Chapter 57
Kaella. Kaella. Kaella.
I wanted to keep calling that name. Without any hesitation, like a husband calling the wife he’d spent long, comfortable years with.
Not “Duchess” or any other title-bound form of address, but with affection woven into the name itself, calling her so preciously. Of all names, it had to be Kaella. It suited her so perfectly—the fragile, heartrendingly beautiful woman who seemed like she might shatter at any moment.
Couldn’t she just get a little healthier?
Pheon gazed down at Kaella, who had fallen into an exhausted sleep, and adjusted his hold on her. He couldn’t torment his wife all night long, the one who had vomited up the delicious meal she’d eaten so well, all because of a single word from Beatrice.
He simply held her, ensuring she wouldn’t have bad dreams, that she’d sleep soundly, licking her wounds and sucking out the venomous words that had pooled in her ears. Kaella, who didn’t even have the stamina to take in all the affection he poured onto her, groaned in pleasure before passing out in a deep slumber.
“……Kaella.”
Once light entered the bedroom again, he wouldn’t even be able to call her name like this. Outside, he had to maintain strict propriety with knife-sharp etiquette, or the arrogant nobles wouldn’t hold back with Kaella. Of course, he had no intention of letting that situation drag on.
It wouldn’t be much longer. So Pheon didn’t loosen his arms around Kaella. Even this was brazen. He knew it. In the end, he was just a shameless mongrel, a bastard without a father.
With nothing proper to his name, he’d cling to the present forever. Putting off atonement and remorse, he savored this moment lying beside Kaella—splitting it into pieces, etching each one deep into his memory over and over.
‘Did you come back with me too?’
He wanted to ask, but he was too afraid to. For Pheon, regression was an opportunity. A chance to live properly, straightforwardly this time. A chance not to repeat the sins he’d committed. But would an opportunity like that come so easily to a sinner?
He wasn’t sure. Or perhaps he lacked the courage to open the stinking box he’d made for himself and face the sins stuffed inside, so he was cowardly pretending not to see.
Just a little more, just a little longer. She’d smiled at him last night, so maybe this time would be different—he’d let that hope grow wildly on its own. This moment felt so much like a dream, so happy, so perfect, that he wanted to turn a blind eye to everything.
At the same time, disgust welled up as he remembered the past days when he’d desperately ignored his wife, who was seven years younger, even though he was so helplessly enamored with her now. He clutched Kaella desperately.
I’ll do better. This time, I’ll do it right. I’ll look only at you, listen to every word you say, never miss a single expression or breath, and protect you. This time, please.
Please.
Pheon closed his eyes, unable to even beg for forgiveness.
*
Beatrice Lavalle’s name was gradually fading from Lüsenford.
The moment Lady Lavalle arrived, His Grace the Grand Duke had gone straight to the bedchamber where the Duchess resided every night.
The maids attending the Duchess’s bath turned their heads away quickly upon seeing the red marks blooming on her pale skin from how intensely he loved her each night, but they couldn’t help feeling satisfied.
They’d worried what would happen if their lady was pushed aside in her marriage by the flower of high society, but no. Beatrice Lavalle had been thoroughly treated as an unwelcome guest, and the taciturn Grand Duke hadn’t even given her a chance to cross paths with him.
Today too, he’d stayed in the bedchamber until very late before leaving. Thanks to that, the Duchess was starting her day much later than usual.
‘Just don’t do it.’
The maids and even Pheon had fussed overly because she’d been a bit indisposed. So last night, he hadn’t gone all the way.
As if her satisfaction mattered more than his own pleasure, he’d held her endlessly in that embarrassing way. When she’d cried from sheer mortification, he’d murmured like a madman that she was beautiful, even licking away her tears.
What was so beautiful about it? Just fulfill your husbandly duties and be done.
“Ugh, at this rate, no matter how tightly you wrap your neck, it won’t help.”
Denise muttered as she looked at the red mark on the inside of her wrist. Neck, shoulders, inner arms, thighs, calves, behind the ears—any soft, white flesh had been sucked and bitten. It was even worse than last time, and Denise’s mouth curved into a grin.
“You’ll just have to wear it as is, Your Highness. It’s spring now—if you bundle up like that, you’ll be sweltering in the daytime.”
“But I have a meeting with the investigator today. How can I show all this?”
