Chapter 53
‘How could this be?’
Beatrice wanted to grab anyone and ask, but the only visitors to her room—somewhat insulated from the hideous chill of the Grand Duchess’s bedroom—were the maid who brought her three meals a day and the doctor who stopped by once a day. This simply couldn’t be happening.
To make matters worse, something had gone wrong en route, and they hadn’t been able to bring half her trunks. She was missing all the essentials: the dress she wore when sipping tea alone, the nightgown for when she was in a foul mood, a single fur hat for small gatherings, her fan, pearl necklace and bracelet, lightweight ballroom slippers, riding boots, and more.
“Miss, there are medicines there too……!”
She snapped irritably, only for cough, cough—a violent coughing fit to erupt. Her throat still burned like it was being torn apart, and her voice came out in a grotesquely raspy croak. Lying there, Beatrice fumed.
‘No, I don’t need aphrodisiacs or anything like that.’
That wasn’t the point. After all her years of experience, would she really rely on cheap tricks to seduce a man? She didn’t need them anymore. Keeping that stupid, oblivious man Pheon tied down was as easy and natural as breathing.
But she hadn’t had a single chance!
“Excuse me. I’m coming in.”
Knock, knock—and then the doctor barged in before she could even grant permission. That woman really got under her skin.
Lüsenford was such a barbaric place, utterly devoid of refined etiquette. The respect inferiors showed to their superiors was a complete disaster. But Beatrice was too out of breath to do more than glare daggers at the doctor with her eyes.
“You look lively. You’ll be up and about in no time.”
“Don’t you know any manners?”
Oh dear, the young miss is throwing another tantrum. Darinka figured there was no need for an examination after seeing that fire in her.
“Your voice may rasp like a barking dog, but you’re speaking just fine, so you should be fully recovered in about a fortnight.”
Such a pretty face, brimming with poison in her eyes. The castle staff had gossiped that this lady was the Grand Duke’s first love, his childhood friend, and so on—but to Darinka, that didn’t ring true at all.
They were probably childhood friends, sure. But still. Friends who played together as children didn’t always stay close for life.
When their paths in life diverged, they naturally drifted apart without mutual effort. And effort stemmed from affection. Affection, in turn, began with basic fondness.
To Darinka’s eyes, this young lady simply wasn’t the Grand Duke’s type. It would be hard for the kind of fondness, affection, and effort that could endure for years to ever take root.
“Shall we check your temperature first?”
And yet, childhood friend and first love—how peculiar. Darinka found the whole thing downright strange. After all, in this world, it was perfectly normal for boys, once their heads thickened a bit with age, to start swinging swords and spears around without a second thought.
“You still have a slight fever. Stay away from cold drafts, and drink plenty of water.”
“The water’s like ice.”
“Keep it by the fireplace, then. A short walk will get your muscles moving and help you recover. Lying in bed all day isn’t good for you.”
“Hey.”
The form of address was the first problem. It didn’t suit the Grand Duke at all, who upheld etiquette with ironclad precision and showed respect to those beneath him.
“The investigator…… has he come?”
Cough, cough—mixed with lingering coughs, her raspy voice finally forced out the question, so Darinka answered.
“Yes.”
“But why no welcome banquet?”
The sharp retort dripped with utter disbelief. She hacked away so fiercely afterward that Darinka quietly fetched her a glass of water.
Too lazy to walk the few steps to the fireplace, she finally took a sip. At this rate, recovery would take ages. With that temperament of hers, she’d pull through eventually, though.
“We were planning to.”
But? Beatrice stared at Darinka’s slow response, as if demanding she hurry up and spit it out.
“The investigator told us not to.”
“Why!”
“I told you not to shout. It’s bad for your throat.”
Beatrice gulped down more water and gestured frantically. Hurry up and answer.
“He said he’s here to investigate Your Highness’s affairs—what’s this about a welcome banquet? Postpone it, he said. Maybe a quick one when he heads back to Kline?”
“Miss, that stiff-necked blockhead Isidore……!”
Even whispered under her breath, Darinka—who had treated countless streetwalkers—had no trouble understanding the curse.
See? Not the Grand Duke’s type at all. Darinka silently regarded Beatrice Lavalle, who treated her inferiors as if they were blind and deaf, acting with utter impunity.
