Chapter 46
There will come a time when I must interfere with what Your Highness is doing. I ask for your understanding in advance.
Was that what he meant earlier? Kaella felt her heart sink without realizing it.
What on earth was Pheon doing to Beatrice Lavalle, whom the Emperor had specially sent through a magic communication device?
‘He shouldn’t be doing that.’
Ridiculously, even she—who had experienced death and was prepared to embrace another—thought the same. He shouldn’t be doing that. It would lead to disaster.
If he defied the Emperor, even the meager support coming into Lüsenford would be cut off, and if things worsened, the Emperor would raise an army and crush Lüsenford.
She didn’t want to face another catastrophe where innocent blood stained the snow, and wails of grief and despair blanketed the land.
In Kline, he had gone along with the Emperor’s whims just enough, even agreeing to marry Kaella without a single word of complaint. So why was he treating Beatrice like that?
They were the couple rumored to be remembered forever in history as tragic lovers.
The very fact that Kaella would go down in history as the one who obstructed them, as some foreign contaminant, was a massive humiliation for her. And yet, after Pheon had once declared they were nothing to each other, for him to turn so hostile toward her so suddenly? It didn’t make sense. Pheon and Beatrice were supposed to be immortal lovers.
“Hey, Pheon, why are you like this? We’ve known each other since we were kids.”
If Kaella was flustered, how much more so must Beatrice be? This was something that could never happen in her world.
Whenever the three of them who had grown up together gathered, she always held the reins, and Kaella was nothing but an annoying tagalong. And now, he was telling her to show manners to that tagalong?
He had been made to prioritize Beatrice and the Empress above all else in the world, so had Pheon gone mad?
“If we’ve known each other since childhood, does that mean laws and etiquette don’t apply? Then Your Highness shouldn’t bother showing etiquette either. Take what suits you, refuse what doesn’t. Conveniently twisting imperial customs to your liking.”
Kaella’s shoulders, wrapped in fur, shrank back involuntarily. It was a familiar contempt. Though it wasn’t directed at her, a contemptuous Pheon was frightening. He was cold and chilling, oppressively so.
Even the ever-eager butler was quietly retreating to a corner in silence, so how must Beatrice feel, facing that contempt head-on?
“I, I thought we were all close friends, so I acted that way, but our friendship hasn’t changed, right, Pheon? Why are you doing this?”
Beatrice had never needed to string together logical arguments. That was something for desperate situations, like what Kaella resorted to. A charming smile, a sad expression, or a single tear was more than enough to resolve everything for her.
So she put on a look of deep hurt and grievance, as if to say, You’re the strange one for treating me like this. Why? It was an expression that made onlookers feel as though they had committed some grave sin by wounding the beauty of the century.
Usually, by this point, those around her would step in and smooth things over to her liking. But there was no one like that here.
What the hell is that wench doing?!
The flustered Beatrice glanced sideways at Kaella, who ought to take her side— it was only proper. Shouldn’t that much-younger girl she’d treated like a maid since childhood step up on her own?
But that stupid Kaella seemed to think Pheon taking her side meant something special, just standing there dazed. It only irritated Beatrice more. This was a situation she had hardly ever encountered.
“Close friends, you say.”
His low, forceful voice responded as if he were hearing the words for the first time.
“If that’s the relationship, shouldn’t you start with greetings and inquire after one’s well-being first? Screaming and raging like at a maid—that must be what a lady considers friendship.”
There was no point engaging further. Pheon turned his body toward Kaella.
“My lady, shall we head inside now? You’ve had enough fresh air, so you should rest…”
“I’m, I’m sorry!”
Beatrice’s scream-like cry erupted hysterically, burying Pheon’s words.
It was so loud it echoed off the stone corridor walls of Lüsenford Castle multiple times. Her face flushed crimson, Beatrice fixed her gaze on the floor and did something she had never done before.
“Sorry… sorry, I am. I’m sorry.”
Her wildly trembling voice grew smoother with each repetition, regaining its original composure.
The speed was so startling that the head maid watching beside her was inwardly shocked to see the bewilderment vanish from Beatrice’s face, replaced by that brazen expression as if nothing had happened.
“My joy got the better of me, and I made a grave mistake.”
But at the same time, the head maid didn’t miss the tension in her neck beneath the sparkling silver hair or the fingers trembling faintly beneath the long dangling sleeves of her dress.
“Your Highness will forgive me with your generous heart.”