“Ugh, Your Highness. If you’re hot during the day, you’ll catch a chill at night when the sweat cools. You’ll get sick again. And if you pull the collar up like this and drape a shawl over it, it’ll be perfect, right? See? Perfect.”
Kaella watched Denise laugh to herself—hee hee hee—with an exasperated expression, but she ended up laughing along. Cecil was tidying up nearby, looking pleased as well.
“You’re too beautiful, Your Highness.”
Denise murmured in utter satisfaction.
“Really, so incredibly beautiful. His Grace the Grand Duke should see you like this—oh, what a shame!”
Pheon was busy as ever today. He was already up at dawn, and since Kaella had been indisposed, he’d dawdled that morning to make sure she could digest the thin porridge, making his day even busier.
“His Grace the Grand Duke already saw how lovely you are before he left, so. Let’s get you ready quickly.”
He’d lifted Kaella, who had barely opened her eyes, into his lap and stayed with her the entire breakfast, personally feeding her the porridge. He’d kept kissing her, so she’d barely eaten.
“You can’t be late for the meeting, Your Highness.”
Indeed. The investigator was thoroughly probing the events surrounding the Duchess’s near-death from bad food. The investigation had dragged on for days now, and today was the day to interview the victim.
The maids bustled about dressing Kaella and barely managed to send her off on time.
*
The sudden guests to Lüsenford had gained nothing from the banquet.
Isidore had already read the incident log meticulously recorded by Pheon’s secretary multiple times, but he was reading it again.
Was the Grand Duke truly blameless in all this? Of course, the Grand Duke had taken responsibility, exiling the head maid and executing the head chef along with five complicit nobles.
‘But His Imperial Majesty won’t be satisfied with this.’
That instinctual thought came because he was of the Dakiten family.
The family of an ordinary count that had suddenly produced an Empress, elevated to dukedom, then demoted to marquisate, forever forced to watch the Emperor’s moods—the Empress’s natal house.
Watching his father prostrate himself before the Emperor, Isidore had learned viscerally that imperial power held their lives in its grasp.
I wonder if that Hyperion bastard is properly playing the husband.
The Emperor, who had abruptly appointed Isidore as investigator and sent him to Lüsenford, had muttered with a haggard face from nursing the Empress constantly.
My precious niece nearly died—surely that bastard was negligent.
It had sounded to Isidore like an order that he absolutely must find fault. And then to send Beatrice Lavalle straight to Lüsenford on top of that—the Emperor was chillingly terrifying.
He pitied yet resented his aunt, caught in such a man’s grip. After all, wasn’t it her misconduct that had left the Dakiten family so cowed?
For the first time, a noble house without royal blood had produced an Empress, yet they couldn’t even bask in that honor, stuck with just the Marquis Alemichi title and shoved aside.
‘What exactly does he want?’
Instinct drew his gaze and suspicions toward his cousin the Grand Duke, but regrettably, Isidore had never once caught up to him.
From the start, what flaw could he find in the inner sanctum of such a monstrous man, who had never once lost in a power struggle?
But the Emperor’s intent in sending even Beatrice Lavalle was clear. If Beatrice caused any disturbance, he had to find evidence there that Pheon had been negligent in protecting Kaella.
“Are you feeling better?”
Isidore sat, scrutinizing Kaella’s complexion.
“I’m fine. Thanks for worrying, brother.”
“I’ll make this quick anyway. I don’t have much to ask you.”
The incident log was overly objective, and the Grand Duke himself had repeatedly apologized to the Duchess for his oversight in management.
“That’s true.”
Even with her face half-swollen, Kaella nodded in agreement during the interview.
“I don’t get it. How could there be underlings and local nobles this reckless?”
“There are, apparently.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Kaella.”
“I know.”
She knew, but there were many things beyond control. She stared out the window. Things like fate or death couldn’t be helped. No matter how desperately she screamed or struggled to escape, some things just couldn’t be changed.
“Really, nothing else? Like people who weren’t punished, or incidents not in the log?”
Kaella looked at Isidore again.
“There probably were, yeah. But it was my first day in Lüsenford, so I didn’t know who was who. Only those with witnesses got punished.”
Several had avoided execution but been banned from the castle and dismissed from their posts. It was only natural. If the Duchess had died, scarcely anyone in Lüsenford Castle would have survived. Even that leniency accounted for the fact that they’d tried to stop the marriage.
