“There will be times when I must obstruct what you are doing, Your Grace. I ask for your understanding in advance.”
Was this what he meant a moment ago? Kaella felt her heart drop, unbidden.
What on earth was Peon doing to Beatrice Lavalle, the woman the Emperor had sent specially via magic tools?
‘He shouldn’t be doing that.’
Ironically, even she—having already experienced death and prepared to gladly welcome its return—felt the same. *He shouldn’t be doing that.* This was a disaster in the making. If he defied the Emperor, even the meager support arriving in Lyussenford would be severed; if matters worsened, the Emperor might raise an army to grind Lyussenford into dust. She had no desire to face that catastrophe again, to watch innocent blood spill onto the snow as wailing and despair consumed the land.
In Krain, he had pandered to the Emperor’s whims well enough and hadn’t uttered a single complaint about marrying Kaella. Why, then, was he acting like this toward Beatrice?
The two were rumored to be remembered in future chronicles as tragic lovers. For Kaella, the mere fact that she would go down in history as an obstacle—a foreign substance that interfered with their destiny—was a deep humiliation. Yet, after Peon had explicitly declared there was nothing between them, how could their relationship turn so hostile so quickly? Did it even make sense? Peon and Beatrice were supposed to be eternal lovers.
“Hey, Peon, why are you like this? We’ve known each other since we were children.”
If Kaella was flustered, how flustered must Beatrice have been? This was an impossibility in the world she once knew. Whenever the three of them gathered, the initiative had always been hers; Kaella was nothing more than an annoying piece of deadweight. And now, she was being told to show respect to that very same deadweight?
He had been conditioned to prioritize Beatrice and the Empress above all else. Had Peon gone mad?
“Does knowing each other since childhood mean that laws and propriety no longer matter? If so, you should also refuse the respect Her Grace is showing you. You want to receive what you are owed, yet you dislike fulfilling your duties. You Imperial nobles certainly have a convenient way of applying the law.”
Kaella’s shoulders shrank instinctively beneath her furs. It was a familiar disdain. It wasn’t directed at her, yet seeing Peon turn such cold, oppressive iciness toward anyone was terrifying. Even that meddlesome butler had retreated into the shadows. How must Beatrice feel, standing face-to-face with such contempt?
“I—I thought we were all close friends, that’s why I acted that way. Our friendship hasn’t changed, Peon. Why are you like this?”
Beatrice was in a position where she never needed to speak logically. That was a path for someone like Kaella, whose situation was desperate. Beatrice had always found a smile, a sad expression, or a single tear drop enough to resolve anything.
She asked with such a hurt, aggrieved expression: *“It’s strange of you to act this way toward me. Why are you doing this?”* It was a look designed to make onlookers feel like they had committed some heinous crime by daring to embarrass the world’s greatest beauty.
Usually, those around her would naturally step in to resolve the situation as Beatrice desired. But there was no one here to do that.
‘What is that girl doing!’
Flustered, Beatrice glanced at Kaella, who should have been taking her side—who was expected to. Shouldn’t this younger girl, whom she had treated like a servant since childhood, be stepping up on her own?
But that idiot Kaella, perhaps thinking she was something special just because Peon was taking her side, only stood there blankly. Beatrice’s annoyance peaked. This was a situation she had almost never experienced.
“Close friends, you say.”
His low, powerful voice rang out, reacting as if he had heard such a thing for the first time.
“If that were our relationship, sharing greetings and asking after each other’s well-being would come first. Is shouting at others like they are servants and throwing tantrums at will the kind of friendship you envision, my Lady?”
She wasn’t worth further engagement. Peon turned his body directly toward Kaella.
“Your Grace, let us go inside now. You have had enough fresh air; you must rest…”
“I, I’m sorry!”
Beatrice’s scream, bursting out convulsively, buried Peon’s words. It was so loud that it echoed against the stone walls of Lyussenford Castle. With a beet-red face and eyes fixed on the floor, Beatrice did something she had never done in her life.
“Sorry… I am sorry. I apologize.”
The voice, shaking violently at first, became increasingly smooth with every repetition, regaining its composure. The change was so rapid that the head maid, watching from the side, was dumbfounded to see Beatrice return to her shameless, unfazed mask as if nothing had happened.
“My joy at seeing you caused me to make a great mistake.”