“The banquet’s still on. You just can’t attend.”
“What?”
“Where do you think you’re going in that state? It’d be a disaster. A total disaster. Get pneumonia, and you won’t be moving an inch.”
“I don’t get stuff like that.”
“Oh please, you caught a cold—why wouldn’t pneumonia be possible?”
“Speak properly. I can’t make heads or tails of it. Why do you all talk with that accent?”
To Beatrice’s ears, the Lüsenford accent sounded downright rustic and crude.
Pheon spoke in a crisp, elegant Kline accent, but every now and then a bit of Lüsenford twang slipped through—and Beatrice despised it as hopelessly provincial.
“Accent or no accent, just speak clearly—that’s what matters. You can hardly speak properly yourself, miss. Your throat’s wrecked, so enough talking. Goodness, you must be suffering.”
Darinka soothed and coaxed her like a petulant little sister. Any other maid would’ve had objects flying at her head or a slap across the face by now, but Beatrice merely scowled fiercely and flopped back down.
“When’s the banquet?”
“Who knows. No idea. You have no clue how fierce the investigator is.”
“Miss, this is bad……! So nothing else at all?”
“Agh, you’re straining your throat again. What else?”
“A ball, concert, tea party, theater, ballet viewing—something like that?”
“Sigh, where do you think we are, Lüsenford? Come on, miss. There’s nothing like that here. Unless His Highness arranges it, but not in this situation.”
Darinka gestured all around. Investigators blanketed the place under the man’s command.
“No chance. Not a chance.”
Damn it! Beatrice fumed. This wouldn’t do. Banquet, ball, concert—anything. She needed her own territory, a space where she could take charge.
Lüsenford might be a bit ragged and backwater, but even here, she had plenty of worshippers among those who came and went.
‘I need to use them to smash that ragtag Kaella de Shasser even flatter than they are, but Isidore that bastard’s no help at all.’
The flower of high society wielded her greatest influence right there in society—not buried in some dank, depressing bed like this!
On top of that, banquets, balls, and concerts drew crowds—and offered prime chances to see Pheon.
Just one such event. Once would be enough to put Kaella—who’d dared steal her possession, Pheon—in her place and fulfill the mission the Emperor had sent her here for.
“Take your medicine. I’ll come again tomorrow.”
“Uh.”
“And no more straining your throat.”
“You’re the only one to talk to. The person I should be talking to got stolen by some witless wench who doesn’t know her place. Girls like that are always dim. You have to school them periodically to make them grasp their station.”
Darinka slipped out quietly without a word.
Beatrice wasn’t even watching the doctor leave. In the empty bedroom, her mind drifted to that man she’d glimpsed one frigid late night, gazing up from the foot of the stairs. Among all the men she’d ever seen, he struck her anew as so intensely powerful—the most captivating of them all.
Alone in her bedroom, Beatrice let out a raspy chuckle.
Ahh. Men really did become so much more delectable after marriage.
*
“This is a total shitshow.”
Isidore Dakiten furrowed his brow at the words from the seasoned investigator. The fireplace crackled warmly with burning logs, while the investigators pored meticulously over the thick stacks of case files.
“His Highness clearly said he didn’t eat it, and they just served it anyway? No, does that even make sense? To the esteemed Daughter of Ostein Duke, no less?”
“This isn’t just some quirky backwater. Kranian Empire in name only—they flout the laws and etiquette however they please…… Sigh, tsk.”
“His Highness must have been through hell mentally. Arriving in this freezing wasteland only to face outright insubordination.”
“These records are surprisingly objective, though, sir. They match the testimonies—especially that doctor who became the chief physician. She doesn’t seem to be lying.”
Darinka, medicine satchel slung over her shoulder, had given a frank account of just how dire the Grand Duchess’s condition had been.
“I figured they’d try to cover it up, but the records are thorough, and the witnesses are cooperative.”
Isidore, who’d been listening silently, muttered.
“The Grand Duke’s paperwork is always impeccable.”
The investigators fell quiet and glanced at Isidore.
“Time to poke the bear.”
Isidore rose from his seat.
“Where are you headed, sir?”
“To His Highness.”
“For the interview now?”
“No. To ask him to hold that welcome banquet.”
