Attila’s coronation began with the imperial palace of Corbe adorned in brilliant flowers and waves of greenery.
“Can you not feel the strong vitality of early summer?” Attila asked, feigning pride.
“Why does the Duke look so grim? Did a woman reject you?”
“Please choose your words more carefully.”
Attila gazed at Casar with admiration. Casar adhered rigidly to aristocratic etiquette whenever others were present. Even when alone with just Iriel, Casar never revealed his true self in front of her.
“Lady Agnoman probably does not know yet how the Duke puts on such an act.”
“Your Majesty, please do not equate His Grace with yourself.”
Iriel smiled gently as she volleyed back Attila’s teasing remark.
“Lady Agnoman, whose side are you on right now? As a prospective empress, you have just earned zero points.”
“I am not your prospective empress. I could never live with a man who openly declares he will keep a mistress.”
He knew all too well how Iriel de Agnoman despised the very notion of mistresses, due to her father, Count Agnoman’s, notorious affairs with women. But Attila was no man to recklessly promise vows he could not keep for the sake of love.
“All I am saying is that we cannot rule out the possibility of taking one for political reasons.”
“Go ahead. Who is stopping you? It would not concern me in the slightest, as long as you are not my husband.”
“Lady Agnoman, you are far too romantic. How can an empress view the emperor as merely her husband? She must see him as a political partner.”
“Yes. Be sure to say exactly that when you welcome your empress.”
Caught in the suffocating tension between Iriel and Attila, Casar respectfully lifted Iriel’s hand, the one he had been escorting, and presented it to Attila.
“Please continue your conversation. I will take my leave now.”
“No.”
“No, you cannot.”
Attila and Iriel answered simultaneously, their gazes colliding midair.
“Fine, I surrender. I admit defeat. But right now, I think it is you who needs to talk, Duke.”
Though spoken as a jest, Casar’s expression was genuinely grim throughout the entire coronation. One could not precisely articulate how this differed from his usual blank stare, but it was unmistakably worse.
After securing Iriel’s understanding, the two men found themselves alone in a private lounge.
Attila and Casar smoked cigars in silence for a long while.
“So. What is it?”
“What is what?”
Casar halted the slow motion of rolling his cigar in the ashtray. His face bore its usual calm, yet Attila, who had known him since childhood, could not possibly miss the unease beneath.
Perhaps it was because his father had only recently passed. Unlike Attila’s own father, the late Duke Blachnatt had been a truly admirable man.
“Your eyes are soulless, utterly soulless.”
“Not really.”
Casar gave a faint smirk, as if amused by Attila’s unnecessary worry. To Attila, however, that forced smile was the most unnatural thing he had ever seen.
“You know, you have never once fooled me.”
“Because I never intended to.”
“Then tell me, why are you so utterly lifeless?”
Attila was perceptive and sharp-witted. He had noticed that Casar had been forcing smiles all through the ceremony due to a nagging headache that refused to fade.
Rarely did Casar’s emotions hit rock bottom, but they had, ever since he realized he could no longer keep by his side the woman who, in his dreams, would always curl warmly into his arms.
“If you are truly that curious…”
His head throbbed, and his tongue tangled over words. Perhaps the exhaustion from last night, when sleep never came, was finally catching up to him.
Yet he could not honestly confess that he was on the verge of losing his mind over a woman suspected of having an affair with his late father. Not even to Attila.
“Why did you pull the security force members away?”
“Sorry, sorry. When Duke Blachnatt himself goes to investigate, do you really think those guards would stick around? We detained them out of concern they might flee.”
Though it was only a half-hearted excuse for his foul mood, Attila fortunately accepted it. After all, this was an important conversation between them.
It was not just the guards who were foolish. His own men were equally unable to locate the informant. Whether the person was deliberately hiding or being concealed by someone else remained unclear.
“What have you found out?”
“Not much, just that your father was effectively the one who placed the crown on my head.”
The late Duke Blachnatt had clearly manipulated something with the late Emperor Pobgen. Attila immediately grasped exactly what Casar had deduced.
“Is there anyone else who knows?”
