“How dare a mere noble! How dare you defy the Imperial Family!”
The Emperor was in a hurry. He was pathologically impatient. The longer the Empress remained unconscious, the more his anxiety festered. In the quiet of her prolonged absence, rumors had begun to coil like snakes, dredging up the ancient grievances between him and his wife.
The marriage had to proceed without a single flaw; it was the Emperor’s only way to project the image of a normal, stable household. That was why he intended to use Krania’s niece, Kaella, to bind the Lyussenford Grand Duke more firmly to his house, and why he sought to publicly claim the Empress’s son as his own. To Peon, the reasoning was twisted, but the Emperor was an incomprehensible creature by nature.
‘He was exactly like this before.’
Peon remembered. When the Emperor had been desperate to conceive with the Empress—to the point of harboring a grotesque jealousy toward Peon—and had begun seeking out other women, he had been just as frantic, just as unhinged.
He had been desperate to prove his own fertility, resulting in a swarm of illegitimate children. When the count exceeded ten in a single year, he had paused, perhaps sensing the public’s growing disgust. But as those children sickened and died, one by one, the Emperor’s behavior turned pathological. Even after the chaos, he could never outrun the whispers that his seed was cursed.
It was the same now. He was scrambling to bury the talk of an abnormal Imperial lineage by grasping at straws, desperate to explain away the Empress’s collapse. The more he heard the whispers, the more he became obsessed with the ‘form of a normal family,’ clawing at the facade as if in a seizure. His fear of losing his wife had morphed into a distorted, selfish brand of atonement.
That was why, the moment he heard the Duchess of Monde had shown the slightest defiance toward Kaella, he had banned her from the Imperial Palace. He willfully ignored the fact that the Duchess was the Empress’s closest friend and her chief lady-in-waiting.
“Lyussenford and Ostain shall be the pillars that hold up this Empire.”
The Emperor muttered like a madman, yet that deranged mind functioned with a cold, calculated rationality to serve his own ends. Everyone feared him.
Before the regression, Peon had resisted him, and the Emperor had crushed him for it. This time, because the Duchess of Monde had drawn his ire, the Emperor would show no mercy.
“The two pillars must bolster the Crown Prince. This is all for the sake of the Empress, Peon. Surely the Empress of Krania would worry about whether Krania is running properly, wouldn’t she?”
His mother was a woman who wouldn’t have cared if Krania burned to the ground, but Peon answered with a quiet, hollow affirmation.
“It is a cause for celebration and an honor. I will not forgive anyone who ruins this. Your marriage must proceed without a hitch.”
The Emperor’s eyes were bloodshot. If the news that Kaella had refused the union and attempted to flee had reached his ears, the consequences would have been catastrophic.
‘The Ostain Ducal House would have been leveled.’
Kaella would have paid a price far steeper than merely marrying Peon. She would have been stripped of her title, discarded, and forced into a miserable union with a man of lower status and advanced age.
The Emperor never forgave a slight to his pride. His definition of the “Imperial Family” shifted with his whims, but any disrespect toward those within that sphere was an insult to himself. Now, that sphere had expanded to include the Duke of Ostain—a man he hadn’t previously considered worthy of the Imperial circle.
“Tsk, things always twist right before a major occasion.”
The Emperor clicked his tongue, his displeasure with the Duchess of Monde palpable.
“Marriage must align with status. Even if your heart wanders, the blood in your veins must be noble.”
That tiresome obsession with blood. Peon answered with a mechanical “Yes, yes,” his tone drained of all sincerity.
“She is already frail. How difficult it must be for her to prepare for a wedding, especially when she was so shocked she fainted at the mere mention of it?”
“I believe the young lady is occupied with the wedding preparations, following the recent arrival of the Kerujan delegation.”
He couldn’t simply brush off the talk of Kaella. If the best course was to endure the marriage, eliminate the Emperor, secure her future, and obtain a clean divorce, he had to protect her. Yet, a bitter, self-deprecating laugh rose in his throat.
