Chapter 7
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Dear, I believe you may be misunderstanding.
Episode 7
Capren Oellin was renowned as a nobleman of considerable standing and reputation.
Among the Senate, he was known as the most fastidious and principled of men.
He was someone who placed great importance on propriety and decorum.
Most importantly, he belonged to neither the left nor the right faction—he was a moderate.
The internal affairs of the Kingdom of Zeronum were unstable.
Or rather, they had been unstable, but were now gradually finding their footing.
Four years prior, the King's health had deteriorated. From that point onward, he had scarcely left his bed.
The problem was that the Crown Prince, who had been designated heir, had also contracted a rare illness.
Fortunately, the King had four other children besides the Crown Prince.
Two of them were not yet ten years old, while the remaining two had come of age but harbored ill will toward each other.
The Second Princess Fresia and the Third Prince Quinoa.
These two were the architects of the kingdom's instability.
Lucas stood with the Crown Prince.
And the Crown Prince had thrown his support behind Princess Fresia.
The problem was that this nation had never crowned a princess as queen, bound as it was by rigid and narrow-minded tradition.
No matter how cruel and tyrannical the Third Prince Quinoa's nature might be, the conservative nobility refused to elevate a princess to the throne.
It mattered not that the Second Princess Fresia excelled in diplomacy.
The aged nobles, unwilling to relinquish the male prerogatives they had held for so long, stood firm in their resistance.
The struggle between the Second Princess Fresia and the Third Prince Quinoa for the position of Crown Prince grew increasingly violent with each passing day.
Sending assassins at one another became routine, and they unhesitatingly offered poisoned tea.
"Just protect me for three years."
Princess Fresia had bowed her head before Lucas and made her plea.
To be her spear and shield for merely three years.
That she would transform this nation.
Lucas gazed down at the crown of her head before him.
A woman who need never bow to anyone, yet she offered him her vulnerable nape without hesitation.
Lucas did not refuse.
With such audacity, he sensed that this stagnant kingdom might indeed change, just as she promised.
"I knew you would, Sir Lucas. We share the same secret, after all."
The brazen princess winked instead of offering thanks, jabbing him playfully in the ribs.
All while casually waving the pinky finger that had been severed by an assassin's blade.
Thus did Lucas find himself bound to Crown Prince Ludwig and Princess Fresia in common cause.
"Hmm."
Therefore, he wished to bind himself to someone who had not made an enemy of the royal family.
Ideally, someone with no connection whatsoever.
To prevent complications should circumstances grow tangled later.
"...I should observe the Marquess further."
Capren Oellin had been a man of almost no presence until just a few years ago.
Then, about six or seven years ago, he secured a minor seat in the Senate and quietly built his influence from there.
'Is he truly a moderate as claimed?'
Recalling his covetous gaze, something felt decidedly off.
Moreover, the way he had shouted at Fresia just moments before bore no resemblance whatsoever to the rumors.
The stories of him being dignified, erudite, and benevolent seemed entirely fabricated.
'Now that I think about it, the Marquess and Fresia really don't resemble each other at all.'
Lucas found himself recalling Fresia once more.
The moment her image surfaced in his mind, the unpleasant emotion that had lingered dissipated entirely.
Over the landscape beyond the window, he could see her again—Fresia in her white nightgown, rushing out in such haste.
The more I thought about it, the more astounding it seemed.
How could she have known I was coming, to dash out like that?
I lifted my hand to my lips and jaw, rubbing them with a languid smile.
"She doesn't look the type, yet she's remarkably proactive."
The image of her pale face chasing after me, apologizing for something she hadn't even done—it was something else entirely.
'Actually... I still tremble a little when I see you, sir.'
How audacious of her, to openly admit that she still trembles at the sight of me.
"...Ahem."
I cleared my throat, composing my throat that kept threatening to betray me.
Those violet eyes, glistening with moisture, gazing up at me as if we would never meet again.
I thought I saw something like an entire universe in her eyes—a bewitching gaze, one might say.
In that instant, it was as if someone had struck my head with a hammer, and clarity seized me.
The thought that I would regret it if I didn't act consumed me.
I immediately removed my clothes and gave them to her.
In truth, I had intended to give her my clothes even before the Marquess Oellin appeared, but he had emerged before I could even unfasten my belt.
Giving her my clothes turned out to be precisely the right choice.
If, as she said, I were never to see her again, I felt certain that she would remain lodged in my heart like a stone.
"...At any rate, should I prepare goat? No, wait—I believe Cotti mentioned being skilled at preparing buffalo. Hmm."
The memory of her slender waist, which I had embraced to catch her as she stumbled, returned to me.
That impossibly delicate waist, which seemed as though the slightest pressure would snap it in two, terrified me instead.
I feared that even a modest exertion of strength might break her right there.
'...Wait, what am I even thinking right now?'
"I've lost my mind. What business do I have gripping that woman's waist as if I might snap it?"
