* * *
The next morning, when Blair arrived in the dining room, she shared a meal with Headrin as she always did. Only the rhythmic clinking of cutlery against fine china broke the quiet.
In the silence that had grown familiar, Blair recalled her conversation with Agnes a few days ago.
After her counseling session concluded, Blair had asked when she might begin hypnosis. Agnes had replied with a troubled expression, “You must first obtain consent from His Grace for that. When we began this treatment, His Grace issued a specific order regarding it.”
Blair assumed Headrin meant to observe the hypnotic process as he had previously. Since Agnes clearly would not proceed without his approval, Blair had obediently backed down.
However, after meeting Katrina yesterday, she felt a burgeoning sense of urgency. It was about more than just her contract with Headrin.
She was curious. She burned to know what truth it was that Katrina feared so deeply.
“Headrin.”
Headrin didn’t speak, merely lifting his gaze to meet hers.
Blair decided to address the matter directly. “I heard your consent is required for the hypnosis. Will you agree to it?”
Headrin paused, his gaze lingering on her.
Blair pressed on. “They say my condition has improved significantly through counseling. If we try the hypnosis again—”
“No.”
Headrin’s refusal was clipped and immediate.
Blair looked at him, her eyes clouded with silent questioning.
“I heard you’ve decided to host a banquet soon,” he continued. “It would be troublesome if you were to fall ill again, as you did last time.”
Only then did the banquet schedule return to her mind; she had completely forgotten it while preoccupied with her meeting with Katrina. It seemed Mason had reported the matter to Headrin.
“There is no need to rush, even if it means disrupting other plans.”
“Then will you grant permission once the banquet is over?”
“We shall see.”
Headrin replied indifferently, lifting his water glass to moisten his throat.
At his ambiguous answer, Blair’s delicate brow furrowed, and her small lips pressed into a tight line of dissatisfaction—a subconscious tic.
Watching her intently from behind his glass, Headrin’s lips curled upward, though the crystal obscured the expression. He set the glass down and added, “I will decide once I see how things stand then.”
Blair didn’t look pleased, but she seemed to abandon any further attempts at persuasion, turning her attention back to her meal.
As they finished and rose from the table, Headrin spoke again.
“Oh, Ruth will assist you with the banquet preparations today.”
Blair’s eyes widened at the unexpected news.
* * *
Ruth’s expression was thunderous as he headed toward the drawing room. He moved with the reluctant lethargy of a child trudging toward a chore he despised.
He let out a deep, rattling sigh as he recalled his conversation with Headrin moments earlier.
‘Mason is bedridden. His body isn’t what it used to be.’
‘I suppose that’s expected at his age. Is he very ill?’
‘The medicine is effective, so you need not worry on that front.’
‘That is a relief.’
‘Never mind Mason. You need to assist Blair today.’
‘Yes. ……Wait, what?!’
‘She said she would begin the banquet preparations today.’
Ruth had blinked, struggling to process the words, before horror finally dawned on him. He felt deeply uncomfortable around Blair.
In her presence, he maintained a social mask—a polite, professional smile—but because she was his superior, he treated her with the necessary distance. He had watched her from Headrin’s shadow for months; she didn’t behave like any member of the Imperial Family he had ever known. And yet, she was of the Imperial bloodline, a target he felt compelled to monitor.
Ruth disliked this dissonance. The more he realized how unlike the rest of the Imperial family she was, the less he wanted to draw near.
‘I—I don’t even live in this residence.’
‘Not currently. But you lived here for a long time.’
It had been Headrin’s mother, Eloise, who had found a young, destitute pickpocket in the back alleys and brought him into the ducal residence to raise him. Thanks to her, Ruth had grown up within these walls until he became Headrin’s aide, earned a title, and moved out on his own.
Aside from Mason, perhaps no one knew the inner workings of this house better than he did.
‘Well, that may be true, but…….’
