Chapter 21
By now, the marriage between the Lüsenford Duke and the Ostein Duke’s Daughter had become the hottest topic of interest.
For one thing, the groom was strikingly handsome, and the bride was beautiful. The groom had a tragic backstory, and the bride was a delicately raised only daughter and wealthy heiress.
But on top of that, the groom’s close friend was the queen of high society, and she had fought with the bride?
And that queen of high society had gone to see the duke only to be thrown out in a fury?
This was the most entertaining spectacle in the world—one you had to be a fool to miss even a single part of.
The Duchess of Monde alone had provided plenty of amusement, but when Beatrice Lavalle herself stepped in, Kline went into an uproar. Everyone was dying of curiosity, wondering what would happen next.
Had the Duchess of Monde apologized to the duke’s daughter? What had Lady Lavalle and the duke talked about that made her storm out after just two minutes? What conversation followed between the duke’s daughter and the duke afterward? They were dying to know!
Everyone has a bit of voyeurism in them, so even the emperor, whose face had paled at the mere mention of the empress, was asking questions. He couldn’t very well ask his nephew, who had collapsed dramatically at the words “get married for the sake of appearances,” so Pheon was the easy target.
Even though it had all happened in the Imperial Palace, seeing people pester him for details meant the emperor’s “ears” hadn’t done their job properly this time. Pheon remembered every single detail faithfully.
“It’s a marriage arranged by Your Majesty, so I must be faithful to it.”
Pheon spoke flatly, meeting the emperor’s eyes with a look that said, Isn’t that right?
The emperor himself had lectured him about not betraying trust by dragging up dirty blood through the empress, about not coveting what belongs to others—surely he had nothing to say to this.
Pheon simply thought that Beatrice Lavalle was no longer a useful hostage to him. Well, the hostage had simply shifted to the Ostein ducal family now, so the emperor didn’t mind.
“Right, now that you’re getting married, your mindset has to change.”
The emperor nodded, thinking how everything changed once that boy got married. He felt a little satisfied, too.
There wasn’t much Pheon could say in front of the emperor. He couldn’t even ask about his mother’s condition, the thing he was most curious about—that would only scratch at the emperor’s nerves.
But if he didn’t ask at all, the emperor would call him an unfilial son. Catering to the whims of an absolute ruler who was always selfish and capricious was utterly exhausting.
“This marriage has to go well. Kaella must have been hurt. You need to soothe her properly.”
Ah. It still wasn’t the right time to ask about his mother’s condition. The conversation kept circling back only to Kaella and their marriage, which meant there had been no change in the empress’s state.
Since it was what he’d expected, Pheon didn’t press further and withdrew. His mother’s condition probably wouldn’t improve anytime soon. Putting that aside, as soon as he left Soleil Palace, Pheon let out a quiet sigh.
’Soothe her,’ he says.
Even if he went to Kaella now and apologized again, all he could say was, “I’m sorry my lover upset you.” He’d lived a trashy life like trash. Sick of Soleil Palace, he wandered aimlessly.
He was exhausted, too. Ever since returning from his regression, the only time he’d truly rested was once, while hiding with Kaella in the conference hall during preparations for the Keruzhan envoys.
Kaella, who had blushed bright red when he kicked off his shoes to greet her, had been so terribly lovable. Had he not realized back then how precious she was? In hindsight, she hadn’t been the same even then.
His throat tightened, his breath caught, and Pheon kept wandering without direction.
’Is she crying again?’
What would he do if she was? Someone needed to comfort her, but he was instantly disqualified for lack of standing.
When she was little, Kaella had clung to the hem of his clothes and collapsed in sobs.
He’d had to wipe her tears, hug her tight, even brush off her clothes before she’d finally take his hand and stand. But since coming to Lüsenford, she hadn’t shed a single tear in front of him. That crybaby girl surely hadn’t held back her tears. She must have hidden somewhere and cried.
“How vulgar, what is this…”
Right. Just like this.
Pheon immediately suppressed his presence. The rear of the empress’s palace, once filled with the sounds of children playing, was now guarded only by overgrown trees. In this place untouched by people for nearly twenty years, an irritated sobbing echoed.
