The Lady Nun Vows Revenge - Chapter 216: Chapter 216

Benedict froze, flustered. "Wait, wasn't this pistachio cake? It's... lemon cake?"
Eliza's smile widened, but instead of warmth, it carried an icy sting. "Lemon cake, hmm? You sure about that? Are you really sure? Maybe take another guess. Since you're always so good at guessing, why not test yourself—see how many things I hate to eat you can get right?"
Benedict's face went pale.
Eliza turned, voice laced with scorn. "Forget it. What I like or don't like has nothing to do with you anymore. I suppose it's natural you've forgotten such trivial things."
She took a step down the stairs and mocked, "After all, even if I won't eat it, there's someone who would, right? Why don't you wrap it up and take it back to your darling Sophie?"
"No—Eliza, please, let me explain." Benedict panicked, tripping over his words. "I didn't mean to get you something you hate. I just... I wasn't thinking. It was automatic."
The more he spoke, the more ashamed he became. Now that he really thought about it—pistachio cake, lemon cake—they were all Sophie's favorites. He'd come here to see Eliza, yet brought her something she detested, something his precious Sophie adored.
Benedict looked down at the cake in his hand, remorse clouding his eyes. "Eliza, I'm sorry. It's my fault. Let me go buy you something you actually like—please."
But Eliza remained unmoved. Standing above him, her gaze was cold, almost distant. "Benedict... do you even remember what I like to eat?"
"I do! I swear I do," he rushed to say. "You like... roast duck! It's roast duck, right?"
He looked at her with hopeful eyes, desperate for affirmation.
But Eliza just stared at him in silence.
And in that silence, Benedict knew—he'd guessed wrong. Again.
Not pistachio cake. Not lemon cake. Not roast duck.
'Wait—wasn't roast duck Matthew's favorite?'
Why had he always confused everyone's preferences, lumped Eliza in with the rest?
The pistachio cake slipped from his hand and hit the ground with a dull thud.
Benedict buried his face in his hands, crushed by self-loathing. "I'm sorry, Eliza. I forgot. I can't believe I even forgot something like this..."
He used to think he was the sibling who loved Eliza the most. But standing here now, he realized he wasn't even worthy of being called her brother. Especially not when she was looking at him like that—like a stranger.
Unable to bear it any longer, Benedict turned and fled.
Eliza watched his retreating figure, then slowly descended the steps. She bent down, picked up the ruined box of pistachio cake, pulled out one piece, and bit into it.
Her expression didn't change.
She chewed once, then muttered flatly, "Disgusting."
Meanwhile, outside the Benevolent Palace, Sophie stood miserably with a scalding-hot cup of coffee balanced atop her head.
"Keep it steady, Sophie," said Clarissa. "If you can't last two hours today, then no dinner for you tonight either."
Gritting her teeth, she turned pleadingly toward Clarissa Hines, the Empress Dowager's longtime attendant and her personal etiquette tutor. "Clarissa, maybe... maybe the water doesn't have to be this hot? I'm really scared—"
Clarissa didn't even blink. "Sorry, Lady Sophie. But the country-girl scent still clings too heavily to you. If you want to become a proper lady of the palace, I must be strict."
Sophie's expression turned dark. Did this old hag just insult me?
She clenched her jaw, suppressing her fury. "But the King chose me! If I burn my face during training, you'll be the one to explain it to him."
Clarissa raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Is that so?"
Sophie scoffed, "What part of that's wrong?"
Clarissa's voice suddenly sharpened. "All of it. The King said he was smitten and wanted you as a consort. That's why you're here to learn. But instead of studying seriously, all you care about is your face. Are you saying His Majesty is some shallow fool who only values a pretty skin?"
Sophie flinched. "That's not what I meant! I never said that!"
"Then why do you act like it?" Clarissa snapped. "You flaunt your favor like a weapon and ignore every rule I try to teach. Do you think that's how a royal consort behaves?"
Sophie almost flung the cup off her head in rage. But before she could, Clarissa calmly pressed her back down onto her knees.
"My dear," she said coolly, "you clearly didn't learn any manners in the Stonor household. And from where I stand, you're nowhere near ready to enter the palace."
Clarissa added, "But since the King insisted you be trained, I'll make sure you learn. From now on, we'll drill the rules morning, noon, and night. Complete every task exactly as I instruct, and you might be fit to stand in His Majesty's presence. Understood?"
"Understood," Sophie said through gritted teeth.
Three times a day? With this old witch? If not for the Empress dream still burning in her heart, she'd have thrown in the towel already.
Just wait, Sophie fumed silently. 'When I become Empress, the first person I'll order executed is you, you shriveled little toad.'
Too bad every thought played right across her face.
Clarissa saw it all—and later relayed everything, word for word, to the Empress Dowager.
The Empress Dowager, flipping through a freshly delivered scripture from Saint Grace Nunnery, listened quietly and said, "I'm too old to care about such things. If the King asked you to train her, then train her. Be thorough—but don't waste your time making a masterpiece. She's not entering the palace."
She smiled faintly. "In a few weeks, the consort I selected will arrive. Handle this mess before then."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Clarissa said with a bow.