1.
“Why?”
Gregory, the officially recognized son among the Emperor’s illegitimate children and first in line for the throne, was less than pleased with recent developments in the imperial palace. His father’s grip on reality seemed to be fraying.
“It is the Emperor’s decree.”
The attendants and knights guarding the chambers with iron-clad loyalty would not let him pass. Only those permitted by the Emperor himself could enter. Gregory was not one of them.
The Crown Prince, unable to defy the decree, found himself face-to-face with the Grand Duke of Lyussenford, who was approaching from behind. He was one of only three people in the empire to hold that title.
Unlike Gregory, he possessed a stature that carried the imperial-style heavy coats and capes with ease. He had no need for the ostentatious epaulets or tassels Gregory used to embellish his own appearance.
Above all, his signature style—wearing a cape over one shoulder while leaving the other bare, showcasing a broad, sturdy frame—only accentuated his rugged masculinity. In the presence of the Grand Duke, seven years his senior, Gregory always felt diminished.
“Has the Empire’s second sun arrived first?”
The Grand Duke was sharp and formal, making him difficult to handle. The eight years the Emperor had spent struggling to produce an heir with the Empress were entirely due to the overly capable Peon. The Emperor had tried everything, yet the Empress never conceived another child after him.
“It’s been a while, Grand Duke.”
Unlike Peon’s voice, which was low, thick, and commanding, Gregory’s still lacked a certain weight. He winced inwardly at the sound of his own thin tone.
“Yes, it has. I see you’ve come to have an audience with His Majesty.”
“I came out of concern for the Empress’s condition.”
Gregory knew that, as Crown Prince, he should carry himself with greater dignity. He could almost feel the Emperor’s eyes scrutinizing him, picking him apart, and finding him wanting.
Gregory unconsciously hunched his shoulders. Everything felt like a burden, and a surge of resentment welled up inside him. He was trying his best—he truly was.
“Indeed. Everyone is worried.”
Peon nodded. Despite his mother lying in a coma, he appeared perfectly composed. Just as the Emperor often unfavorably compared Gregory to him, Peon seemed to have mastered the art of suppressing his emotions. Gregory addressed the man who towered over him.
“Are you alright, Grand Duke?”
“You mean me?”
“You seem no different than usual, so I was merely asking.”
It wasn’t that the news of the Empress’s collapse failed to sadden Peon. He felt the grief, but beneath it lay a sense of relief even greater than his sorrow. Perhaps she was finally free, now that she had fallen into a state of unconsciousness, escaping a living hell.
Perhaps, having been harassed by the Emperor for so long, Peon himself was no longer entirely sane. To survive in this nest of vipers, everyone had to be at least moderately unhinged.
“It is a shock for anyone to see their mother collapse,” the Grand Duke replied quietly.
Their conversation faltered as Duke Ostain arrived.
“Please enter, Your Grace. Your Highness.”
Just as they were about to exchange further pleasantries, an attendant stepped forward. The invitation did not include the “Crown Prince.”
Only two people were granted entry to that door: Duke Ostain and the Grand Duke of Lyussenford. The master of the Duchy of Ostain, recognized by the late Emperor, and the Grand Duke recognized by the current one—their authority was absolute. While the Crown Prince wasn’t exactly beneath them, he could hardly afford to disregard them.
The door slammed shut, leaving Gregory in the solitude of the hallway.
･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ･
As the Empress remained unconscious, the nobility held their breath, abandoning parties and concerts in favor of anxious observation.
Everyone prayed for her recovery. Even though she had lived in confinement due to past infidelity, the fact that the Emperor was personally nursing her meant that no one dared act out of line.
Those with the privilege to enter the palace naturally tried to flock to her, but it proved impossible. The Emperor had declared he had no use for anyone other than his half-brother, his daughter—who had been waiting at the Altain Palace—and the Grand Duke of Lyussenford. If even the Crown Prince was forced to wait for an “official application for an audience,” there was no hope for anyone else.
Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise; Kaella could visit the palace accompanied by the Grand Duke and her father. The excuse was to pray for the Empress, but in truth, she went because she could no longer bear to watch her father speak to the Emperor in private.
*It’s a relief,* she thought. *It’s a relief that with the Empress collapsed, His Majesty is no longer focused on Father.*
She might even outlive a Lyussenford warhorse, though she wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse. Just then, someone recognized her.