Emotion laced the firmly pressed words “Your Highness.” Overall, it was a perfunctory, insincere apology. And it was the first apology Kaella had ever received from anyone.
All eyes now turned to Kaella. She felt no joy at all from this forced apology demanding forgiveness. She didn’t even want to grant it—and besides, she hadn’t earned it herself; the lord of Lüsenford Castle, the Grand Duke, had wrung it out for her.
When the Grand Duke took her side, her position in Lüsenford rose; when he ignored her, she plummeted endlessly. Every time something like this happened, all she could think was that she should just die quickly. There was no hope in Lüsenford.
“Please forgive the inadequate preparations upon your sudden arrival, sister. We’ll prepare a new room for you, but it might take some time.”
She didn’t say she forgave her. She didn’t cover for Beatrice’s actions by saying anyone could make a mistake. Kaella didn’t return the ball Beatrice had tossed her way. She simply made good use of it.
“While preparing a room for you to stay in, sister, we should also ready one for the investigators His Imperial Majesty is sending. When do you think they’ll arrive?”
Pheon looked at Kaella, who had even ferreted out the most crucial information for him. No, actually, it had been quite some time since he’d looked only at her, not Beatrice.
“How would I know…?”
Beatrice glanced at Pheon and adjusted her wording.
“Then do you know when the investigators departed from Kline?”
The Duchess seemed to be exercising infinite patience with the utterly rude Lady Lavalle.
But it wasn’t patience on Kaella’s part—it was that she didn’t even feel it worth the effort to yell in anger. She knew people didn’t change, and Beatrice would remain like this until the day she died.
“I think they departed a fortnight ago…”
To think she was using honorifics unilaterally with that wench! Beatrice’s pride stung fiercely.
“Ah, a fortnight ago. That’ll be very helpful for preparing the rooms. Stay in my room tonight.”
Beatrice unconsciously furrowed her brow and glared at Kaella.
She’s openly talking down to me?
The vibe coming through her tone was unmistakable. The naturally curt informal speech was extremely unpleasant.
What the hell makes her think she’s my equal…? How dare she.
Beatrice suppressed her unpleasant thoughts. With Pheon—the uptight stickler for laws and etiquette—taking Kaella’s side, she had no choice.
“Yes, of course.”
But she didn’t realize her hostility was plainly visible to the head maid, the butler, and both Kaella and Pheon. She had never once managed her expressions in front of people she underestimated.
*
Kaella found it boring precisely because everything was so transparently obvious. Beatrice would stir things up again now that she was here. And counting the silverware with Pheon tonight was off the table.
She’d have to stay holed up in her room for the time being. No, first she should send Mari away.
Whenever Beatrice came to Lüsenford, Kaella’s standing always shrank. Beatrice roamed the castle nosily, popping up by Pheon’s side at every turn.
It was impressive, really. Kaella knew Beatrice had despised Pheon as a fool—something she’d overheard before dying in the North Tower.
And yet, the devotion with which she pursued him was astonishing. Was it because the Emperor ordered her? Or did Beatrice truly love the Emperor that much?
‘Ah, well…’
Kaella understood, since she had been the same. When you loved someone, you could do anything. Just seeing their happy face made working through the night worthwhile, and a single smile left you grateful. That’s how it had been.
In any case, she didn’t want to watch Beatrice put on her desperate act of pretense out of love or ambition, so she’d just hole up in the Grand Duke’s bedroom for a while.
Kaella even had dinner brought to the bedroom on the excuse of feeling unwell. Eating at a table with Beatrice and the Grand Duke would only make her choke and want to vomit anyway.
“Your Highness.”
Cecil, who had quickly learned the new form of address, approached. She must have brought the meal. Kaella nodded and started to rise.
“His Highness has arrived.”
“Hm?”
Before she could confirm, Kaella came face-to-face with the towering man who strode in, filling the vast bedroom.
“What brings you here, Your Highness?”
“That’s what I should be asking you. Where are you unwell? Does it hurt badly?”
Unlike his usual taciturn self, he spoke rapidly with evident anxiety. His violet eyes shook as they scanned her thoroughly even while he spoke.
“Did you catch a chill from the outdoor air today?”
His hand hovered in the air as if ready to collapse and hold her, his trembling gaze, his slightly pallid face—they stirred the suspicions she had buried. Why? Why was he like this? As if he’d committed some grave wrong—why?
“It’s just a bit tiring. No need to worry.”