How could Kaella, the noble Lady of Ostain, be reduced to such pathetic choices? He had to strive to grant her more. Whether that was true atonement or mere self-satisfaction, he couldn’t say.
In that sense, Peon realized he and the mad Emperor were much alike. They both sacrificed an innocent woman and called it an act of grace.
“The young lady must have been very upset, right?”
“She was composed.”
Kaella had maintained her dignity even in her final moments, even as she was falsely accused and thrown into the tower. She had died without being able to close her eyes. How much pain had she buried inside?
“Well, her character is fine. Calm, polite, reasonable. I will deal with the Duchess of Monde, so tell her to take care of her health.”
“Your Majesty should care for your own health as well. You are balancing the Empress’s needs with these wedding arrangements.”
“You are quite attentive to me these days.”
The Emperor laughed, clearly amused.
“I must be getting old.”
Peon brushed it off, masking his anxiety over the fact that there was no way to quietly dissolve his marriage to Kaella. Who could have known the Duchess of Monde would fall so hard? The status of the Lady of Ostain was rising to dangerous, unmanageable heights.
“The Crown Prince should be the same.”
“I am the one who is late. Surely, the Crown Prince is fast.”
“That remains to be seen. Anyway, the conversation has wandered; take good care of the young lady.”
Peon replied with a heavy, earnest sincerity.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ･
Having finished his audience with the Emperor, Peon returned to his study and looked down at the box of diamonds on his desk.
No diamond surpassing these twelve—the Kervan Series—would ever be discovered again. The owner of such a treasure, destined for history, should have been the Grand Duchess of Lyussenford.
As a foolish husband who had been too free with his resources—giving the three largest stones to the Emperor, two to the pestering Beatrice, and dumping the rest into military funds—he didn’t want to repeat his past errors. Yet, he seemed to lack the instinct for a woman’s heart, stumbling over every gesture.
“You brought the whole collection to the Lady of Ostain?”
Among the blunt Northern knights, Sir Renard, who was uniquely gifted at reading the room, knew that the Grand Duke of Lyussenford was currently adrift in misery. Even if the Grand Duke’s face remained a mask of stone, Sir Renard knew the signs.
“You should have given them as finished pieces, Your Highness…”
“Was that the mistake?”
Peon sighed. Having never learned the sophisticated Krain-style etiquette or how to treat women, he had faltered again. It had been a blunder to have a knight shadow Kaella, which had clearly upset her, and now this. It was pathetic.
The only noblewomen he knew were the clamorous Duchess of Monde, the scheming Beatrice, and his mother—elegant, distant, and unconditionally loving. Kaella, who had been raised with such care, was a puzzle he didn’t know how to solve. He should have spoken to her before the regression. He hadn’t known what she liked or who she really was. He had avoided her, terrified of letting her into his heart while his own life was bound by such rigid, suffocating limitations. It was absurd. To be afraid of her meant, in the end, that she was already lodged deep within him.
“What did she say?”
“She said it was excessive. That His Majesty the Emperor would be displeased.”
How terrified must Kaella be of the Emperor to say such a thing immediately? Ever since the day the Duke of Ostain was nearly murdered by the Emperor’s own hand, Kaella had lived in mortal fear.
Peon had harbored suspicions since the day he found her in front of the monster’s garden, disheveled and frantic. It was as if she had known exactly what would befall her father.
Perhaps….
“Ah, is that it? Then have them made into finished pieces, one by one, starting from the smallest.”
At Sir Renard’s words, which cut through his internal turmoil, Peon’s gaze shifted to the smallest stone. Even the smallest was nearly 6 carats—perfect for a ring or pendant. What had Beatrice done with her share? He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He only knew he wanted to offer Kaella something special, something novel and beautiful, to distinguish her from the ghosts of his past.
Even if she were someone he would eventually part with—someone he should never have seen at all.
“Send it back to the jeweler. As you said, we start small.”
“Yes, Your Highness. What shall I have them create?”