“My, look who it is. Isn’t it our young lady?”
The Lavalle mother and daughter were walking toward them. Duchess Maria Luisa Lavalle of Monde, known for her outgoing, kind heart, had been a friend of the Empress and had often looked after Peon when he was young. Consequently, Beatrice Lavalle had become Peon’s first love and childhood inseparable. Whenever Kaella went to the palace, Peon was always with Beatrice.
In front of Beatrice, hailed as the beauty of the century, Kaella felt like a piece of furniture tucked away in a hallway. Her presence seemed to evaporate whenever she was near Peon. Deep inside, the pride that had been scorched until only black ash remained began to stir.
“Oh my, you get prettier every day. It’s been a while.”
Every time this happened, Kaella realized this was reality. The vivid sting of inferiority confirmed it wasn’t a dream. The ache in her bones came from wounded self-esteem—the resentment of an unacknowledged wife mixed with bitter jealousy.
There was no signal more certain than this stinging pain. It was laughable. God must have truly pitied her. Kaella managed to summon a polite, twenty-one-year-old’s smile.
“Yes. It has been a while, Duchess Monde. Lady Lavalle.”
Duchess Monde was puffed up with pride, believing her daughter had become the flower of the social scene. She clung to the hope that marrying Beatrice into a wealthy household would resolve their dire financial state, which had become so desperate they had considered selling the building materials of their own castle.
Seeing the Duchess, whose face shone like a full moon, and Beatrice, whose beauty needed no embellishment, something dark and hot surged in Kaella’s chest.
“Hello, Kaella.”
Beatrice’s tone was subtly prickly, a clear grudge over what had occurred at the Altain Palace. Kaella refused to offer the honorific “unni,” keeping her mouth firmly shut.
“How is the Empress? I haven’t even been able to visit. Is His Majesty very angry?”
Ignoring the Duchess’s coquettish tone, Kaella fell into thought. Even if she had lived again, the winners would remain Beatrice—standing there waiting for her shameless mother to speak—and the Emperor.
“I’m not quite sure. I’ve never been inside.”
“Really? But you’re a royal who frequents the Altain Palace. You don’t even know that?”
Dying peacefully in the Krania Empire was impossible without a Herculean effort. Duchess Monde knew her daughter had been kicked out of the Altain Palace and was intentionally twisting the knife. Kaella hadn’t been the one to exile her, but she was the easiest target for the Duchess’s displaced anger.
“It is His Majesty himself who is nursing the Empress.”
“Oh, my. I heard so much about how much His Majesty cherishes you, I assumed you knew something.”
It was standard noble snide-talk. Kaella had been subjected to it so often it wasn’t even worth a rebuttal. In the past, she had tried to trade barbs, but she always looked the fool. A woman without a strong family backing or a husband’s recognition was always left to suffer. There was no shred of childhood affection left in her marriage; Peon had discarded those memories as if they never existed.
“Even as royalty, it seems you’re in a position where you can only sit still. No different from us, is it?”
Kaella remained silent. Her face was known for appearing cold unless she smiled, and even in her stillness, the Duchess knew exactly what she was thinking. She didn’t want to win; she simply lacked the energy.
“Kaella. His Majesty is looking for you. Let’s go.”
A strong, clear voice shook her from her lethargy.
“Oh my, our Pe—”
Duchess Monde’s face brightened, but her greeting, raised several octaves higher than the one she had given Kaella, was abruptly cut off.
“Good day, ladies.”
Peon, having finished his perfunctory greeting, looked only at Kaella.
“Let’s go.”
He offered his hand, as if to escort her in true gentlemanly fashion.
*What’s gotten into him?*
Peon, who once greeted Beatrice with such joy, now treated her as if she were invisible, offering only a dry, barely polite nod to the “two ladies.” Kaella stared at him, bewildered, but as he signaled for her to take his hand, she had no choice but to place her own into his.
“Then, Duchess, we shall take our leave.”
Kaella greeted her and turned away. *He must be cautious because it’s an official setting,* she reasoned. *Don’t think about it.* She took a step.
“It would be best for you to be more careful in the palace, Duchess. His Majesty’s eyes and ears are everywhere.”
Peon’s low voice stopped her in her tracks. He stood still, looking directly at the Duchess.
“I fear someone who knows the difference between a Duchess and a noblewoman might hear you. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”
Peon wrapped his hand firmly around Kaella’s and pulled her along. She followed, dazed, grateful only to be away from the blast zone.
