By now, the marriage between Grand Duke Lyussenford and Lady Ostain had become the center of intense interest.
For starters, the groom was handsome, and the bride was beautiful. The groom carried a tragic history, and the bride was a sheltered only child and a wealthy heiress.
But on top of that, the groom’s close friend was the queen of high society, and she and the bride had actually come to blows.
And this queen of high society had gone to see the Grand Duke, only to be kicked out in a fit of rage?
This was, quite literally, the most entertaining spectacle in the world—the kind of drama where if you missed even a single detail, you were a fool.
The incident with Duchess Monde had been amusing enough, but once Beatrice Lavalle stepped in personally, Krain was in an uproar. Everyone was dying of curiosity, wondering what would happen next. Had Duchess Monde apologized to the Lady? What on earth had Beatrice and the Grand Duke talked about that made her storm out in two minutes? And what had the Lady and the Grand Duke discussed afterward? They were desperate to know.
Since everyone possessed a touch of voyeurism, even the Emperor, who had grown gaunt because of the Empress, went so far as to ask. He couldn’t query his nephew, who collapsed at the mere mention of marriage out of pride, so Peon was the easiest target.
Seeing that he was being asked about events that took place within the Imperial Palace, it seemed the Emperor’s “ears” weren’t doing their job properly this time. Peon remembered every single detail faithfully.
“It is a marriage arranged by Your Majesty, so I must remain faithful to it.”
Peon, having spoken calmly, looked at the Emperor with eyes that seemed to ask, ‘Is that not so?’ The Emperor, who had lectured him about the Empress, mentioning “dirty blood” and warning him not to betray his vows or covet what belonged to others, had no response to this.
The Emperor merely thought that Beatrice Lavalle was no longer a useful hostage for Peon. Since the hostage role was now shifting to the House of Ostain, it didn’t matter to the Emperor.
“True, you are getting married, so your mindset must be different.”
The Emperor nodded, thinking that perhaps the man was changing because of the union. He felt somewhat satisfied. There was little Peon could say before the Emperor. He couldn’t even bring himself to ask about his mother’s condition, which he was most curious about. That would be poking the hornet’s nest of the Emperor’s mood.
Yet, if he didn’t ask at all, the Emperor would curse him as an unfilial son. It was exhausting to appease the temperamental, capricious, absolute power that was the Emperor.
“This marriage must go well. Kaella must be feeling slighted. You should comfort her well.”
Ah. It was not yet the time to ask about his mother’s health. The very fact that the topic of conversation kept veering toward Kaella and his marriage suggested there was no change in the Empress’s condition.
As he had expected, Peon withdrew without asking further. His mother’s condition would likely not improve. Leaving that aside, Peon let out a quiet sigh as he stepped away from the Soleil Palace.
‘Comfort her, he says.’
If he went to Kaella now and apologized again, what would it be other than, ‘I’m sorry my mistress made you uncomfortable’? He had lived a trashy life. Leaving the suffocating Soleil Palace behind, he wandered aimlessly.
He, too, was exhausted. Since returning through regression, the only time he had rested properly was when he stayed by Kaella’s side while she hid in the conference hall, preparing for the arrival of the Kerujan delegation. Kaella, who had turned red after throwing her heels and hitting him, had been incredibly lovely. Perhaps he hadn’t known then because she was so dear to him. Come to think of it, Kaella hadn’t been herself even back then.
His throat felt constricted and breathless, so Peon kept walking aimlessly.
‘Is she crying again?’
If she were, what would he even do? Someone needed to comfort her, but he was immediately disqualified for lacking the qualifications.
When she was young, Kaella used to grab his hem and sit down, sobbing loudly. He had to wipe her tears, hug her tightly, and brush off her dress before she would finally take his hand and stand up. But since coming to Lyussenford, she hadn’t shed a single tear in front of him. That crybaby young lady couldn’t possibly have stopped crying. She must have been hiding somewhere to weep.
“How vulgar, what is this…”
Yes. Just like that.
Peon immediately suppressed his presence. The area behind the Empress’s palace, once filled with the sounds of children playing, was now occupied only by lush trees. From a place that had seen no human traffic for nearly twenty years, he heard the sound of someone crying in annoyance.