‘It’s not like you’re going to follow her to hunt magical beasts.’
Headrin was scheduled to travel to the outskirts of the capital today to deal with magical beasts. Reports indicated that as spring approached and the weather warmed, the creatures that had been hibernating were beginning to stir.
With that final instruction, Headrin had left Ruth with the uncomfortable task and departed.
“Haa…….”
Arriving before the drawing room, Ruth sighed heavily once more. Just as he reached for the doorknob, he heard a voice.
“Sir Ruth?”
“Gah!”
Ruth jumped, shouting in surprise. Blair looked just as startled by his loud reaction.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Ruth worried she might have heard his sigh and gleaned his discomfort, but only confusion remained on her face. Fortunately, it seemed she hadn’t heard.
“N-no, not at all. My mind was elsewhere, so I didn’t realize you were approaching.”
Ruth, who had instinctively been about to enter the drawing room, paused and regained his composure.
“Shall we start by surveying the banquet hall?”
The two of them began to tour the residence. They moved from the grand banquet hall to the lounge intended for guests, then out onto the balcony.
Contrary to Ruth’s fears, the conversation remained strictly on the banquet, flowing with surprising naturalness. He followed behind her, taking notes on her suggestions for repairs and additional decorations.
Blair was preparing for the event with a level of skill and meticulousness he hadn’t anticipated.
*She rarely held banquets when she was an Imperial Princess, yet she handles this as if she’s done it a dozen times,* he thought, inwardly impressed.
Next, they entered the gallery, a place that housed the history of the Del Marc family. Various portraits were displayed, ranging from the ancestors of the line to the late Duke and Duchess, and finally, Headrin.
When a banquet was held, the gallery was opened to guests. While the event might be a day of leisure for the participants, for the host, it was a day to promote the prestige of their house. It was a space of vital importance.
As they stepped into the hall, the first thing that caught their eyes was a massive tapestry embroidered with the wings of a divine beast.
*The crest of Del Marc.*
Blair knew the legend behind that crest.
Long ago, when magical beasts and demons bled the world, divine beasts had arrived from another realm. Unlike the monsters that brought chaos, these beings stood alongside humanity to guard peace and order. When the world finally found stability, they departed, their work finished.
But the last of them, having fallen in love with a human woman, remained. After he lost his lover in the final war, he was consumed by grief. Before leaving, he intended to bestow a portion of his power upon the First Emperor—a comrade of his lost lover—knowing she had loved humanity.
However, the power came with two flaws.
The first was the risk of madness if not handled correctly, as it was a power that did not belong in a human vessel. The second was that while one could draw upon strength that surpassed all human limits, the price was the lifespan of one’s beloved.
The Emperor had refused the inheritance. A leader who could be swayed by such power, or who risked madness, could lead the entire nation to ruin. Instead, he had the power bestowed upon the most trustworthy person he knew: his loyal knight, the First Duke of Del Marc.
Thus, the wings of the divine beast became the symbol of their house.
Blair knew this history, but she also knew the tragedy that followed. A past Duke, having lost his lover to the price of that power, had attempted to excise the second restriction. He hoped his descendants would be spared his sorrow. While some condemned it as a selfish act, the damage was done; the restriction was gone, leaving the descendants of Del Marc strong, but shackled to a lineage defined by both dominance and grief.
*That was why I was so worried…….*
Some envied the power, but Blair had only ever felt fear for him. She worried that the weight of it would swallow him whole, that he would meet a tragic end just like his father.
But it was a wound he didn’t want to be reminded of, and so she kept her fears locked away.
“This person is the first head of the house,” Ruth said, gesturing to a portrait.
He continued to explain the lineage, fulfilling the basic duties of a steward. Blair, who had lived this life before, knew every word, yet she listened with a quiet, respectful focus.
As Ruth finished the explanation of the first Duke, Blair moved to the next frame. Her footsteps suddenly faltered.
*This painting is…….*