But the banquet hall had been full of people. So many, and she’d heard so many voices. There wasn’t evidence to punish every fleeting voice that had passed by. Surely some had slipped through.
“And after that, I was sick the whole time. There is something a bit suspicious, but…… no evidence.”
“Suspicious?”
Isidore leaned forward.
“Yeah. You know how house staff are, brother. If you don’t watch them, they stab you in the back, steal things.”
Isidore sighed and nodded immediately at Kaella’s list of complaints. As someone who employed staff himself, he couldn’t help but agree.
“Yeah. My father went through it too. What’s there to say? It’s so common no one hires without a recommendation anymore.”
“My husband worked hard to handle it. But we were uneasy about one thing. That the head maid wasn’t caught……”
Kaella looked at Isidore.
“……by the steward?”
*
This imperial investigator’s visit should have ended, as always, just ringing an alarm bell for Pheon, snapping him to attention.
Pheon had always despised the people the Emperor sent to rummage through Lüsenford, seeing them as spies on himself, and he’d always been uncooperative, making excuses to chase them off.
But this time, unlike before, Pheon was fully cooperating with the investigator, instructing his people to provide them with everything before leaving them to it.
He didn’t show any displeasure. He just went about reorganizing the military and distributing the new seeds to farmers for planting. Everyone else was tense and uncomfortable, but the Grand Duke alone was serene.
“Tear it open.”
When investigators burst into the steward’s office and tore open the secret drawer he’d desperately tried to hide, the steward realized things weren’t going as he’d planned.
“Take it all.”
“No, that’s……!”
No matter how he tried to stop them, he couldn’t block investigators wielding imperial authority. Hitting them would be like whipping Pheon himself—how could he strike this loyal steward?
Viscount Rolf Anderson, the steward, not only had his twenty years of hidden shame exposed to outsiders but also faced intense scrutiny.
He was truly wronged! What had he even done? Even as he denied any wrongdoing, the investigators didn’t look convinced. Suddenly the center of the investigation, the steward was finally released after two hours.
“Your Highness, Your Grace the Grand Duke!”
The steward rushed desperately to the only one who could hear his grievances. Forcing strength into his wobbling knees, he had nowhere to go but to Pheon, whom he’d raised himself.
‘Your expression when you saw the investigators wasn’t good at all. You’ve realized it, haven’t you? Yes, of course. The Duchess is the Emperor’s niece. She’s not one of us here.’
At least, that’s what the steward thought as he threw himself at Pheon in supplication.
“Just now, those investigators turned my office upside down……! Kline people spouting nonsense, holding me for hours claiming to investigate an innocent man like me—it’s so unjust.”
The old steward, legs trembling from the ordeal, stood straight as he spoke. Not too over the top, but with enough strain in his voice for Pheon to pity him.
That way, if the investigators found something he’d missed hiding later, he could still get through unscathed.
Of course, the steward never dreamed they’d comb through twenty years of ledgers. No way. It was just the shallow ploy of Kline folk trying to flex their power and crush Lüsenford. The steward knew it well.
“It’s what they always do—what’s new?”
But Pheon glancing at him coolly and saying it indifferently was something the steward hadn’t expected.
“As you say, you have no guilt, so just don’t worry about it. I’m not either.”
The son the steward had raised turned his broad back and walked away briskly.
“Don’t waver. Carry out your duties as before.”
The air was chillingly damp, heavy with the promise of rain that would thaw the ground briefly before freezing it again. The steward stared blankly at his retreating son, then stumbled wall-clutching into the castle depths like fleeing.
His son had gone blind for a southern woman and betrayed him. He’d exiled the mother, vowed to raise the bastard child even if she bore one, and now he wouldn’t even look back at his poor father.
He staggered deeper, to a place even the investigators didn’t know, where his grown son no longer came, and collapsed with a thud.
Was it the ordeal of the investigation? Or the fresh shock? A little rest would make it better.
‘His Grace the Grand Duke is a grown man now, so he’s right. Yes. I raised him well.’
That’s how it was. He’d raised him well. So why did it feel so chilling?
“Looks like something happened.”
The steward looked up. Beatrice, who had played with young Pheon in this very place, stood in the shadows.
“Did Isidore go too hard?”
She asked from the darkness. Her flat tone held no emotion.
“Pheon didn’t even care?”
That was exactly the question the steward had been waiting for, hoping for.