Leaning against a giant oak tree, Kaella had indeed kicked off her heels and was clutching a bowl filled with strawberries and blueberries. Overwhelmed with irritation, she glanced to the side while sniffling, grabbed the cream jar intended for dipping, and poured the entire thing into the bowl.
The sound of her slapping the bottom of the cream jar was irritable. It was a bit lacking in grace, but since she hadn’t bothered to scoop a little into a dish and had brought the whole thing, it didn’t matter.
“…It looks delicious.”
Kaella sniffled and wiped away her tears. She knew it wasn’t worth crying over. After all, she had won this time. It was annoying that she had broken all her long-held convictions to fight back by unhesitatingly calling Beatrice “sister” and treating Peon like an “oppa” who had a mistress. And the fact that she was ending up married to Peon again was just something that couldn’t be helped.
But even though her head knew it, her eyes seemed broken, as tears kept falling. Kaella took a large spoonful of the berries mixed with cream and focused on chewing. Spring strawberries and sugar-preserved blueberries, available only in Krain, combined with the soft, rich cream, were the best comfort. To someone who had once starved to death while missing foods she could never have in a cold place, there was no greater solace than this.
“Delicious.”
It really was. Mixing a whole jar of thick cream into the fragrant strawberries and sweet, tangy blueberries—nothing could taste better.
It was unheard of in Krain’s high society for a bride-to-be to clutch such fattening food and eat a whole bowl, but Kaella didn’t care. She had to do everything she wanted before she died.
For example, scratching back at Beatrice without losing, not holding back her anger toward Peon, and eating everything she wanted before starving to death.
Scraping the cream jar clean with a wooden spoon, Kaella looked down at the deep fruit bowl and mumbled.
“Are there no peaches?”
It would have been incredibly delicious if she had sliced peaches into it, too. She recalled the peaches that used to smell sweet and drip juice in the cold north tower of Lyussenford, and the plums that had ripened until their sourness was gone. She should eat them all before being dragged off to Lyussenford.
Thinking that far, Kaella set the spoon down with a click. Having starved to the point of death and died after drinking poison, she was obsessed with food. But just the thought of going to Lyussenford made even her insane appetite plummet. Her heart dropped from the high sky to the low earth several times a day. Finding it difficult to even settle her mind, Kaella leaned against the tree and closed her eyes.
In the end, it felt like it was all her fault. Because she wasn’t Beatrice, because she wasn’t as bright and pretty as Beatrice, because she wasn’t from Lyussenford, and simply because she was just Kaella…
But what was she supposed to do about being born this way? If she was born like this, was she not even allowed to like someone or do her duty to the best of her ability?
Kaella opened her eyes, brows furrowed tightly, and looked ahead.
“Who is it?”
Without realizing it, she snapped the question at the person who had quietly appeared from between the dense trees. If it were the usual Kaella, she never would have done that, but with her face swollen from crying, her shoes thrown haphazardly, and sitting on the ground clutching a bowl of fruit and cream, she was hardly in a state to speak gently to the fiancé she didn’t even want to see.
“Are you here to scold me? Did ‘Sister’ go find ‘Oppa’ and say something else? So you came to get angry?”
Having used it once on Beatrice, the honorific came out unhesitatingly. Her usage was inconsistent, and she had sharply cut off the polite endings she worked so hard to maintain, but what did it matter? Kaella was willful.
“…Do you want a peach?”
Peon looked at Kaella, who was fuming with red-rimmed eyes, with an unreadable expression, then suddenly held out what he was carrying. In his hands, glistening with moisture, was a heap of cleanly washed peaches. They were so large and ripe that their scent wafted to Kaella, even several steps away.
She stared at the peach platter and Peon with a child-like expression. He was matching her tone of speech just as she had been using it. Kaella replied with an expression that looked like she would burst into tears if touched.
“I want some.”
As if still treating her like a younger sister, Peon smiled faintly and came over to sit down. The platter piled high with peaches was quite large, and a small paring knife rested inside.
“Shall I slice them for you?”
“Yes.”
Kaella held out the bowl she had been clutching. Instead of the young lady who had never used a knife, Peon took the paring knife and began to slice the juice-dripping peaches into small pieces. Kaella couldn’t wait and picked up a freshly sliced peach to eat. It was very sweet and melted in her mouth. Fantastic.
The peaches he sliced tumbled onto her wooden spoon. Kaella ate a few bites and muttered.