However, the head maid did not miss the fingers trembling between the shiny silver hair, the taut neck, and the long, hanging sleeves of her dress.
“Your Grace will forgive me with a generous heart, won’t you?”
There was a bitter edge to the “Your Grace” she pressed out. Overall, it was a slapdash, insincere apology. And it was the first apology Kaella had ever received.
The gazes of those present turned to Kaella. She took no joy in an apology that demanded forgiveness. She didn’t want to forgive her, and regardless, this apology wasn’t something she had earned—it was something the Grand Duke, the master of Lyussenford, had obtained for her.
If the Grand Duke took your side, your status in Lyussenford rose; if he ignored you, you plummeted into the abyss. Every time something happened, she could only think that she should hurry up and die. There was no hope in Lyussenford.
“I apologize for the lack of preparation upon your sudden arrival, Sister. I will have a room prepared, but it may take some time.”
She did not say she would forgive her. She absolutely avoided words that would cover up Beatrice’s actions by suggesting *anyone can make mistakes*. Kaella did not return the ball that Beatrice had tossed; she merely used it to her own advantage.
“While we are preparing a room, Sister, we should also prepare one for the investigator the Emperor mentioned. When might they be arriving?”
Peon looked at Kaella, who was gathering the most important information for him. In truth, he had been looking only at her for quite some time, not at Beatrice.
“How would I kn… know that?”
Beatrice corrected the end of her sentence while glancing at Peon.
“Then do you know when the investigator departed from Krain?”
It seemed as though the Grand Duchess was displaying infinite patience toward the incredibly rude Lady Lavalle. But Kaella was not being patient; she simply felt that Beatrice was not worth the effort of getting angry. She knew all too well that people didn’t change, and that Beatrice would be exactly like this until the day she died.
“I believe they departed a fortnight ago…”
To think she would unilaterally speak honorifically to that girl! Beatrice’s pride was deeply wounded.
“Ah, a fortnight ago. That will be helpful. Please stay in my chambers for today.”
Beatrice furrowed her brows at Kaella.
‘Is she seriously talking down to me?’
The natural, clipped way of speaking was incredibly unpleasant.
‘Who does she think she is, trying to stand on equal footing with me… how dare she.’
Beatrice suppressed her resentment. Now that Peon, that blockhead who considered laws and propriety the most important things in the world, was taking Kaella’s side, there was nothing she could do.
“Yes, I shall do that.”
However, she was unaware that her hostility was being read by the head maid, the butler, Kaella, and Peon alike. She had never once learned to manage her expression in front of someone she deemed beneath her.
･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ･
Everything was so transparent to Kaella that it was almost uninteresting. Beatrice would come and stir things up again. Their plan to count the silverware with Peon tonight was cancelled.
*I should probably stay tucked away in my room. No, should I send Marie away first?*
Whenever Beatrice came to Lyussenford, Kaella’s standing always shrank. Beatrice would wander the castle, meddling, and suddenly appear by Peon’s side.
It was truly amazing. Kaella, having heard it before she died in the North Tower, knew that Beatrice despised Peon, calling him a fool. Yet, the dedication she showed in chasing him was astonishing. Was she doing it because the Emperor ordered her to? Or had Beatrice truly loved the Emperor that much?
‘Ah, then again…’
Kaella had been the same; she understood that. Because she loved him, she could do anything. If she could see him happy, she could work through the night; if he smiled, she felt nothing but gratitude. That was how it had been.
In any case, she didn’t want to watch Beatrice put on a pathetic act of feigned innocence. She would stay cooped up in the Grand Duke’s bedroom. Kaella even had her dinner sent up, using the excuse of feeling unwell. There was no point in eating at a table with Beatrice; she’d just end up with indigestion.
“Your Grace.”
Cecil, who had learned the new title first, approached. It seemed the meal had arrived. Kaella nodded and moved to rise.
“His Highness has arrived.”
“Hm?”
Before she could verify, a massive man strode in and filled the room.
“What brings you here, Your Highness?”
“That is what I should be asking you. Where do you hurt? Are you very ill?”
Unlike his usual reticent self, he spoke rapidly with a hint of agitation. His violet eyes wavered as he scrutinized her from head to toe.
“Are you feeling unwell because you stepped out into the cold air today?”
