Chapter 44
Beatrice Lavalle was still beautiful. Her lustrous silver hair gleamed with a brilliant sheen, and her unique pink eyes seemed to enchant anyone who gazed into them. The lovely woman resembled a spring fairy who could have anything she desired.
However, the rushing Beatrice naturally couldn’t embrace Pheon. He was already wrapping his arms around Kaella protectively.
His expression, as he devoted his arms entirely to his wife, was so fierce that even Beatrice hesitated unconsciously as she approached. Kaella tried to look ahead, but her view was blocked by Pheon’s thick forearm.
“황상께서 보내신 건가?”
“그럼 당연히 폐하께서 마도구로 날 보내주신 거지, 뭘 그렇게 살벌하게 물어봐?”
Beatrice looked at Pheon with an expression of utter incomprehension, then narrowed her eyes. He’d definitely changed—before and after marriage. So much so that she’d come here to try to bring him back to how he used to be.
“Wilberg.”
When Pheon called out coldly and firmly to someone, Kaella’s shoulders startled and fluttered in surprise. He wrapped his gloved hand around those shoulders as he searched for the knight responsible for Lüsenford Castle’s security. Knight Wilberg, standing right nearby, stepped forward at once.
“It seems His Imperial Majesty sent someone other than the investigator. Escort her according to procedure.”
Knight Wilfred understood exactly what that meant.
“Yes, Your Highness. Greetings, Lady Lavalle. I am Knight Wilfred, in charge of Lüsenford security. You are the envoy His Imperial Majesty sent to the military operation zone, correct?”
“That’s right!”
Beatrice lifted her chin and answered sharply. She was glaring at Pheon without even glancing at Knight Wilfred.
“Then you must have a personal letter with you?”
“Isn’t my very presence His Imperial Majesty’s personal letter? Didn’t you see how I just arrived in Lüsenford?”
Everyone in Lüsenford knew that anyone emerging from that golden light was unconditionally an envoy from the Emperor.
However, Lüsenford—locked in constant war with the Evil Dragon Overlante and the barbarians descending from the north—was a military operation zone. Such a sudden, quintessentially central-noble entrance was a dangerous act that disrupted the entire military effort.
Kaella, who had first come to Lüsenford, wouldn’t have known that, but after living here for four years, she was well aware of such matters.
“Vi, let’s go inside first.”
Pheon whispered to Kaella and tried to lead her indoors.
“No. With such a precious guest come all the way from Kline, we can’t just leave her to Knight Wilberg alone.”
She had stepped forward initially due to Pheon’s strict adherence to principles and procedure, but there was no way Knight Wilberg could handle Lady Lavalle by himself—she who had been sent by the Emperor himself and was the Duke’s childhood friend.
Strangely enough, Kaella grabbed hold of Pheon’s arm, which had been wrapping around her softly yet firmly as if to lead her away.
That arm, which had held her so securely, went slack immediately. That was strange in itself, but anyhow, it worked out well. Kaella slowly pushed the arm aside and stepped forward.
“As the one sent by His Imperial Majesty, this noble lady deserves a proper welcome from me. Come on in, sister.”
Beatrice snorted toward Knight Wilberg and snapped her head away.
“Vi.”
The man weighed down by his many sins tried to dissuade his wife once more, but she advanced to face the woman the world had so arbitrarily dubbed her rival.
“I hope the journey here wasn’t too uncomfortable. How is His Imperial Majesty faring?”
“He’s in good health. You’re the same as ever, Kaella. I can tell exactly how you’re doing without even asking.”
At the immediate casual speech that tumbled out so familiarly, Kaella forced a smile she didn’t feel in the least.
“And how is Her Imperial Majesty the Empress?”
“She’s the same. Still unconscious…, and no sign of waking.”
Beatrice muttered gloomily. Was that genuine? Or not? Either way, it was none of Kaella’s concern. For four years straight, she’d grown accustomed to Beatrice Lavalle barging in without warning and turning Lüsenford upside down just like this.
“His Imperial Majesty must be deeply worried. Is this all the luggage you brought?”
Kaella glanced at the enormous stack of trunks and asked. Something felt off. It seemed like less than usual?
“Yeah, that’s all…, wait, no? Huh? What?”
Beatrice whirled around to survey the pile of trunks, then widened her pink eyes hugely as she began counting them.
“No way—why are only half of them here?”
This was bad. Beatrice’s face went deathly pale. Those trunks of every variety were packed to bursting with outfits and shoes, hats, gloves, and all sorts of accessories to suit the occasion and her mood.