“I have no intention of getting in the way of you two.”
“We aren’t in a relationship to be hindered,” replied Peon, who was strangely accommodating to the temperamental Kaella.
“I don’t care if you have an heir with Beatrice.”
At those words, Peon’s hand, which had been slicing the peaches, stopped. Kaella looked up a bit late. He was staring straight at her.
“Not true. That won’t happen.”
Unexpectedly, he said it firmly, with a serious face. She was the Lady of Ostain; if she went so far as to say this, she had swallowed all her pride to say it, so why get so serious? It was embarrassing. Kaella lowered her gaze again.
“I just want you two to be happy.”
Even though it was a spiteful heart, pushing him away because Beatrice was incapable of making him happy.
“That is not the kind of happiness I desire, Kaella.”
Kaella didn’t answer and ate a large spoonful of the fragrant fruit pieces mixed with cream. She stuffed her cheeks until they were about to burst, chewed them, and said another thing.
“Anyway, it’s a marriage you don’t want either, Oppa. I know.”
“It’s a marriage you don’t want either.”
“Yes.”
Kaella, spoon in her mouth, nodded as she watched pieces of sliced peach fall into the bowl.
“Am I just a bastard who stares only at Beatrice, whom I kicked out today?”
“Yes.”
As she nodded faithfully, Kaella looked up, a beat behind.
“You kicked her out?”
“You’re not denying being a bastard, then.”
She even took the spoon out of her mouth and asked, “You kicked her out?”
Peon didn’t answer, just watched her mutely while cleanly slicing a peach.
“Why?”
At the look of utter incomprehension, he had nothing to say. To her, he was just that kind of guy. A loud, over-the-top bastard who was fixed solely on Beatrice and couldn’t see anything else.
“Why make such a fuss while getting married?”
“I don’t mind if you make a fuss.”
“Then why did you cry?”
Peon pointed to Kaella’s red, swollen eyes.
“Because I’ve become a woman who fights with a mistress.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Forget it. It can’t be helped now.”
Inevitably, he would ignore her, and she would inevitably die quietly in the cold of Lyussenford. Quietly, without anyone knowing.
“It’s not your fault, Oppa.”
The marriage itself hadn’t been his fault.
“It’s not my fault either.”
What happened after the marriage wasn’t Kaella’s fault.
“It can’t be helped. Let’s just live carelessly.”
Regardless of what Peon did, Kaella intended to live carelessly and die.
“Carelessly, how?”
“Just, well… The Grand Duke will do what the Grand Duke does…”
“And the Grand Duchess will do what the Grand Duchess does?”
No. I’m just going to die.
Kaella swallowed the words. She could never be honest with Peon again. Only by pretending to be a kind little sister who had no power and posed no threat to him could she avoid a painful death. She was already shrinking away and bowing before him, but her pride wasn’t hurt. She had no pride in front of Peon.
“What is it that the Grand Duchess does?”
His voice was quite soft as he asked. It was the tone of an older brother humoring a much younger sister, but peel back a layer, and there was no concern for her—it was merely assessing whether she was a useful card or not. She knew.
“Nothing different from now. I’ll just stay still, and I won’t take an interest in you, Oppa.”
I won’t do anything, so please, I just hope you don’t kill me painfully. Dying of starvation was horribly painful. Kaella was a herbivore that flipped over and exposed its belly to a carnivore. A herbivore trembling, begging to have its throat cut in one stroke.
“That means I shouldn’t take an interest in you either.”
“You were never interested in me to begin with.”
For how long had those eyes, full of moisture, excitement, affection, and interest, followed him? Peon looked quietly into her dry, blue eyes. Those eyes no longer met his. Even making eye contact was a privilege. A privilege that had been given to Peon, one that would never be given again.
“Kaella.”
His coolly gentle voice called her as if to seduce her. No matter how much Kaella tried to escape, she was always reeled in by a little interest tossed her way like a favor.
“When you know so well that I am a bastard, why are you so quick to jump to conclusions?”
Kaella held her breath and only moved her pupils to look up. A hand, wet with sticky fruit juice, held out a piece of peach flesh, sliced a bit large, toward her. A sweet scent wafted from close by. If she swallowed it, it would be very sweet.
“If I take an interest in you, that itself would be the act of a bastard.”
Clatter, the wooden spoon hit the bowl.