Change of heart is betrayal.
“Hyperion, I trust you.”
The Emperor, momentarily unhinged by the Empress’s condition, spoke with chilling solemnity. Peon did not believe those words for a heartbeat. He had learned through his own flesh and blood that such declarations—which he had grown weary of hearing—were nothing but hollow, blatant lies.
The Emperor, who claimed to trust him, possessed a network of legendary magical mirrors capable of peering anywhere. With them, he constantly monitored Lyussenford, planting spies densely throughout the territory.
Consequently, Peon grew to suspect everything just as the Emperor did. Kaella was, naturally, included in that suspicion. No matter how much she labored for the sake of Lyussenford, he had been too blinded to see it, viewing her with unwavering doubt from start to finish.
If it had been anyone else from Lyussenford—even if they were taking the Emperor’s coin to spy on him—he would have shown them leniency and offered a second chance. Yet, he never once granted that mercy to her.
That she was pierced by the sharp spears and arrows that filled that narrow, miserable tower was a far too generous end for a Grand Duchess. To die at her side, when he was not even worthy to stand in her shadow—it was an outcome far too kind for him.
“They say Kerujan is sending Prince Elkanan. He’s no ordinary man.”
Elkanan of the Kingdom of Kerujan. The second-in-command, following his brother, the King.
Having already experienced Prince Elkanan’s visit in his previous life, Peon remembered the man’s polished, bronze-tanned face. Unlike Peon, Elkanan was sociable and quick to smile, engaging in many easy conversations with Kaella. He must have been a comfort to her after she suddenly lost her father. But in the end, her husband was destined to be Peon, not the prince.
“Naturally, since Prince Elkanan is exceptional, King Hugel would trust him enough to send him as an envoy.”
Peon replied with studied indifference. Before his regression, the Emperor had arranged the marriage to Kaella simply to leash him, to inflict a cycle of defeat and prove that he could never possess what he truly desired.
The Emperor was a master of his craft. He laid bait before the young Peon, indoctrinating him with a false sense of duty. *You will live with your mother someday, and you will eventually marry Beatrice Lavalle, your childhood friend and first love.* Because the memories of his early days with his mother and his childhood friend were his only solace, Peon had been forced to pursue that singular, narrow path. The faint warmth of those memories was soon buried under the absolute, suffocating obligation of “this is how it must be.”
“Therefore, you and Adeo must handle it.”
Even Duke Ostain narrowed his brows. Peon spoke calmly.
“I am honored, but perhaps you should appoint His Highness the Crown Prince. It is not a position for a mere Grand Duke to hold, Your Majesty.”
In the past, he would have struggled to prove his worth, desperate to please. Even then, he had simply been a puppet dancing to the Emperor’s design, never knowing what he truly wanted. It had all been futile.
“That is correct, Your Majesty. It is only right that your successor, rather than this useless younger brother, should take charge.”
Peon let Adeo’s barbed words slide. Having died once and returned to this life, he had finally found a sense of equilibrium. He possessed the composure to endure, to let insults pass while mouthing platitudes, and above all, the focus to quietly watch where his own heart was leading him.
All his attention flowed toward the small Lady Ostain, who stood silently with her lips pressed together. He was, quite absurdly, overwhelmed by his awareness of this calm, elegant woman.
*Is it because I feel sorry?* No. If he were merely feeling sorry, he wouldn’t have been obsessively concerned with her health, wondering if her cheeks had filled out or if she had been eating well before their marriage.
“That boy is still too young.”
The Emperor cut him off with a merciless edge. He must have thought this task was a favor—a bone thrown to a dog that already wore a heavy collar.
“He is in need of being taught basic manners from scratch.”
If only the Crown Prince had been at his post in Altain Palace when the Empress collapsed, he wouldn’t be hearing such criticisms. The Emperor’s voice dripped with displeasure.
“He is still your flesh and blood, Your Majesty.”
*I am not.* Peon drew a mental line, just as the Emperor always did. His method was simply more polite.
“There must be parts of him that resemble you, Your Majesty.”
Kaella, who had been listening quietly, looked at Peon as if something were out of place.