They were her armor and her weapons. Armor and weapons tailored to confront the now-icy Pheon. And yet more than half were missing. How?
“Looks like some got left behind on the way.”
“Left behind? That doesn’t make any sense!”
The Emperor’s magic tools came in all varieties, each wielding astonishing power.
The ones that effortlessly transported droves of people and heaps of goods vast distances in a single go made the Emperor an even more terrifying figure. He could go anywhere. He could dispatch armies anywhere.
All people, submit to the omniscient and omnipotent His Imperial Majesty. For he is the god who rules over us.
“Impossible.”
Beatrice muttered the word over and over. It made no sense. It simply couldn’t happen.
Every magic tool functioned flawlessly—they had to. These artifacts, handed down through centuries across generations without a single glitch, committing an error? Unthinkable.
Pheon knew that just as well as Beatrice did.
Lost in thought, he stared at Beatrice and the pathetically scant trunks—far too few for what she’d supposedly brought. Meanwhile, Kaella alone offered a formal smile and beckoned with a hand.
“Come inside first. It’s cold.”
To their eyes, her warm welcome—wholly indifferent to whatever crisis or opportunity this posed—sounded somehow just a touch off-kilter.
*
Beatrice didn’t panic. She was the flower of high society, and so long as she kept her composure, she could sway anyone to her side.
Her lively personality, always quick with a bright laugh, was especially beloved by northerners. She had to leverage it to the fullest here, drawing the now-distant Pheon back to her side.
And expand her influence across Lüsenford, becoming a Duke’s lady far superior to the Duchess. Only then could she survive.
Ever since childhood—and right up until Pheon’s marriage—she’d worked steadily and diligently at it.
Blinding his eyes, plugging his ears, layering suggestions and restraints upon him. An intricate, exquisitely crafted restraint, painstakingly built over years—no one, not even the Emperor, could shatter it.
Pheon could not betray Beatrice.
That was why she didn’t panic. She had simply come to reinforce that absolute truth, make it even more ironclad. Complacency was the enemy.
“The castle’s a bit chaotic right now. Major construction underway. Watch your step—the snow’s melting, so the ground’s all mud.”
Kaella walked on ahead, muttering in a tone that betrayed not the slightest concern for Beatrice. She had grown so familiar with Lüsenford Castle that she moved without hesitation.
Unlike blooming, even somewhat warm Kline, Lüsenford was only just beginning to thaw. The roads were quagmires, the stone paving filthy, the surroundings deafeningly noisy. So many children’s voices, all of a sudden.
“I heard you nearly died, Kaella?”
Beatrice asked out of the blue.
“Something you ate went wrong, right? But you’re fine now, I guess?”
Malice dripped from her voice. Was she irritated, displeased at seeing Kaella play the part of Lüsenford Duchess? Did she resent this infuriating wench who had snatched up everything Beatrice lacked?
But she had Pheon—why carry on like this? Kaella couldn’t fathom it. Having Pheon meant having it all. No need for endless self-proof or strife. How convenient was that?
“I’m well enough to get around.”
“No, you are not.”
An unfamiliar voice cut in abruptly, startling Beatrice. Yes—unfamiliar.
Pheon’s voice, so courteously polite toward some other woman who wasn’t her. Him using honorifics with that plain-looking Kaella de Shasser—the clingy little pest who’d whined and trailed after him every day begging to play. Unfamiliar.
Beatrice practically had to double-check whom those words were aimed at. She wasn’t some dimwit like Kaella. Honorifics for her? The one who was no fun to play with, always sniveling, dull, and tedious?
“You still need ongoing treatment. The investigator His Imperial Majesty is sending will arrive soon—you must recover fully by then. You’ve already done far too much walking today.”
“I’m fine.”
That again. That habit of her brushing things off with a casual ‘I’m fine’ when she clearly wasn’t—how was he supposed to break her of it?
Pheon wanted, in that moment, to wipe Beatrice Lavalle from existence right here. She who always popped up out of nowhere in Lüsenford, just like this, making everything inconvenient. Then it would be comfortable. Then it would look like he bore no sins at all.
The brazen mutt, the shameless filthy bastard, scheming to erase his guilt on a whim. To everyone else, honestly, it was a riveting spectacle.
Lüsenford’s people were long accustomed to Beatrice Lavalle coming and going like this—sometimes with that couldn’t-help-it look from the Emperor’s magic tool, other times exhausted from grueling overland treks.