Flustered, I struck my own head with the heel of my palm.
This had never happened before—I was entertaining the most peculiar thoughts.
Her violet eyes seemed to have taken a fragment of my sanity with them.
'Get a hold of yourself, get a hold of yourself. Get a hold of yourself.'
I chastised myself several more times, turning my thoughts instead to the abundant dishes I would prepare for her.
It wasn't until I arrived at my Town House that I realized I hadn't felt a moment of boredom during the entire journey back, having spent it striking my head and contemplating meals.
It was a most uncharacteristic homecoming.
* * *
"I didn't realize you'd grown so close to Duke Lucas Black already."
It had been exactly one week since Lucas Black's visit to the Oellin Marquess Residence.
Marquess Oellin had cut short what was supposed to be a lengthy absence and hurried home after just seven days.
'I told her not to behave so vulgarly.'
When he'd left the house, the Marquess had regarded Fresia with a cold, piercing gaze.
Yet upon his return, he gazed at her with the gentle smile of a benevolent father.
"Yes, it's a good thing for betrothed couples to grow closer, even by a single day."
'Betrothed?'
Fresia hadn't even taken her first spoonful.
The moment he sat at the table, the name that left his lips was Lucas Black.
Moreover, he had spoken explicitly of "betrothed couples."
This meant Father had already made up his mind to marry Fresia to Lucas Black.
Fresia regarded the Marquess with visibly tense eyes.
The onion soup she'd half-lifted had long since returned to its bowl.
The Marquess spoke elegantly as he sipped his soup, cooled to a pleasant temperature.
"But when exactly did you grow so close to him? You didn't seem like an ordinary acquaintance before."
Marquess Oellin spoke without even glancing at Fresia.
Before Fresia, flustered, could even open her mouth to respond, Norman Oellin—who had been listening with a vacant expression—hastily interjected.
"Not an ordinary acquaintance? Are you saying Fresia and Lucas Black have already become... intimate, Father?"
Norman Oellin was Fresia's half-brother.
He was three years her senior, the eldest son Capren had fathered with his first wife.
She had died of postpartum illness not long after bearing Norman.
'Her body was so frail.'
Marquess Capren Oellin hadn't even blinked at his wife's death.
Instead, he had even reproached her for failing to maintain her health and dying because of it.
The second wife he subsequently took was Elenoa, Fresia's mother.
Elenoa was a noblewoman from a small kingdom some distance from the Kingdom of Zeronum.
Perhaps because her distant ancestors hailed from the Kingdom of Zeronum, Elenoa possessed an exotic yet familiar beauty.
Marquess Oellin had pursued Elenoa for more than half a year before finally securing their marriage.
Yet she too had fallen ill and died when Fresia was around seven years old.
Having lost two wives to illness in succession, Marquess Capren never married again.
It was neither love for his departed wives nor profound grief that stayed his hand.
The dowries required with each marriage had been exorbitant, while the satisfaction gained from matrimony had proven disappointingly meager.
After two failed marriages, Marquess Oellin had devoted himself to building his standing as a nobleman.
Wealth and prestige—these two were the absolute virtues he pursued.
He was devoid of warmth, not particularly clever, but remarkably patient.
He never rushed, and he eschewed bold gambits.
Knowing his own lack of eloquence, he also guarded his words carefully.
Because Fresia understood her father's nature, she had found it strange when he'd raised his voice in Lucas's presence.
Yet now, suddenly, his attitude had shifted once more.
Grace concealed her displeasure and replied in a measured tone.
"We're not close. What you saw that afternoon was my mistake. I rushed out because I had urgent matters to discuss with Father, and I nearly stumbled—His Grace simply caught me before I fell."
"Is that so? I'm curious what could have made you so desperate that you came running in your undergarments in such a flustered state."
At his words, Grace opened her mouth to correct him, but even that was cut short.
"It wasn't undergarments—it was nightclothes...."
"Enough. Don't talk back to me. Surely your recklessness shouldn't bring shame upon this family, should it? Duke Lucas left in anger because of you."
Norman, who had been listening quietly, interjected.
"Grace appeared before Duke Lucas in nothing but undergarments? And he became so angry that he departed?"
"Say no more, Norman. The very thought of it makes my face burn with shame."
Grace found it utterly absurd.
His anger had nothing to do with her, yet Father had conveniently shifted the blame onto her shoulders.
But she also knew that protesting here would fall on deaf ears.
There had been times when he'd confined her to solitary quarters for over two weeks, claiming she needed to correct her impudent habit of talking back.
After that day, Grace had abandoned any thought of rebutting the man before her.
It was the most pointless waste of strength and time. Better to use those moments to escape this place and devise a plan.
Grace finished the uncomfortable meal as though swallowing a stone, then quickly retreated to her room.
Though she'd eaten little, her stomach felt unsettled, as if she were suffering from indigestion.
Brought to you by Valir Scans! To support our team and enjoy the latest releases, please read directly on our official site: valirscans.org