*‘He didn’t use to speak so smoothly.’*
To be precise, Peon had been reticent. He had expressed opinions, yes, but he had never been able to overcome the Emperor’s pressure. Back then, he had always been haunted by the safety of his mother and Beatrice, both held in the Emperor’s palm.
After they married, whenever he faced the Emperor’s envoys or demanding letters at Lyussenford, it was the same struggle. He would argue, but the Emperor was relentless, and in the end, Peon would sacrifice himself to shield the others.
*‘Is it because Her Majesty the Empress collapsed?’*
That could be it. Perhaps he had concluded that the person most important to him was no longer a viable hostage. Compared to his mother, Beatrice held less weight; perhaps he was finally drawing a line with her, too. If so, things would be easier for Peon. Thinking this, Kaella lowered her eyes.
For a long time, she had stood entirely alone. Information had been scarce, forcing her to be cautious, to analyze and ruminate until it became an instinct. That habit remained. Naturally so. As far as her memory went, it hadn’t even been a week since she died, choking on poison in the cold northern tower of Lyussenford.
“Learning comes first.”
The Emperor shook his head, seeing no other alternative.
“You must set the example, Peon. So that Gregory can learn a thing or two.”
Had Peon ever been taught anything? He had struggled to learn manners from the Empress, whom he saw once a year, but it was never enough. His social skills and political acumen were forged through the fires of the Emperor’s murderous glares and the nobles’ scorn. He had learned by being hit. Even then, he had been clumsy, his sense of duty so rigid it blinded him to his own survival. He hadn’t even understood the scope of his own chains until it was too late.
“I am also very inexperienced, Your Majesty. I am not in a position to set an example.”
“Enough. Stop the humility and do it. You are the right person. Kaella shall handle the banquet. If there is anything you don’t know, ask Adeo, not me.”
The Emperor waved his hand in dismissal. Since the Empress’s collapse, he looked aged, his face etched with the weight of several years.
“Do it together, the three of you. The only people here I can trust right now are you three.”
He could not refuse.
“Understood, Your Majesty.”
At Duke Ostain’s words, Peon bowed his head alongside Kaella.
･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ･
Having unexpectedly been tasked with the delegation, Kaella returned to Altain Palace, biting her lip as she stared at the dinner table.
Even in these critical times, the Krania Empire remained immensely wealthy. The table was a testament to that—diverse, abundant, and far from modest. The Emperor, a man of fastidious tastes, was a known gourmet.
Kaella, who had pushed aside her appetite due to the recent shocks, felt a hunger deep within her—a hollow ache in her very soul—rising to the surface. The menu was extravagant: onion soup, a thick vegetable potage, crispy grilled sole, asparagus with tender beef, and a cream-rich apricot torte.
She could eat as much as she wanted. Kaella squeezed her eyes shut to suppress the urge to devour the entire spread.
*‘I must pull myself together. I cannot lose my dignity in the Imperial Palace.’*
Starvation was a lingering trauma. In the tower, she had tried to survive on melted snow, eventually dreaming of shoving rotten wood or soil into her mouth. By the end, she had lacked the strength to even pick up a stone. She had lain on the cold floor, curling in agony, waiting for death while hallucinating about warm, flavorful food.
“Come, let’s have a meal first. Only when your belly is full can your head work properly.”
Peon watched Kaella staring at the soup with a pained expression. Sitting quietly, her hair tied back with a simple ribbon, she seemed to be watching her diet like any other lady.
“Eat a lot, Kaella.”
“Ah, yes… okay.”
He simply hoped she would eat deliciously. Seeing her corpse had been a single, frozen instant, but that moment was taxidermied in Peon’s memory. Her platinum hair had turned brittle, falling out in patches; her skin had been ravaged by malnutrition and frostbite. He wanted Kaella—who had died with hollow, sunken eyes—to eat until she was vibrant again.
But he was clearly failing to reach her. Kaella avoided his gaze, treating him like someone she couldn’t quite decipher, and picked up her utensils.
“Your return to Lyussenford will be delayed.”
