Chapter 9
Kaella had never been all that healthy to begin with. In Lüsenford, she caught colds at the drop of a hat, once even teetering on the edge of death from pneumonia, and she often suffered from indigestion after eating something wrong.
The hardy northerners who had survived Lüsenford’s brutal weather looked upon the frail Duchess with great displeasure.
Not only had she taken the position that everyone assumed would go to Beatrice, but her family had fallen into ruin, offering no help to Lüsenford whatsoever, and on top of that, her body was weak. Weakness was a sin in Lüsenford.
But how could she change the constitution she was born with? Kaella took thorough care of her health, but no amount of caution could keep illness entirely at bay.
From the start, it was impossible for Kaella, born and raised in the south, to adapt to Lüsenford’s harsh climate. She had been born frail and raised delicately.
“You can step away for about twenty minutes.”
Kaella looked up at Pheon, who stood quietly beside her. His voice was naturally low and clear, so even when he spoke softly, it rang out distinctly.
Or perhaps it was because all of Kaella’s nerves were always focused on him, straining to catch every word he said.
“Go.”
His gaze, looking down at her impassively before sliding away, was the all-too-familiar look of her ‘husband.’ Kaella barely managed a response.
“I’m not sick…….”
“You have a fever.”
How did he know? She must have been so obvious that anyone could tell. She could never do anything properly. Kaella unwittingly hunched her shoulders.
It was true—she was sick. Since that morning, a strange heat had been rolling down her back, her joints aching, her strength steadily draining away. The fever climbed higher, stabbing at her head.
Was it because the tension had eased upon hearing that her father had passed away for now? Or was it because she had gone through the absurd ordeal of dying and returning to the past, and had been running herself ragged trying to appease the Emperor?
A chill seeped through the shallow dress tailored to current fashions, but since the event had only just begun, she was enduring it.
She never imagined she would be in charge of this in this life, but ever since the Empress collapsed and her father died, everything had unfolded differently from before. She had to hold on, she was already inured to enduring, and she believed in herself.
“Put something else on. What is that?”
Pheon’s face hardened ever so slightly as he looked down at Kaella.
In Lüsenford, one had to wrap themselves in furs to survive.
Even then, with hats pulled down and covered in animal pelts, one could barely feel secure. But in Kline, people sacrificed their health for fashion like madmen. No amount of layering that flimsy fabric would provide any warmth.
Kaella was already frail, and after overexerting herself preparing the event, of course she had a fever—it was only natural. And with an outfit like that, she would surely fall gravely ill. She would sweat profusely, unable even to groan, struggling through fever after fever for days on end.
“Go inside now.”
The event hall had its doors and windows flung wide open, letting in the outside wind unimpeded.
“They’ll think you’re somewhere else.”
But Kaella didn’t move, only stared at him.
“Beatrice unni is looking for you. Go see her.”
Unlike the polite speech she had used so formally until now, it was the natural tone he remembered well, but her voice was utterly cold.
“I’ll take care of my own body. I won’t collapse and cause you any trouble, so don’t worry about me. Go to Beatrice.”
The little Duchess rattled off her words like rapid-fire shots, then turned sharply and left his side. Pheon reached out to grab her, but too many people surged between them. In front of those trying to speak to him, Kaella forced an appropriate smile as she surveyed her tasks.
“The banquet?”
“We just inspected it, Your Highness. No issues so far.”
“Good. If anything comes up, tell me right away.”
She had to be in two places at once—front stage and back. Even if she was sick, she had to do it.
“Your Highness!”
Calls for Kaella came from all directions. If she ruined the banquet, who knew how the face-conscious Emperor would react. She could end up killed on a whim again, like target practice for the bored Emperor.
So being sick wasn’t the problem. Such things were never important in the face of death. So what if she hurt a little? Lüsenford had taught her that enduring, enduring was the only way to carve out even a small place for herself.
Again?
The husband who should have been her only family always frowned and asked if she was sick ‘again’ whenever she said she was ill. Yes, it must have been annoying for him. How tiresome a woman who fell sick at the slightest thing must have been.
Escort the Duchess inside.