They all knew what she was to the Duke.
Yet the Duke had wed another woman—the fabulously wealthy daughter of Duke Ostein—and right after that precious lady had nearly died here, Beatrice showed up again.
Between those two, not even time for a proper honeymoon.
“What are you two doing?”
A derisive snort burst out—pfft.
“What’s this, honorifics all of a sudden? It’s creepy…, just talk like always! Banmal between us? That’s just weird.”
Beatrice clutched her stomach and giggled. Childhood friends who’d played together forever, suddenly using formal speech? Utterly laughable.
Like kids clumsily playing house, forcing mismatched roles—you’re Daddy, I’m Mommy.
Children fumbling at grown-up parts. To Beatrice, it was unbearably bizarre and hilarious.
Perhaps the marriage of Kaella and Pheon itself struck her as bizarre and hilarious.
“That’s the rule now. Can feel awkward even with old friends.”
Pheon could hold back no longer and was about to interject when Kaella beat him to it. He couldn’t dare cut her off.
“Sister’s always been so free. It’s enviable.”
“Don’t you think you’re the one who’s overly stuffy?”
“Yeah. Enviable. Let’s go.”
Beatrice stared at Kaella’s pale face as she said that, then turned and walked lightly back inside. That girl who had everything calling her enviable—why didn’t it sound like praise?
’Not sincere.’
She’d tossed it out offhand because it was the answer Beatrice wanted. Say that, and she’d pipe down.
Her pink eyes narrowed the instant she realized it. No way. No way that obtuse Kaella de Shasser had leveled up that far.
Impossible. Kaella had always truly envied Beatrice, always burned with jealousy.
Because the Pheon she loved had always gazed at Beatrice. Out of pride, Ostein’s Duke’s daughter would never admit it, never voice it. And yet she flung out ‘enviable’ so casually?
“First, let’s at least get the luggage inside. And a room to stay in…, any available?”
Kaella trailed off in a mutter, then turned to the head maidservant instead of Pheon, who looked like he had plenty to say. Fabiola Sirenster wore a troubled expression.
“The situation isn’t ideal. As you know, every room is under construction, and since Your Highness isn’t in your own bedroom….”
That was code for how chaotic Lüsenford Castle truly was, but Beatrice cut in.
“Then which room is Your Highness using?”
Asked of the head maidservant, she had no choice but to reply.
“Your Highness is residing in His Grace the Duke’s bedroom.”
No, that fluttering Lady of Monde had grated so badly on Fabiola Sirenster that she’d deliberately singled it out.
She knew instantly why she’d wanted to phrase it just so—the moment a sharp crack spiderwebbed across Lady of Monde’s expression. A small satisfaction bloomed inside the head maidservant.
“Pheon’s…?”
Sharing a bedroom? Beatrice’s voice trembled despite herself. Pheon, who should have had no woman but her—no, even she didn’t fully know him—that blockhead sharing a bed with Kaella?
The head maidservant looked at her like what was the issue. The Duke and Duchess were married; sharing a bedroom was only natural.
Even if it had solidified that way because Kaella collapsed and the Duke, bypassing that nightmare of a Duchess bedroom for whatever reason, had carried her straight to his own. Natural, regardless.
Beatrice knew rationally it was only logical, yet the shock hit her hard.
The Emperor hadn’t pressured her to come to Lüsenford for nothing.
Pheon—meant to envision only her—was sharing a bedroom with another woman. The restraint had a flaw. Then what earthly use was she to the Emperor?
“Then that means Your Highness’s bedroom is vacant?”
No. Absolutely not. The world was an endless arena of struggle, and Beatrice had to claw her way up high, saddled with her worthless house, her unsatisfying station, and her debts besides.
“Then just give me that room. I’m an important figure sent by His Imperial Majesty—only natural I get the best one, right?”
So she had to seize the Duchess’s seat, shove aside the false Duchess, and reclaim her role as the Emperor’s useful hostage—the snare to hobble Pheon.
Beatrice Lavalle had always been shameless at heart, a master at needling people. People didn’t change easily, and she—who took being adored for granted—couldn’t grasp what it even meant to go unloved.
Right there, Pheon felt his self-control shatter completely.
“Yes.”
Everyone froze in stunned silence, Pheon on the verge of speaking, when a clear voice rang out in answer.
“As a precious guest, she should have the very best room. Make it so. Head maidservant, move all of Lady Lavalle’s trunks to my bedroom.”
Kaella, still wearing that picture-perfect smile, nodded.