Kaella, leaning against a massive oak tree, had predictably kicked off her shoes and was clutching a bowl brimming with strawberries and blueberries.
So frustrated, she sniffled and glanced aside, then grabbed the cream jar—meant for dabbing small amounts—and dumped the whole thing into the bowl.
The sharp tapping of her palm against the bottom of the cream jar was peevish. It wasn’t very ladylike, but she’d brought the entire jar instead of spooning out a bit, so it hardly mattered.
“…Looks delicious.”
Kaella sniffled and wiped her tears. She knew it wasn’t worth crying over. After all, she’d won this time.
It annoyed her that she’d fought by shattering all her lifelong convictions, shamelessly calling Beatrice “sister” and Pheon “brother” while treating her like his mistress. And ending up set to marry Pheon again? That was just unavoidable.
But even knowing that in her head, her eyes seemed broken, tears streaming down nonstop. Kaella shoveled a big bite of berry-mixed cream into her mouth and focused on chewing and swallowing thoroughly.
Spring strawberries and blueberries in sugar syrup, only available in Kline, paired with rich, creamy cream—it was the best comfort.
For someone who had starved to death in a freezing place, longing for foods she could never have there, nothing was more consoling.
“Delicious.”
It really was. With the fragrant strawberry scent, sweet-tangy blueberries, and a whole jar of thick cream, nothing could taste better.
For a bride-to-be on the verge of marriage to devour a fattening bowl like this would be unthinkable in Kline high society, but Kaella didn’t care. She had to do everything she wanted before dying.
Like not losing to Beatrice and giving as good as she got, or snapping at Pheon without holding back, or eating everything she craved before starving to death.
Scraping the cream jar clean with a wooden spoon, Kaella peered into the emptied fruit bowl and mumbled.
“No peaches?”
Peaches sliced in would be amazing.
She recalled the sweet scent wafting and juice dripping from peaches in the North Tower of frigid Lüsenford, and even overripe plums with barely any tartness. She had to eat them all before being dragged to Lüsenford.
At that thought, Kaella set down her spoon with a clack. After starving so severely her life hung by a thread before dying from poison, food made her eyes glaze over.
But the mere thought of going to Lüsenford made even her insane appetite plummet.
Her heart soared to the high skies several times a day only to crash to the depths below. Too weary to gather herself, Kaella leaned against the tree and closed her eyes.
In the end, it all felt like her fault. Because she wasn’t Beatrice, wasn’t as bright and pretty as Beatrice, wasn’t from Lüsenford, just because she was Kaella…
But what was she supposed to do about being born this way? If she was born like this, couldn’t she like who she wanted or fulfill her duties with all her heart?
Kaella scowled fiercely, opened her eyes, and stared ahead.
“What?”
She snapped sharply at the figure who had slipped out from the thick trees—something the usual Kaella would never do.
Her face was puffy from crying, her shoes flung every which way, she was sprawled with a fruit-and-cream-smeared bowl clutched to her chest, and now she faced her unwanted fiancé. No wonder her words came out sharp.
“Did you come to pick a fight? What did ‘sister’ say when she went to see ‘brother’? So you came to yell at me?”
Having tried it once on Beatrice, the terms came easily now. Titles flipped back and forth, her usual polite endings were chopped off—but so what? Kaella was being herself.
“…Want some peaches?”
Pheon gazed at the red-eyed, fuming Kaella with an inscrutable look, then unexpectedly lifted what he held in his hand.
In his bare hand, slick with moisture, was a heap of impeccably washed peaches. So large and ripe, their fragrance wafted gently even to Kaella a few steps away.
With a childlike expression, she alternated glances between the peach plate and Pheon. He was matching her speech patterns again. Kaella answered with a face on the verge of tears at the slightest touch.
“I do.”
Was he still treating her like a little sister? Pheon gave a faint smile and came to sit beside her. The plate piled high with peaches was equally large, and it held a fruit knife inside.
“Shall I cut them and add them in?”
“Yeah.”
Kaella held out her bowl. Instead of the knife-inexperienced duke’s daughter, Pheon took the fruit knife and began slicing the dripping peaches into small pieces.
