Translator: Nox

Chapter 24

Dominic closely followed Daniel down the stairs.

"Well, it's me saying this. When I told her you'd beat Lady Rosivalt, you should've seen how fiercely she glared. 'Our Muriel is no pushover—how dare you say she'll lose?' She was furious."

"Our... Muriel?"

Daniel twisted his shoulder slightly as he asked back, and Dominic vigorously shook his head up and down.

"Yes. Our Muriel. The way she treats her escort knight so affectionately. You saw it that day too. She didn't even glance at her injured lord and just whisked Lady Rosivalt away."

Halting abruptly, Dominic slammed his fist into his open palm.

"Ah, she might be mad at you too. After all, you're the one who took Lady Rosivalt's sword."

"Who took what from whom? I won it fair and square..."

"Right, right."

Not even listening to Daniel, Dominic kept nodding vigorously.

"Looks like the Duchess plans to get her a new sword, so hand over a hefty sum in gold."

"When did I hand over the entire vault key?"

Papers detailing expenditures were still being sent to him. The difference now was that instead of bothering him by bringing them in person—since he found it annoying—she slipped them under the door connecting the ducal couple's rooms. His wife was the type who couldn't hide her emotions and wore them openly, so it was impossible not to notice her anger. The problem was why it bothered him so much. He'd felt the same seeing those papers slide under the door, and her blatantly avoiding his gaze grated too. For crying out loud, he hadn't coerced or forced the sword from Lady Rosivalt. He'd even provided a proper spectacle for her honor. And besides...

'I'm the one who got hurt.'

Gripping the reins tighter made Valzak snort fiercely and toss his head.

"Whoa, whoa. Calm down, you ill-tempered beast."

Unclear if he was soothing Valzak, provoking him, or saying it for someone else's ears, Dominic muttered while stroking the horse's mane.

"When will you return?"

"Why?"

Daniel deftly stepped into the stirrup and settled atop Valzak. A servant appeared with a sack of simple provisions, handed it to Dominic, and quickly retreated. A moment later, and Valzak's vicious kick would have caught him. As Dominic tied the leather sack handed by the servant to the saddle, his tone grew slightly grave.

"People are starting to whisper about the ducal couple. They say they've never even seen you two sit together at the table."

"Does the dining table even still exist?"

Dominic yanked the knot tight and looked up at Daniel with a pathetic expression.

"The key isn't the table—it's 'sitting together.' The Duchess has been eating in the kitchen with the servants for ages. They let it slide when her husband wasn't sharing meals, but not anymore."

Scanning his lord's impassive face as always, Dominic asked gravely.

"Speaking of which... do you two... talk or anything?"

Whether with words or bodies. Seeing no change in Daniel, a long sigh escaped Dominic.

"Sigh. I'm the fool for asking. What was I expecting from a priestly couple."

"Anyone hearing you would think you're any different."

"Are you and I the same?"

Dominic bellowed, startling Valzak into snorting. Glaring at Valzak to stay put, Dominic turned the same glare on Daniel.

"Don't let the Duchess hear the vulgar gossip. It might not happen in the duchy, but outsiders come and go here."

Hesitating briefly, Dominic added in a low voice.

"Above all... she's a good person. A kind one. Different from the women we knew."

Different from them... Now he understood why she'd been nagging at him all along.

"She is different."

Different, so he kept wondering about her. What was she like?

"But Dominic."

The Dowager Empress who vowed before her son to spare him if he killed himself wasn't always so cruel. Dominic's mother, who abandoned her child for a few coins and became another man's woman, had apparently loved Ricardo deeply at first. So women—no, not just them. Everyone in the world changes. They all end up that way eventually.

"Will she really be different?"

Even knowing that, a small curiosity arose, tickling him like a spring breeze. He wanted to ask today's Frida how she felt about today's Daniel. That irked him. Just a little. Daniel yanked the reins sharply, and Valzak bolted forward, kicking up a cloud of dust as if waiting. *** Lately, Munheim Castle's nighttime scenery had changed. Not just the corridors, but the kitchen—which used to go dark early—stayed brightly lit quite late. The reason was the same as always: Duchess Frida. Before, to save oil, she came in before sunset and never descended at night. Now, even deep into the night, she stayed reviewing documents. Head cook Adel ladled steaming potato soup sprinkled with basil and placed it before Frida.

"Have some of this while you look, ma'am. You barely ate dinner."

"Barely? You brought two plates of chicken seasoned differently each to test your new herbs."