“Yes, Your Grace. In times like these, I must stay in Krain.”
Kaella began her meal with this strange man in this strange world. The potage was rich, coating her tongue in perfection. Before she could do something undignified like scraping the bowl clean, she glanced at Peon. Seeing the man who had left her to starve to death actually helped her regain her composure; it was a reminder of why she needed to remain vigilant.
“How is the Evil Dragon lately?”
“It is quiet.”
Peon replied with calm confidence.
“It will remain quiet for the next few months. The North is peaceful.”
“Is that so? That is welcome news.”
When others heard Peon was idle, they glared at him, accusing him of neglecting the North. Only Adeo seemed genuinely pleased by the report.
“That is a relief. If the North is calm, everyone can breathe. Did you make preparations in advance?”
“One must always be prepared. There have been no abnormal movements from the monsters or spirits.”
“The Emperor must be pleased as well.”
“His Majesty does not know.”
Unlike Kaella, who had already finished her potage, the gentlemen ate at a slow, deliberate pace.
“He doesn’t know?”
The Emperor was hyper-sensitive to the movements of the Evil Dragon Gwasalante, which had begun wreaking havoc in the North. It was a massive threat capable of annihilating the Empire. The only consolation was the thousand-year-old covenant that prevented the dragon’s magic from affecting the Empire directly. However, the dragon’s physical destruction and the monsters it commanded were another story. The Grand Duke of Lyussenford was the only one standing in the breach.
If the North fell, the Empire followed. Given the Emperor’s obsession with protecting his borders, how could he *not* know?
“I refrained from reporting it as it is not yet a situation that requires his intervention. If it is safe, it is not something he needs to worry about.”
“That may be, but.”
Adeo nodded. The abnormal, possessive fixation his half-brother showed toward his own wife was legendary. It had been that way from the start.
“We must take care of many things that His Majesty cannot attend to.”
Kaella, who had been diligently working on a second bowl of onion soup, hurriedly covered her mouth. She had almost choked in surprise. That was a dangerous statement—it sounded as if they intended to bypass the Emperor’s authority.
For the Grand Duke of Lyussenford to say such a thing… Kaella, suffering the consequences of eating too quickly, coughed quietly into her napkin.
“Is His Majesty’s health not also a matter of concern? He must never overwork himself.”
Peon calmly offered a napkin to Kaella and skillfully slid her water glass closer, providing a thin veil of concern to mask his treasonous words.
Kaella could not manage a proper thank you. She covered her mouth, stood abruptly, and fled the room. Only after she was out of sight did she cough loudly, gasping for air as she looked back.
*‘Is he crazy?’*
To make such a bold statement where the servants could hear!
She shuddered, imagining the Emperor’s reaction. Back when she was the Grand Duchess, that kind of rhetoric would have sent the Emperor into a blind rage, leading to summons and interrogations. Peon had always bowed to the Emperor’s whims to protect the funding for his desolate lands.
And yet, here he was: *“Let us take care of the matters he cannot attend to.”* Who was this man who so casually uttered the words that no one in the Empire would dare breathe? She gripped the napkin until her knuckles turned white.
*‘Why did he take care of me?’*
Was he just feeling sorry for a younger acquaintance? Her sense of victimhood flared, but she forced herself to steady her breathing and return to the table.
*‘Feeling sorry, my foot. He’s gone too far. Pull yourself together, Kaella.’*
The man, his eyes shimmering with the familiar violet hue of the Emperor, was staring straight at her.
“Are you alright?”
At his gentle inquiry, Kaella nodded quickly and sat down. As she reached for her water glass, she realized it had been moved—pushed closer to her hand.
Sitting in the sun-drenched room, Kaella recalled the dinners they had shared in the drafty, dim North.
*You use your mouth more for talking than for eating.*
That had been the phrase that sealed her lips back then. At the Duke of Ostain’s table, father and daughter chatted easily, but in the desolate North, the silence between husband and wife had been deafening.
Kaella looked down at her soup. Even after starving to death, that silence weighed on her more than the hunger.
Her appetite vanished. Should she call that a relief?