Kaella couldn’t wait and snatched a freshly cut one to eat. So sweet, melting softly in her mouth. Heavenly.
Chunks of peaches he sliced fell onto her wooden spoon. After a few bites, Kaella mumbled.
“I have no intention of getting in the way of you two.”
“There’s no ‘getting in the way’ to begin with.”
Pheon replied to the fickle Kaella, somehow accommodating her perfectly.
“I wouldn’t mind if you had an heir with Beatrice.”
At that, Pheon’s hand paused mid-slice. Kaella looked up a beat late. He was staring right at her.
“No. That won’t happen.”
Unexpectedly serious, cutting her off firmly. She was the Ostein duke’s daughter, so swallowing her pride to say that—and he gets all stern? How embarrassing. Kaella looked down again.
“I just want you two to be happy.”
Though Beatrice would never allow it, a petty push from her spiteful heart.
“That’s not the happiness I want, Kaella.”
Kaella said nothing, scooping up a full load of fragrant fruit chunks mixed with cream and stuffing it in. Cheeks bulging, she chewed slowly before adding.
“You’re marrying someone you don’t want to anyway. I know.”
“And you don’t want it either.”
“Yeah.”
Kaella, spoon in mouth, nodded as peach chunks tumbled into her bowl.
“Am I some bastard who only stares at the Beatrice I chased out today?”
“Yeah.”
Kaella nodded steadily, then looked up belatedly.
“You chased her out?”
“You’re not denying the bastard part, huh.”
She even pulled out the spoon to ask.
“You chased her out?”
Pheon didn’t answer, just gazed at her steadily before neatly slicing a peach.
“Why?”
He had no words for her utterly baffled look. To her, he was always just that guy. Fixed on Beatrice, blind to anything else, a loud, dramatic bastard.
“Why make a fuss when we’re getting married?”
“I don’t mind if you do.”
“Then why were you crying?”
Pheon gestured with his eyes to Kaella’s red, swollen eyes.
“Because I turned into a woman fighting her man’s mistress.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine. Can’t be helped now.”
He’d inevitably ignore her, and she’d inevitably die quietly in Lüsenford’s cold. Quietly, unknown to all.
“It’s not your fault, brother.”
The marriage itself wasn’t his fault.
“And it’s not mine either.”
What happened after marriage wasn’t hers.
“Can’t be helped. Let’s just live half-assed.”
No matter what Pheon said, Kaella planned to live sloppily and die.
“How half-assed?”
“Just… whatever. Your Highness the Duke does duke things…”
“And Your Highness the Duchess does duchess things?”
No. She’d just die.
Kaella swallowed her words. She could never be honest with Pheon again.
Pretending to be a nice, powerless little sister who posed no threat to him might let her die without too much pain. She was already shrinking back and groveling, but it didn’t hurt her pride. She had no pride in front of Pheon.
“What would Your Highness the Duchess do?”
His voice was markedly gentle, like humoring a much younger sister—but peel back one layer, and there was no real interest in her, just weighing if she was truly a useful card. She knew.
“Nothing different from now. I’ll just stay quiet and not bother you, brother.”
She wouldn’t do anything, so please, just don’t make her die painfully. Starving to death had been horrific.
Kaella was prey lying belly-up before a carnivore, trembling and begging for a quick end.
“So you mean I shouldn’t take any interest in you either.”
“You never did anyway.”
How long had those eyes followed her, full of faint moisture, thrill, affection, and interest? Pheon peered into her now-dry blue eyes.
They no longer met his head-on. Even holding his gaze felt like a privilege. A privilege once granted to Pheon, never to be given again.
“Kaella.”
His coolly soft voice called her like a temptation. No matter how she tried to escape, one tossed crumb of attention and she’d swallow the whole bait.
“You know I’m a bastard so well—why assume the worst so easily?”
Kaella held her breath, eyes flicking up. His hand, sticky with sweet juice, offered a generously cut peach slice. Up close, the peachy scent was intoxicating. It would be so sweet going down.
“If I took interest in you—that would be the real bastard move.”
Clink. The wooden spoon hit the bowl.
