18.
The fear, which had felt like standing at the edge of a precipice, was entirely forgotten. Self-pity was a luxury she could no longer afford.
Her goal had shifted. It was no longer merely about survival; it felt as though she could only continue breathing if she exacted vengeance for herself and her family.
Wasn’t it said that if someone harasses you without cause, you should give them one?
*Scandal Maker? Fine. If that’s what you want to call me, I’ll become a real Scandal Maker.*
Harriet vowed to become the most ruinous scandal her uncle and Bella had ever faced.
***
When he noticed the trees standing bare, he knew winter had reached his doorstep. The scent of the biting wind often dragged out ghosts of the past—mostly bitter ones.
Cedric fidgeted with the brooch his father had pressed into his hand before leaving for his final battle, the memory of that day surfacing with agonizing clarity.
“Why are you giving this to me all of a sudden?”
It was a fifty-carat ruby in an emerald cut, intricately carved by a master craftsman and encircled by diamonds that caught the light with a cold, brilliant radiance. Cedric had always thought the piece far too flashy for his father’s austere taste.
“Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“Keep it safe. Don’t lose it.”
He had hated it. Receiving such an object before a battle felt like accepting a final keepsake. So, he had opted for a flippant remark to mask his unease.
“Besides, if I wear something this shiny, I’d be the perfect target for the enemy. How did you even come to buy a brooch like this?”
“Your mother gifted it to me.”
He had seen the brooch since childhood, but it was the first time he had heard its origin. His parents had been so profoundly indifferent toward one another that he had never imagined they might have exchanged such gifts.
Noticing his surprised expression, his father added, “Cedric. Do not hate your mother too much.”
“Hate her? Why would I…”
“I was the one at fault. I took a woman far too good for me as my wife, yet I couldn’t give her anything she truly wanted.”
At those words, his stomach churned. “Is that why you turn a blind eye to her keeping lovers? You do know, don’t you?”
His father had offered a faint, tired smile. “What does it matter if your mother can smile? Nothing changes anyway.”
What had he replied back then? Ah, right. “If that is what marriage is, then I shall not marry.”
At that, his father had burst into a sudden, genuine laugh—a sound quite unlike him. “You really are just like your mother. Hahaha!”
Why had that face looked so joyful back then? And why, he wondered, hadn’t he committed that rare expression to memory more deeply? Had he known it was the end, he would have asked him to smile more, or perhaps asked for a hug.
Cedric closed his eyes, gripping the brooch until the metal bit into his palm. His father had appeared blunt to the world, but in their private moments, he would talk of this and that, often offering a subtle, warm smile.
*You should have shown that side of yourself to the others, too. As if I didn’t know what they were planning.*
Had he, perhaps his father might still be alive.
To the public, his father appeared to be a man who simply could not refuse the Emperor’s unreasonable summons to the front lines. That was the convenient narrative; after all, the only side that stood to gain anything from the Kifren War was the opposing Pirma Kingdom. Since the Empire stood to lose regardless of the outcome, none of the nobles had stepped forward, even as their own territories were violated. They had preferred to slyly shove the burden onto the Imperial Family.
That was when Rowan had stepped up.
“I will lead the army. If I, the Emperor’s brother-in-law, take command, it will be as if the Imperial Family is bearing the greatest burden. It will make it easier to pressure the other nobles.”
As Rowan expected, the Emperor successfully squeezed the nobles to secure the supply lines. Thanks to that, they reclaimed Kifren. It would have been a perfect victory had Rowan not died while blocking the Pirma army that attempted to ambush Cedric’s troops.
It hadn’t been difficult for Cedric to shatter the momentum of the weakened Pirma forces and secure their surrender.
“My father fought the entire war, yet I am the one being called a hero. Father always gets the short end of the stick.”
The brooch, wedged between Cedric’s firm fingers, scattered cool winter sunlight across his face.
“Or is even this a trap you laid out to catch those bastards?”
Thinking a man in his mid-twenties could be easily ignored, the traitors were surfacing now that Rowan was dead. The external enemies were obvious—those who had been jealous of his rise, anxious about losing power the moment an ordinary second son of a Viscount became a Duke.
What he had confirmed this time were the internal enemies.
*Those who enjoy wealth and power in the name of Kaylas dared to participate in killing my father?*
That was unforgivable. Cedric was preparing for their ruin, slowly and methodically.
He was staring coldly at the reports on his desk when a knock sounded.
“Come in.”
His friend, Edgar Dawson, who had recently returned from two years of study abroad, stepped inside. Cedric pocketed the brooch, stood, and offered a brief, solid hug.
“It’s been a while, Ed.”
“Thanks for the violent welcome, Cedi.”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t call me that.”
“Then, shall I call you Your Grace, the Duke?”
“Spare me.”
Edgar chuckled and sat down. Cedric signaled for the maid to prepare tea, then sat opposite him, crossing his legs.
“How does it feel to be back?”
“How do you think? It’s good to be home. Even if the people act exactly the same way they used to, it’s still nice to see them.”
“It seems you’ve been traveling quite a bit.”
“My father dragged me around like a dog. Do you have any idea how many parties I had to attend just to show my face?”
He shuddered, though his playful smile remained. Edgar spoke as if his father were a tyrant, but Cedric, who knew the depth of the Dawson family’s affection, didn’t bother with empty consolations.
“So, did you hear any interesting rumors?”
“Hmm… that the House of Listerwell cut off their guardianship of their niece?”
Cedric paused. “You know of the House of Listerwell?”
“Rather than the house, I know Bella Listerwell and Harriet Listerwell. Both are famous, aren’t they?”
Cedric had no interest in either woman, but he found himself curious about the news of Harriet’s severed guardianship.
“What do you mean by cutting off guardianship? Does that mean she has found a different guardian?”
“No. I heard they just discarded her while she was exiled to a convent.”
“Then what happens to her?”
“She has to become a nun, I suppose. I heard she caused quite a lot of trouble even while I was away.”
Edgar picked up the teacup, his eyes glinting with mischief as he looked at Cedric. “You’re still not saying anything. They say you’re the protagonist of the last scandal that woman caused!”
“Can you really call that a scandal?”
“Of course! A woman hitting on a man and getting publicly humiliated for it.”
He drank his tea, waiting for a reaction. Despite his flighty demeanor, Edgar was the eldest son of a Count and moved with practiced grace.
“It wasn’t a big deal. I lost a brooch; she apparently picked it up and wore it without knowing its origin. I was sensitive because of my father, and I ended up causing a scene.”
“That’s a bit different from the version I heard.”
“Whichever version it is, it’s not a story I want to dwell on.”
Edgar, knowing exactly how to draw the line, shifted gears. There was no rumor or jest worth enjoying if it meant making his friend uncomfortable.
“Well, anyway. I need to impose on you for a while.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Edgar scratched the back of his neck. “My father has started to get suspicious. Why else do you think he dragged me around without letting me make my own plans the moment I returned?”
At the word *suspicious*, the warmth vanished from Cedric’s expression. The fact that Edgar was a key member of his secret intelligence organization, Cloud, was a secret kept even from his own family.
“Where did he catch on?”
“I don’t know, but he requested to see my attendance record. He found out that the son who studied abroad with such passion for Candia literature had an attendance record that barely avoided expulsion.”
Cedric rubbed his forehead. “You should have at least used a proxy to manage that.”
“How was I supposed to know he’d go that far?”
“So? What excuse did you give?”
“What kind of excuse could a ‘literary youth’ possibly sputter?” Edgar spread his arms wide and shouted proudly. “Love! That’s all there is to it!”