Into the rain.
Inside.
So whenever she was sick, she was always shoved out of his sight. Because she was sick, go inside; because she was sick, stop what you’re doing; because she was sick, the Duchess should do nothing.
That was why Kaella kept shrinking smaller and smaller in Lüsenford until she had no place left to stand. Thanks to that, she had grown accustomed to enduring even when sick.
This time too, seeing she was ill, he was clearly trying to brush her aside carelessly. It was just a pretense of concern. So she shouldn’t foolishly let her heart flutter over it; she had to push him toward Beatrice. That was the right thing to do.
No matter how that lifelong, exasperating love ended up, as long as it continued somehow, Kaella thought her heart might finally feel at ease.
“You’re not too cold, are you, Your Highness?”
Kaella walked toward Prince Elcanan with an even brighter smile. The prince smiled back at the lovely Duchess, her cheeks flushed rose-pink.
From afar, Pheon thought the smiling Kaella looked perilously fragile. She would smile until she couldn’t withstand the cold and collapse. Lying there trembling, she wouldn’t even close her eyes before her breath gave out. Kaella was too delicate. And at the same time, too dazzling.
“Grand Duke, it’s a pleasure to see you again in Kline!”
Pheon’s shoulders stiffened. No one noticed his chest heaving with surprise.
“How is Lüsenford? Are you well, Your Grace?”
There were many in Kline who admired the Grand Duke.
People swarmed him today too, eager just to greet the man who single-handedly guarded the north despite the great stain of being the Empress’s illegitimate son. Thanks to them, Pheon could barely grasp the reality that he no longer mattered to her.
“Lüsenford remains the same.”
He answered curtly. Forcing his impudent eyes away from Kaella, he managed a formal expression. His tongue spun pleasantries about the weather, northern climate versus here, and so on.
But his frayed nerves were fixed entirely on the woman smiling despite her rising fever. He knew. Worry was no longer his place. He had no right to it.
Rumors were already circulating that marriage talks might soon begin between Keruzhan and the Kranian Empire. Alliances were ultimately sealed by marriage. In that sense, Prince Elcanan and the Ostein Duke’s daughter made a perfect match.
“What a handsome pair they make.”
“And the age difference is just right.”
The Emperor had mentioned it once, and now everyone was nodding along. Some of it was to curry favor, but anyone could see they suited each other well. So they had to say it louder. That the Emperor was right once again.
The Emperor saw everything, heard everything, was everywhere like the sun. His eyes and ears spanned the entire Empire.
Even in Lüsenford, that land ruled by bitter cold. He knew from the palace whether the Grand Duke was properly safeguarding the Empire or harboring other thoughts.
“Of course His Majesty, who upholds the late Emperor’s legacy, wouldn’t neglect his niece’s marriage.”
“What a kind and affectionate side. Even with Her Majesty the Empress fallen ill, he doesn’t forget his role as a steadfast uncle.”
The excessive praise was enough to rot one’s ears. The Emperor loved being seen.
He was especially weak to flattery calling him benevolent, compassionate, caring. Since he wasn’t truly so, he obsessed over such words. When people said them, he believed he really was that way.
Pheon was arrogant like the Emperor. He truly believed he was a decent lord. So he trusted the people of Lüsenford, trusted Beatrice, and gradually lost trust in Kaella. That arrogance was so stubborn it could only be broken by defeat and death.
Thus, he turned his back on the light he so desperately craved and retreated into the dark shadows.
The Emperor, quietly watching Prince Elcanan and Kaella from afar, was surely there with the Empress today. Curtains and screens were drawn around him to block the excessively blinding sunlight.
“Hyperion.”
“Yes.”
The Emperor beckoned Pheon closer with a dark expression. As he approached, the Emperor turned and examined him closely.
Pheon realized at once that he was searching for traces of the woman he loved to the point of obsession on his face.
From childhood, his violet eyes, the delicate and soft features hidden beneath strong lines, and his smooth skin—so like the Empress—had barely kept him alive.
Whether fortunate or repulsive, Pheon showed nothing. Having died and come back to life, he had to brush off even this much indifferently. Instead, he brought up something far more repulsive. The Emperor reacted immediately.