The spacious kitchen, lit by many wall lamps, felt bright and airy. Always warm, it was perfect for reviewing papers. The downside was ending up bloated from Adel's constant offerings before bed. Frida eyed Adel steadily, who seemed ready to bring more.

"Adel, if you keep this up, I really won't come to the kitchen starting tomorrow."

"Nowhere else to go. You said work doesn't get done in the bedroom. Knight, you too—don't just stand there, come eat."

Another bowl of soup was set beside Frida. Despite Frida staying up later in the kitchen, Adel seemed even more energized. Watching Adel's bustling back made Frida feel unnecessarily guilty.

"New hires arrive in a few days, so hang in there just a bit longer, Adel. Sorry for leaving you to manage the kitchen alone."

"Nonsense. The castle's just big. Who holds banquets? Who has a picky eater for a lady? My old mansion was ten times busier. This is nothing. Oh, try this too."

Adel scooped from an oak barrel in the corner, mixed it with water, and poured into glasses for Frida and Muriel.

"Anton said distilling herbs helps coughs, so I tried it. Mixed with water, the mild buzz is nice."

Muriel, swallowing without suspicion, coughed harshly.

"W-What? Adel, did you just give my lady alcohol? Miss, give that here..."

"Ahh."

Having emptied her glass, Frida grimaced and held it out to Adel.

"Tastes odd, but it clears the chest strangely. Adel, one more."

"Right? If it's too strong, more water. Have a few and sleep well tonight. Knight, don't stop her—just join for one more."

Taking the refilled glass from Adel, Frida brought it straight to her lips without hesitation. Sensing it was too late to stop, Muriel just sipped her soup. At that moment, Frida—having drained her second glass—slapped Muriel's shoulder, spilling a spoonful of soup onto the table.

"Don't be too upset, Muriel. I sent a letter to Baimar's merchants asking for the empire's finest craftsman. I'll get you a sword better than Koldar. If not, we'll have one made."

Muriel stared at the spilled soup, lost in thought. It mirrored the nagging thoughts that hadn't left her mind these past days—like stains that changed nothing no matter how irritated, easily wiped away.

"I'll gratefully accept a good sword. But honestly, I'm more thankful to His Grace than to you for promising one."

"What do you mean?"

As Muriel downed her glass without pause, Adel swiftly refilled it. Seeing Adel refill Frida's too, Muriel no longer protested. Leaning her face on her folded arms on the table, Muriel murmured like a soliloquy.

"I vividly remember the day I beat my second brother and claimed Koldar. I was over the moon. Not just having the heirloom in my hands, but the honor of being the finest of House Rosivalt."

The joy vanished in an instant.

"I later learned it was all a ploy by Father and my brothers, who wanted the family to produce the empire's first female imperial knight commander."

Sipping the drink from Adel, her chest indeed cleared as Frida said—like something heavy bursting off her heart.

"Worse was realizing I knew and still kept silent, clinging to that cheap honor I hadn't earned fairly. Pathetic Muriel Rosivalt."

That was when she knew. How hard it is to turn back from a wrong path once taken.

"If not for His Grace, I'd never have let go of that sword—or my ugly greed. Honestly, it feels refreshing. Everyone's pitying consolation is just burdensome. So don't you pity me anymore, miss."

"Muriel..."

Frida, at a loss for words and pouting, suddenly raised her glass high.

"To Muriel Rosivalt, always my finest knight!"

Her exaggerated voice betrayed unmistakable intoxication. Adel burst out laughing and clinked her glass against Frida's, shouting.

"To the finest knight, Muriel Rosivalt!"

Muriel finally smiled and brought her glass beside theirs.

"Anyway, to Muriel Rosivalt."

The three toasted in unison.

"Cheers!"

Mixed in the raucous cheers, the kitchen door opened quietly. Among the three women holding up their glasses, Adel's eyes—facing the door—widened first.

"Y-Your Grace."

Daniel, meeting the purple gaze fixed on him, spoke calmly.

"Too late for dinner?"

*** Freshly warmed bread, hastily stir-fried assorted vegetables. Three kinds of cheese with smoked pork. And potato soup. Adel's hurriedly prepared meal was set before Daniel.

"One more favor."

"Yes? What is it?"

Perplexed Adel saw Daniel point to Frida's glass and quickly poured a fresh one full of herb liquor.

"No need to wait—go rest."

"But..."

"Lady Rosivalt, you too."

After a spoonful of soup, Daniel requested lowly but firmly again.

"Please leave us."

As Frida rose to follow the two hastily exiting the kitchen, Daniel caught her arm.

"Will the Duchess stay?"