Peon might have considered himself ignorant of women, but he had spent his life observing the jewelry his mother wore, the discernment acquired over years that no amount of wealth could purchase.
“Start with a ring. As for the rest, take the jeweler’s advice. Anything that the Grand Duchess’s…”
The title slipped out like a habit. Throughout the days he had referred to her as ‘Grand Duchess’ instead of Kaella, the woman herself had seemed to fade. Would that title even be a comfort to her?
Seeing the Grand Duke call the Lady of Ostain the Grand Duchess when she wasn’t even one yet, Sir Renard looked slightly bewildered. Their master was far more attached than he dared to admit.
“No. Something that specifically suits the young lady.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
It wasn’t an object to be passed down through generations to the future mistress of Lyussenford. He only wanted it to be an asset for Kaella to take with her after the divorce. He wanted there to be at least one thing of value she could claim after her time in the North. It wouldn’t compensate for the time and reputation she had lost, but it was a beginning.
He had to send her off quickly. Which meant he had to deal with the Emperor even faster.
“I will handle it as you commanded. And Your Highness, news just arrived: the Duchess of Monde has been banned from the Imperial Palace for three months. It has not been formally announced yet.”
Was this what the Emperor meant by ‘solving’ it? Peon touched his lips with fingertips calloused from the sword. Sir Renard pulled a thin document from his pocket and placed it on the desk. Peon read the draft.
“…A member of the Imperial Family who will soon be the Grand Duchess of Lyussenford.”
The status of the Lyussenford Grand Dukedom was inflating rapidly. One moment they were mere mercenaries and human shields, and now this.
“Everyone is clawing for status, so isn’t it a good thing the Emperor speaks of us so officially?”
The people of Lyussenford hated the Emperor, yet they were starved for his recognition. The ostracized North couldn’t help it. While they claimed their pride was enough, they still bridled at being ignored.
“It is a good thing.”
Peon muttered the words, though they felt heavy. He didn’t know if it was a blessing to rise when the Emperor raised them, only to be plunged into the abyss when he inevitably struck them down.
By Imperial order, the Duchess of Monde was barred from the palace. Three months meant she would effectively miss the wedding.
“The whispers will be endless.”
Since the Duchess, who was expected to be the mother-in-law of the Grand Duke, had insulted Kaella and been punished for it, the social circles would tear it apart with delight. For the Duchess, who had no wealth, the loss of standing was a fatal blow.
It would have been better if he had regressed to when he was thirteen, or even earlier. If he had, he might have spared Kaella the humiliation of being labeled a ‘replacement.’ Knowing the sheer weight of the sacrifice required to turn back time, he still felt only regret.
“It will pass soon.”
Sir Renard hesitated, offering a small, uncomfortable comfort.
“There is no need to comfort me.”
It was fate, or perhaps a curse. Peon was a man too flawed for a woman like Kaella, and their bond was an unhappy entanglement where she alone suffered the weight of his legacy.
“How could I dare to comfort Your Highness? I only heard a saying. They say if the bride cries even a little, people whisper she is being sold, and if the groom squints from the sunlight, they say he finds the bride ugly. Rumors are just the nature of a wedding.”
Peon couldn’t even summon a laugh at the thought of the rumors following them to the North.
“But they say those words vanish the moment there is a child, so they aren’t worth worrying about. That is what I heard.”
“Who said that?”
“My grandmother.”
The logic of the upper class was simple. Whatever the circumstances, if the marriage produced an heir, it was considered sacred.
But that was a world away from Peon. An heir? He couldn’t even protect the wife he had; what kind of father would he be?
Peon, who hadn’t even entertained the thought of a child with Kaella, decided that if his marriage ended in a quiet, clean divorce, it would be a triumph.
Even if it were a doomed union, he alone should be the one ruined—not the bride. That was why he had gone to the mines, working toward the happiness of only one person.
Money was the only thing required for a wedding where, at the very least, the bride needed to be beautiful.