“There is, but…”
Derga, the late emperor’s personal physician, had colluded in the assassination. Attila had briefly considered silencing him permanently to protect the late Duke’s honor, but Derga had genuinely wanted Attila to become emperor.
“All I wished for was seeing His Highness the Crown Prince ascend the throne safely. What use is an old man begging for his pitiful life? If Your Highness decides this wretch must die, then so be it. I shall accept it gladly.”
Attila was not so merciless as to execute an old man who faced the blade with dignity and never begged for his life.
“I decided it was not necessary to kill him. I stripped him of his post as chief physician and reassigned him as an ordinary imperial doctor, but under surveillance. If he ever speaks recklessly and tarnishes the late Duke’s honor, he will be dealt with immediately.”
Of course he would handle it that way. Knowing Attila cared more about his father’s honor than Casar himself did, Casar could only chuckle faintly.
“Does imperial law these days actually treat factual statements as defamation?”
“You heartless bastard…”
“Anyway, since the informant seems somehow connected to the real culprit, tracking them down is not easy.”
“If the tail is hard to catch, why not grab the head first? Ezra disappeared on the day the late emperor died. What do you think that means?”
Casar, too, suspected that if someone had orchestrated this, it must be the First Prince Ezra, his house Fedlimid, or possibly the Teshia Empire. Though initial investigations had been chaotic, they still lacked solid evidence.
“If Ezra knew everything, he would certainly have had enough motive to kill.”
“Yeah. But finding him is just as difficult. After all, while I was at Ecole Farsade, I was already pushing to depose the Crown Prince. The late Duke’s side had actually been monitoring Ezra closely, until his sudden death threw everything into disarray.”
Indeed, at the time, Casar had been attending military academy alongside Attila and could not have known what his father was plotting.
Casar pressed his tired eyes, set down his half-burnt cigar, and lifted his black tea. The tea he usually enjoyed with cigars tasted utterly bland today.
“You still do not know how he was killed, since you have not touched that physician Loegal yet.”
“He is your subject. Watch over and protect him yourself. I will find Ezra.”
Casar remained silent, his gaze still heavy and distant. Attila placed his own cigar beside Casar’s and lifted a glass of single malt whiskey with a faint smile.
“Your father was my father too. If Ezra truly did this, I will tear that bastard apart myself.”
In Corbe, the capital of the Grand Farsade Empire, stood a premium townhouse district in the city center. These luxurious residences each reflected the unique character and prestige of the Ten Great Houses, used only during the spring social season when the blossoms bloomed.
Among them, the Blachnatt Ducal Residence stood out with overwhelming grandeur and scale.
Although the social season traditionally ended before the real heat of summer arrived, the Ten Houses had lingered in their townhouses later than usual this year due to the late emperor’s state funeral and the subsequent coronation of the Crown Prince. Now that the ceremony was over, they began packing up and departing one by one.
Tu’an, the butler who had come up from Conwell to join his master, had already finished packing and was now awaiting the Duke’s permission to depart. His lord, however, kept delaying his return to Conwell day after day.
Even today, Casar showed no sign of leaving. With eyes firmly shut, he listened to Berlioz’s symphony.
He loved the tears of the woman this music brought to mind. He had never properly seen her smile, so he could not say, but her crying face was undeniably stunning.
Afterward, memories of her, lying on the long chaise, gazing up at him with those large eyes, would rush over him like a storm.
Just once more.
He could not carelessly name this feeling,
but without any clear answer, he simply longed, just once more, to see her.
He had to see her.
Slowly opening his eyes, Casar pressed the call bell to summon his butler Tu’an.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Leave ahead of me. I will stop by Lindkoem first.”
“Lindkoem? If there is still business left in your territory, shall I accompany you?”
Casar rose with a perfectly poised smile.
“It is a personal matter.”
Peron, who had come to Lindkoem Station with the chauffeur to greet Duke Blachnatt, kept nervously wringing his gloved hands.
As the train belched gray smoke and pulled into the platform, the first-class carriage door opened first.
“I hope you had a pleasant journey. Farewell.”