His hand, which seemed ready to reach out and check her health at any moment, ended up grasping only the air. When confronted with his trembling eyes and slightly pale face, the suspicions she had buried kept raising their heads. *Why?* Why was he like this? As if he had committed some grave sin, why?
“I am just a little tired. You need not concern yourself.”
“How can I not concern myself? It is because I took you out that you are exhausted. Sit down. Quickly.”
He sat Kaella back down and personally draped the blanket she had pushed aside over her knees. Then, he sat across from her and checked the meal being set on the table. Unexpectedly, the meal was for two.
“I have decided to eat here as well.”
“But, Your Highness, you have a guest; you should go to the dining hall.”
“Where would I go, leaving Your Grace behind?”
It wasn’t a question, but a declaration. His tone was resolute. That meant Beatrice Lavalle would be left to eat alone, a serious breach of etiquette.
“Your Highness. She is someone sent by the Emperor; would it not be better to dine with her?”
“She burst in without any notice.”
He spoke slowly as he handed a warm towel to Kaella. When she took it in surprise, he took the towel intended for him and wiped his hands.
“If the hostess is ill due to an unfortunate event, the guest ought to make accommodations for that much.”
Peon had a rugged, masculine face, but his black eyelashes were long, and his eyes were delicate. Violet irises shone from beneath his lashes as he peered at her.
“…I would rather be with Your Grace than with an uninvited guest who came suddenly.”
His eyes were full of anxiety, as if afraid she might tell him to leave. Was it because of the foolish lingering hope Kaella still held that she saw it that way, or was it truly the case?
Since nothing but situations opposite to her routine kept popping up, she didn’t answer for a while, gauging him. It was Peon who couldn’t even bear the brief silence.
“I truly do not wish to go to the dining hall.”
“Do as you please.”
The face that had looked like a pouting child was instantly stained with deep despair.
“No, I mean, do as you wish.”
He brightened up again immediately. At a glance, there didn’t seem to be much change, but because Kaella had watched this man since they were children, she knew. It was fascinating that such a great Grand Duke, the master of Lyussenford, was so swayed by the words of the insignificant Kaella. She almost wished she could live a little longer just to see more of it.
That she could think such a thing herself was surprising, and having a meal sitting across from him was even more so. Kaella, accustomed to eating alone in silence, felt awkward even having him there.
“Do you only eat that much?”
Kaella had just dipped her spoon into the potato cream soup when she looked up at him, then at his bowl. His was filled with two and a half ladles; hers was not even half full. Peon was tall and broad-framed, but Kaella was not. Yet, he asked with a very serious face.
“Did you ask for only that much, or…”
Or had the insolent kitchen dared to restrict the Grand Duchess’s portions? Peon, who trusted nothing in Lyussenford Castle, felt he needed to stick closer to her. Even the smallest and most trivial things might have been twisted.
“This is the amount confirmed by the doctor. I cannot eat more than this.”
“How has your appetite been lately, Your Highness? I have ordered them to prepare various dishes.”
“Ah. So that is why the meals have changed so much. I found them good.”
“Really?”
Seeing Kaella’s eyes widen, Peon surprisingly burst into laughter.
“Why would I lie about something like a meal? They were good. They were dishes I ate in Krain, so they brought back old memories.”
They were nostalgic dishes he had eaten when he lived in the corner of the Imperial Palace with his mother, whom others had pointed fingers at as “dirty and defiled.” Peon, who had originally considered food a mere necessity, realized in Lyussenford that he had forgotten the joy of eating.
“That is a relief. I am looking for a chef who knows a variety of dishes. If you could tell me on which day you liked the food, I will be sure to refer to it in the final selection.”
The food tasted sweet, and the conversation was not just easy, it was incredibly pleasant. It was an ordinary conversation between a lord and his wife, so why was it this enjoyable? No, perhaps the enjoyment lay in the very existence of Kaella. Even when she smiled only formally, Peon was delighted.
Could he not stay like this for a little longer? Just until the suspicion that had captured him became reality?
He dared to hope that his punishment would be suspended. He recalled the question he had asked in the dragon’s realm and looked at his beautiful wife.
*…Is there a possibility that other people might also return to the past together?*
The question he had asked the master of magic while trembling miserably was becoming increasingly clear, but he craved a stay of execution. Not yet. Just a little longer. Please.