“Duchess Letitia… why did you agree?” he asked, seeking distraction.

Genuinely puzzled. The game’s lore never mentioned meeting her this early.

“Don’t call me ‘Duchess’,” she whispered, voice soft as a mosquito’s buzz, slightly hurt by the formality.

The Rose Princess was far from calm.

Because…

She’d secretly loved Hale for four years—captivated since their first glance.

Over three years ago, she’d had *that* dream: Hale pinning her down, her feeling like a kitten awaiting her master’s touch.

Waking to damp sheets, she’d thought she wet the bed. Shooed away maids. Died of shame.

Back then, she didn’t understand the dream’s meaning. Now? She’d read many Church-banned forbidden books.

Their vivid depictions felt real; she’d absorbed unconventional details too.

Yet shame held her back—only tiny hip shifts on Hale’s thigh.

Disappointment flickered: no trace of the “hardness” described in those pages.

*If he liked me… wouldn’t he react? Does he feel nothing for me as a woman?*

Frustration burned. Such a perfect chance!

If she missed it now… when would closeness like this return?

She’d resolved to fight for him—family objections, even questionable methods, be damned.

So she shifted again—deliberately, pressing down gently with her hips.

She recalled forbidden tales: heroines using intimacy to secure evidence, gaining leverage. Cycle repeating until inseparable.

*Is this too underhanded?*

Her movements stayed subtle. She only wanted proof: *Do you feel something for me?*

Meanwhile, Siman’s eyes stayed locked on them.

*Please don’t let him make inappropriate moves on the princess.*

Hale hadn’t glanced at Christine’s lecture once since it began.

*Of course he’s secretly pleased—a girl this cute on his lap? But if you sneak a single touch… you’re dead meat.*

Siman’s thought shattered the next second.

Letitia leaned close, breath warm, voice a coquettish sigh:

“Hale… do you like this?”

In that instant, Miss Siman’s mind held only one symbol.

“?”