“How could I not worry? I took you out, and that’s why you’re unwell. Sit down. Quickly.”
He sat Kaella, who had risen, back down and personally draped the blanket she’d set aside over her knees. Then he took a seat opposite and checked the meal being laid on the table. Surprisingly, it was for two.
“I’ll eat here as well.”
“But Your Highness, with a guest here, shouldn’t you go to the dining hall?”
“Where would I go leaving my lady behind?”
It wasn’t a question—it was a declaration that he had nowhere else to be and would stay right here. The crisp finality of his words was resolute. That would leave Beatrice Lavalle to dine alone in the hall—a grave breach of etiquette.
“Your Highness. Still, since it’s someone sent by His Imperial Majesty, wouldn’t it be better to eat together?”
“She showed up unannounced.”
He spoke slowly as he handed Kaella a warm damp cloth. She accepted it reflexively, and he wiped his own hands with his.
“If the lady of the house is ill from an unfortunate incident, the guest should make allowances.”
Pheon had a bold, masculine face, but his long black lashes and delicate eyes softened it. Beneath the fan-like spread of his lashes, his violet eyes glanced at her.
“…I’d rather be with my lady than with an unexpected intruder.”
His gaze held anxiety and impatience, as if fearing she might send him away. Was it just Kaella’s lingering foolish hope making it seem that way, or was it real?
One situation after another kept defying what she knew, leaving her momentarily silent as she gauged him. Even that brief silence was too much for Pheon.
“I really don’t want to go to the dining hall.”
“Then do as you like.”
His childishly petulant face darkened instantly into utter despair.
“No, I mean, do whatever you want.”
It brightened again in a flash. At a glance, there was little visible change, but Kaella knew this man from a very young age, so she could tell. That’s why it was so wondrous.
The mighty Grand Duke, lord of Lüsenford, swaying so completely at the words of insignificant Kaella—it was utterly fascinating. Fascinating enough that she wanted to live a little longer, to see more.
She was surprised even at herself for thinking that, but sharing a meal across from him was even more so. Kaella was accustomed to eating alone quietly in Lüsenford, and being picky with food, so having Pheon seated before her felt awkward.
“Is that all you’re eating?”
Kaella paused with her spoon in the potato cream soup, looked up at him, then at his soup bowl. His was scooped full—two and a half ladles’ worth—while hers was less than half.
Pheon was enormously tall and powerfully built, so he needed to eat a lot to maintain it, but Kaella didn’t. Still, he asked with a gravely serious face.
“Did you request that amount, or…”
Or had the impertinent kitchen dared to limit the Duchess’s portion? Pheon, who trusted nothing in all of Lüsenford Castle, thought he needed to stay even closer to Kaella. Things might be twisted from even the smallest, most trivial matters.
“It’s the amount the doctor approved. I can’t eat more than this.”
Soup, well-boiled vegetables, tender long-simmered meat—that was the Duchess’s meal.
“How have your recent meals been, Your Highness? I had them prepare a variety of dishes.”
“Ah. That explains why my meals have been so different lately. I enjoyed them.”
“Really?”
Seeing Kaella’s eyes widen round, Pheon unexpectedly burst into laughter.
“Why would I lie about something like food? They were good. They reminded me of the dishes from Kline.”
They were the nostalgic foods he’d eaten while living in a corner of the Imperial Palace with his mother, whom others pointed at as dirty and unclean.
Pheon, who had always viewed food as mere fuel to fill the belly and gain strength for battle, realized he had forgotten the simple joy of eating well in Lüsenford.
“I’m glad. We’re searching for a head chef who can handle a wide variety of dishes from around here and even a bit farther. If you let me know on which days a particular dish pleased you, I’ll make sure to reference it in the final selection.”
The food tasted sweet on his tongue, and the back-and-forth conversation was more than comfortable—it was thoroughly enjoyable. Just everyday talk between a castle lord and his lady, yet how could it be this fun?
No, the fun came from Kaella’s presence itself. Even her slightly formal smile filled Pheon with joy and delight.
Couldn’t they just stay like this a little longer, just a bit, until the suspicions that had captivated him proved true?
He dared to hope for a stay of execution. Recalling the question he’d asked in the Evil Dragon’s Domain, he gazed at his breathtakingly beautiful wife.
…Is it possible that others came back to the past as well?
The question he had tremblingly posed to the mage grew ever clearer in his mind, yet he yearned for delay. Not yet—just a little more. Please.