“Marriage to the Mond Duke’s daughter.”
“Yes.”
He nodded gravely, guilt mingling with the fact that this was how it should have been from the start, now happening late.
“Not right away, but after Her Majesty the Empress recovers.”
He casually brought up his mother to imply ‘that was the plan.’ Before Beatrice could block this marriage any further, he had to rush it through. He had to grab her quickly and set this hell ablaze.
A happy marriage? Such a thing had no place in his life. After starving a perfectly healthy wife to death, what right had he to dream of marital bliss? His life should be filled only with abject pain and bleak torment.
“How old are you again, Hyperion? More than old enough for marriage talks.”
“Twenty-eight.”
He was already past the age for engagements and weddings.
“I…… should have paid more attention.”
“Just your words are gratitude enough, Your Majesty.”
“No, no.”
The Emperor waved a hand.
“You’re the Empress’s son—how could I neglect you? The Empress’s son is my son.”
His son—what a revolting thought, but Pheon had learned not to show it. After dying pierced by arrows and spears beside his wretchedly dead wife, it was time he learned.
In any case, the chances of the Emperor granting his request were slim. For all his words, he would simply confirm once more that Beatrice could use Pheon as a valuable pawn against him and be satisfied.
But if the Emperor’s whims changed and allowed the marriage to Beatrice? That wouldn’t be bad either. After returning, all that remained for him was revenge. Whichever way, he welcomed it.
“……How is Her Majesty the Empress?”
He couldn’t call his mother ‘Mother’ in the Emperor’s presence. Even that much had been intolerable to him.
He had showered the young boy with reprimands, demanding proper titles. The Emperor refused to admit his own failings prevented the Empress from conceiving, hating the sight of Pheon as proof she had no issue.
Yet if Pheon didn’t tend to his mother, the Emperor was the one to curse him as an unfilial son.
“She’s the same.”
The Emperor muttered, running a hand over his dry face.
“Still unconscious. Doctors are utterly useless. Or perhaps medicine hasn’t advanced that far. They can’t even find the cause.”
No, in truth, the renowned physicians of the Imperial Medical Society suspected the Empress had collapsed from the Emperor tormenting her and abusing her illegitimate son. Some even questioned the room full of magic tools where she was found.
Might those magic tools, serving as the Emperor’s eyes and ears, have malfunctioned? But no one dared say it to his face.
“I see.”
Pheon lowered his eyes, feigning appropriate sorrow.
“I’ll look after you in the Empress’s stead.”
“I’m sorry to bring this up when your heart must be troubled. After much thought, I believed fulfilling the role you entrusted to me properly was the way to repay both Majesties.”
“Yes. Yes. Exactly. You’re right.”
The Emperor nodded repeatedly, muttering agreement.
“If only Gregory took after you even halfway, it would have been good. That boy has no substance.”
A child resembling the Empress. That was what the Emperor had so desperately wanted but never obtained.
“He’s still young; you haven’t had the chance to see his talents yet.”
But the Emperor didn’t respond. Clearly, Gregory still fell short in his eyes, even as the carefully selected illegitimate son.
“Don’t worry about the north.”
“Yes.”
The Emperor nodded and closed his eyes. Pheon turned his gaze. Far off, Kaella was laughing at Prince Elcanan’s joke.
Someone as cheerful as Prince Elcanan would draw out Kaella’s hidden lively spirit well, despite her elegance and refinement.
Nothing like a dark, taciturn man like Pheon, who only looked at other women and ended up killing his wife.
Kaella, who had endured to the end even in Lüsenford, would do even better in Keruzhan. A warm southern kingdom would help her health, and she could stay out of the wars brewing in the Kranian Empire.
No—even if she couldn’t withdraw, Pheon had to make it so. This time, Kaella shouldn’t die vainly in Lüsenford; she should avoid war altogether and live long and peacefully. That was the atonement Pheon rightfully owed.
But while he could endure the Emperor just fine, letting go of his worry for sick Kaella was harder. She kept sticking in his mind.