Better to get eyes on the Grand Duke at such an event. With the unexpected turn of events, Isidore swiftly adjusted his strategy.
He’d ask the Grand Duchess—his little sister figure from childhood, the victim—to lay the groundwork, then keep watch on the perpetrators.
He traversed the Lüsenford castle grounds, drearier than winter even in early spring. No way this was a place for a flower-loving woman like Kaella.
Well, noble ladies rarely got the marriages they wanted—let alone good ones. Impoverished houses chased alliances with the wealthy.
Newcomer families sought ties to ancient bloodlines. Houses with both money and history guarded their prestige. And at the pinnacle of power, even someone like Kaella had no choice but to bend to the Emperor’s will.
‘Ostein Duke must have pushed for a marriage without any conditions.’
A union the bride’s own father couldn’t control was doomed to creak from the start. The signs were ominous. Then again, Isidore’s aunt the Empress had essentially been forced into marriage with the Emperor, so perhaps her son was fated for an unhappy one too.
Stepping through the door a maid held open, Isidore locked eyes with Kaella and found himself smiling without thinking.
“Come in, brother. Want some tea?”
“Sure. What’ve you been up to?”
“Just…… nothing, really.”
Isidore gave her a wry, understanding smile.
“Not much to do in Lüsenford, huh?”
She had to answer an investigator’s questions with care. What had she been doing around this time? Sitting blankly in her office as usual, Kaella rummaged through her memories. She’d clashed repeatedly with the head maid while pouring effort after effort into improving the castle.
But she’d been chased back to her room every time, suffering one shock after another. Eventually, she’d schemed to secure at least the Grand Duchess’s office so she could do some real work from there.
Unyielding, she’d blazed on. She sought out tasks; when none existed, she created them. He’ll recognize me soon, accept me—and around then, she’d begun proving herself endlessly.
Perhaps that was how she’d coped with the shock of her father’s death and the emptiness of having everything stripped away. She’d clung blindly to something utterly unworthy of her devotion.
“Thanks to you coming, brother, I’m taking a break. There’s plenty to do. As you can see, there’s no shortage of things needing my touch.”
“Yeah. It was surprising, but at least the kitchen renovations are underway.”
Whether that was the beginning or the end, who could say.
“Word of your collapse must have reached Ostein Duke by now.”
“I already sent a letter telling him not to worry.”
A new one, not the one she’d given Mari.
“It’s not a situation where he can just not worry, Kaella. Are you really okay?”
Pheon hadn’t stopped at attempted murder charges—he’d naturally tacked on disobedience too, punishing them harshly.
Insulted by a mere head maid and provincial nobles—how deep must her wounds and shock have run? If it were Isidore, he’d have ordered their heads off, but even then, her kind heart had spared the head maid’s life.
“I can’t afford to waver.”
“Knew you’d say that. If you hold firm, your brother’s got your back. So why’d Beatrice come? How’d she even get here?”
Well. Kaella clamped her mouth shut, unsure, when a knock-knock sounded and the door suddenly swung open.
“Du-, I’ll step out for a bit……”
Pheon, entering as naturally as ever, spotted Isidore and paused.
“Ah, were you speaking with Lord Dakiten?”
Isidore stood.
“Nothing important. Since you’re planning a welcome banquet, I came to request it for this evening. We haven’t begun the interview yet, Your Highness.”
As Isidore shook his head and explained, Pheon nodded slowly a couple of times.
“Understood. Du-, I’ll patrol the border briefly. I’ll be back before the banquet.”
“Ah, yes. Safe travels.”
Kaella puzzled over why he felt the need to specify going somewhere, but after a moment’s hesitation, she added.
“Be careful out there.”
Pheon, turning to leave, glanced back at her and gave a faint smile.
“Yes.”
Then he exited the Grand Duchess’s office. Isidore’s gaze flicked between the door and Kaella.
“He always like that?”
“We share a bed—what do you expect?”
Kaella muttered indifferently.
“Ugh, don’t wanna hear that. You and brother…… We used to just play hide-and-seek together. Feels off.”
“It’s not just us.”
Kaella and Pheon. Pheon and Beatrice too.
“Anyway, brother—a welcome banquet?”
She shifted away from her self-deprecating thoughts, changing the subject.