Peon had clearly drawn a line between the Ostain Duchy and the Monde Duchy, speaking to his mother’s friend with a razor-thin veneer of politeness that barely masked his warning: *Don’t you dare act like that toward an Ostain noblewoman.*
By this afternoon, the rumor would spread through Krain. In the heart of the imperial palace, the Grand Duke of Lyussenford had caused a stir. Kaella could feel the stinging gazes piercing the back of her head.
“I’m sorry, Kaella. I’m taking my anger out on you over what happened at the Altain Palace earlier. It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”
Once they were a safe distance away, Peon apologized.
“No. It’s alright.”
Kaella’s response was a reflexive, formal mask of humility.
“Neither of us seems alright.”
Peon offered a bitter smile, but he did not let go of her hand.
“I’m sorry. I won’t let you hear such things ever again.”
“It’s really alright…”
“It’s not. If anyone were to be spoken to that way, it should have been me. Besides, claiming that royalty and nobility are the same was crossing the line.”
The cold, icy temperament of Peon was directed at Duchess Monde, not her—yet Kaella winced. The coldness was all too familiar.
*We shouldn’t have married.*
She realized once again that they might have remained friends had they not. Before the marriage, he had been kind. She must absolutely not marry this man again. Her father was alive for now; she would not have to.
The Emperor was likely holding Beatrice hostage to manipulate Peon. Kaella felt lucky she wouldn’t have to watch her husband lose his mind over another woman again. The possibility of a peaceful death had increased, if only by a fraction.
However, the moment they greeted the Emperor in the parlor, his words shattered that hope.
“Seeing you two come in like that, you look quite well-suited.”
Duke Ostain laughed softly at his half-brother’s words.
“Hearing you say that, it seems it is time for Your Majesty to see your children married.”
Peon tried to deflect, but Kaella felt cold sweat break out across her neck. She quickly pulled her hand away.
“That boy is twenty-eight. His mother is down, and who else is there to handle his marriage but me?”
Peon watched as the Emperor barked—unnecessarily well, and with far too much intent. Who would willingly give their daughter to the Grand Duke the Emperor despised? Only someone like Duchess Monde, desperate for northern wealth.
That was why Kaella, who had lost her protective shield with her father, had been forced into the marriage. Because she was vulnerable, the Emperor could manipulate her with ease.
“It is more important that Her Majesty regains consciousness; I shall remain the same, no matter how much older I get.”
For the unfortunate noblewoman, the only lifeline she had been able to grab was the Grand Duke of Lyussenford. And even that had been a rotten rope.
Peon, unable to bear looking at her standing there in isolation, turned his gaze away, feigning indifference. It was a practice he had perfected in his past life. If he looked, his heart would follow, and the sharp-eyed Emperor would identify her as his weakness. He had to look away.
“Same? Just wait until you reach my age. Every day is different. Isn’t that right, Adeo?”
As Adeo nodded, Peon indifferently added, “That is because Your Majesty is personally taking care of the Empress. You must remain healthy for the sake of the Empire.”
Though he was cursing the Emperor to die inside, he could now calmly wish for his longevity. Duke Ostain chimed in.
“The Grand Duke is right, Your Majesty.”
“I heard you have been unable to sleep, so I brought some tea to help. Please have a cup one hour before you go to sleep, Your Majesty.”
Her small voice and polite demeanor as she set down the basket—his gaze could not help but be drawn to her, no matter how he struggled.
He should have plucked out his eyes. If he were deaf, he would grope the air with his hands. Peon counted his sins in the silence of his mind.
He had starved that woman to death. A precious noblewoman, wasted away. He had no right to look at her.
“Thank you, Kaella. You are the only niece who takes care of me so delicately.”
*Ridiculous.* Kaella scoffed internally. He had always despised the Duke of Ostain, calling him a bastard, and now she was “niece”? She kept her face neutral; she was merely appeasing the Emperor to avoid a pathetic end.
“The timing is what it is, but a prince from Kerujan is coming. It was already scheduled. So, Kaella, I would like you to prepare the banquet to welcome him.”
Peon remembered the prince coming from Kerujan as well. He only remembered because the prince was also being considered as a suitor for the Ostain noblewoman—the final candidate besides himself.
A new suitor for Kaella was coming from across the sea.