Two attendants followed the Duke down the steps, bowing deeply at the waist. The Duke gave a light nod in response and then walked gracefully toward Peron and the chauffeur waiting for him.
“Did you bring it?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Peron answered respectfully, recalling the wicker basket stored in the back seat.
“Then let us go immediately.”
“Where shall I take you?”
The chauffeur foolishly asked again, prompting Peron to jab him sharply in the ribs.
“We will take you to the hospital, my lord.”
The chauffeur’s eyes widened.
What hospital? Is His Grace unwell?
Peron glared and signaled desperately to the driver.
It is obviously that hospital where that nurse worked! With your own personal physician already assigned, why would His Grace go to a hospital, you idiot!
Noticing the silent exchange between them, the Duke shifted his gaze from the chauffeur to Peron. Nervous sweat trickled down Peron’s temples.
“Is it the hospital? Or shall we go to the convent instead?”
The Duke offered the faintest smile as he stared into the distance beyond the platform. At least his expression was better than when he had left Lindkoem.
“No. I am simply curious whether she is still working at that hospital.”
“My apologies. Had you informed me ahead of time, I could have verified it for you.”
“We will find out when we get there.”
Seated in the back, Casar tapped his long fingers against the metal railing of the carriage door. Anyone could see it was a flimsy excuse to bring back something the woman had left behind. Even the driver and butler could tell how childish the pretense was.
“Sigh.”
Yet, sitting in the car now stopped before the hospital, he had no choice but to admit: only by meeting her could this thirst within him finally be quenched.
He never expected the Duke himself would come.
Loegal looked at Duke Blachnatt with an uneasy expression. Ever since hearing Scáthach had left, the Duke’s face had grown so cold it nearly radiated frost.
“Where did she go?”
The Duke’s icy red eyes swept slowly across the hospital. He said nothing, merely scanning the area, but Loegal felt as though he himself were an accomplice hiding a criminal.
The man exuded such overwhelming pressure that even standing still was terrifying. No wonder Scáthach had agreed to that absurd bargain, freedom in exchange for becoming his mistress. Was it not cruel to burden an innocent girl with such a condition?
Guilt tightened Loegal’s throat. He could not protect Scáthach, whom he had sent on that errand that led to her capture.
He could not lie again as he had years ago, claiming ignorance of who she was or where she lived, like when the Duke had injured Scáthach last time. But for Scáthach’s sake, he could not let the Duke destroy her further.
“My lord, you went too far this time.”
“This time?”
“Did you not clearly promise me you would release her if my statements matched Scáthach’s and showed no suspicion?”
“And so I released her, only for her to leave Lindkoem of her own accord.”
“It was you who made it impossible for her to stay in Lindkoem.”
“Then all the more reason she deserves proper compensation. Where did she go, that woman?”
“I cannot say.”
The Duke’s lips curled slightly, yet it carried no hint of a smile. Before madness could take root in those arrogant, weary eyes, Loegal had to spill the lie he had prepared.
“She is the girl promised in marriage to my son. Please, I implore you, do not further insult my family.”
The Duke’s distant red gaze lowered to meet Loegal’s. The silver-haired middle-aged physician bowed his head earnestly as he pleaded.
Casar let out a hollow laugh and set down the wicker basket he had brought onto the director’s desk.
Siblings, he had claimed. What a clever little lie, to deceive him and escape so smartly to save herself.
Casar grasped the gray rabbit plush atop the basket, the one matching her hair color, as if to crush it. The moment he heard she was betrothed, everything suddenly seemed absurdly funny.
He himself was laughable too, having come all this way without even knowing what he wanted to say to her or what he hoped to become to her.
And yet, if he truly wanted to be petty, he could always chase down the woman who had left his territory without permission and drag her back. But…
Perhaps it was for the best.
Since he could not let her go, it was actually a relief that she had run away on her own.
Continuing this connection would lead to nothing but trouble. He would gain only fleeting physical pleasure from keeping her as a mistress during the hunting season, while everything else, whether politically or domestically, would work against him.
Casar placed the crumpled gray rabbit plush, wrinkled as his own mood, back onto the director’s desk and gave a faint, bitter smile.
“Your family must have it easy.”