Chapter 55
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Chapter 55
Dale's eyebrows furrowed as he observed the scene.
"...So the two of you have developed a secret together?"
"Something along those lines has occurred."
At that moment, Casion, chuckling softly, wedged himself between Enya and Dale.
Casion grinned as he looked at Dale.
"Your wife and I were engaged in something rather amusing, you see."
At his insinuating remark, Dale fixed Casion with a chilling gaze. Casion flinched at the sudden cold and naturally shifted behind Enya, using her as a shield.
"Please convey to the Duke's husband that he shouldn't emit such murderous intent."
"Dale? Dale is not the sort of person capable of such things. Please don't slander him."
"...Pardon?"
Casion clicked his tongue and wore an exasperated expression.
"Your wife was simply curious about your childhood appearance, so I merely satisfied that curiosity. I would appreciate it if you didn't harbor any unnecessary misunderstandings."
At his words, Enya clutched the paper tightly to her chest. Dale turned his head toward Enya.
"Is what this man says true?"
"Well..."
Enya, hesitating, reluctantly showed him the paper.
The paper Enya presented depicted none other than Dale as he appeared in childhood.
It was a portrait of him drawn in his youth.
"...!"
In that instant, Dale's face visibly hardened.
He glared at Casion, his brow furrowing deeply. His gaze was so menacing it seemed he might strangle Casion at any moment.
"Who gave you permission to show something like that?"
He appeared to despise having the portrait revealed more than anything.
Casion's smile gradually faded.
As silence deepened with their eyes locked in a tense standoff, Enya stepped between them.
"I asked him to show it to me."
Enya looked up at Dale with a deeply apologetic expression.
At her voice, Dale's gaze softened. The chill in his eyes vanished, replaced only by concern.
"You rarely speak about yourself, so I was curious. I wanted to know what you were like before—the parts of your life I don't know about."
"Are you quite all right, Miss Enya?"
At that moment, Dale gently grasped Enya's arm and spoke with a trembling voice as he examined her complexion.
"You're not feeling unwell or experiencing any headaches from seeing the portrait, are you?"
"From seeing a portrait of Dale as a child?"
Enya stared at him blankly before shaking her head.
"I only thought that handsome men truly are exceptional from an early age..."
"Haah..."
Only then did Dale release a deep sigh, as if all tension had drained from him.
"Then it's fine."
"You don't look fine to me, Dale."
"I'm fine."
Dale studied Enya's face one last time before releasing her.
He returned to his usual composed demeanor, though his manner shifted when he looked at Cassion.
"I have urgent matters to discuss with the Duke."
"Of course. Just between friends."
Cassion answered lightly and followed Dale up the stairs into his office.
In that instant.
Thud!
Dale seized Cassion by the collar and slammed him against the door.
His eyes held a glacial intensity he had never once shown Enya, pressing down upon Cassion with crushing force.
Cassion, driven back by the violence, couldn't even manage a proper cry—only a strangled gasp escaped him.
"Why are you stirring up Enya Lockhart? You know that dredging up old memories only causes her suffering."
His voice, low and measured, dripped with lethal intent.
Cassion, observing Dale's fury, finally spoke.
"I bear responsibility as well."
At his words, Dale's grip tightened further.
"The reason the lady doesn't remember Your Majesty—it all began because of me, after all."
"..."
Dale released Cassion's collar roughly.
Cassion clutched at his marked neck, coughing as he barely managed to speak.
"So... I will help. Your Majesty."
Cassion looked up at Dale, whose expression remained cold and unforgiving.
"And as your friend."
There was not a trace of jest in his eyes now.
* * *
House Lockhart.
The grand mansion, nestled perpetually within verdant forests, was magnificent enough to rival the fairy-tale castles depicted in storybooks.
A colossal greenhouse befitting the family's prestige, and warm, golden sunlight.
Among the noble estates in the Capital, the Lockhart Duchy Estate—the largest and most beautiful of them all—remained peaceful today, as it always was.
It had been over three years, nearly four, since Enya Lockhart, the eldest daughter of the Lockhart Family, had vanished, yet the days continued their ordinary rhythm.
A massive carriage rolled through the gates of the mansion.
The man descending from the carriage and climbing the steps bore a cold expression.
Silver-haired with eyes of azure blue, he possessed the sculpted beauty of a masterpiece.
His unchanging visage defied belief that he approached fifty, having long since passed forty.
He halted before a certain door, his gaze fixed upon its closed surface.
"Open it for me."
At the patriarch's quiet command, the servants hastened to unlock the door.
As the long-sealed door swung open, a breeze swept through, and the curtains fluttered.
The man's name was Marcus Lockhart.
He was the patriarch of the Lockhart Family and a Duke, the Emperor's right hand, and privately, a father to two grown children: Enya and Samuel.
"...."
The room was hollow.
It was empty, a space long devoid of human warmth.
Marcus gazed upon Enya's desk with longing eyes, then his attention shifted to the cherished stuffed animal that young Enya had once clutched while sleeping.
"Enya...."
The Duke of Lockhart turned over his daughter's name in his mind—the one who had abandoned her home.
"Where on earth is she causing trouble?"
His affectionate tone rapidly frosted over.
The Duke of Lockhart suddenly gripped a deed to land that had been sold, pressing his brow.
It was land that Enya had received as a gift from her grandfather, the previous patriarch, when she was young.
Land she had cherished for years after receiving it as a gift when young Enya had saved his life.
Or so he had believed—yet it turned out the land had been sold long ago.
Marcus Lockhart had only discovered this fact now, two years after the transaction.
Thoughts of his daughter brought a dull ache to his temples.
When she had run away to refuse marriage to the Emperor, the shock had been profound.
He had assumed her protests were merely the petulance of a noblewoman rejecting the conventions of aristocratic matrimony, never imagining her revulsion ran so deep.
As her father, he bore clear responsibility for having disregarded his child's wishes.
Thus, he had not actively pursued her whereabouts.
Yet now, perhaps the time had come to search in earnest—his deliberation weighed heavily.
'She is my daughter, yet she possesses remarkable tactical acumen.'
Wherever she had gone, not even a whisper of her remained.
His child's brilliance filled him with paternal pride, yet simultaneously with concern.
He clung to the belief that no news was good news, yet lately an unsettling unease had taken root.
'The Emperor remains silent, and the Imperial Palace is at peace. The land is quiet, like the stillness before a tempest.'
It was in such moments that true fear took hold.
Marcus Lockhart knew from decades of experience.
He had once been a swordsman who walked the battlefields. When enemies and their encampments fell silent, it meant they were plotting their next move.
It happened every time a precarious peace persisted.
How on earth had Enya managed to evade the eyes of House Lockhart?
Based on years of experience, there was only one possibility in such circumstances.
There was an accomplice from within.
"Emma. Are you there?"
"My lord. You called for me?"
At Duke Lockhart's summons, a maid bowed respectfully.
Marcus gazed at the book left in Enya's room and spoke quietly.
"It's been quite some time since Enya ran away."
"I can only pray that the young lady is safe."
"You were a child she brought home in your early years."
As Duke Lockhart regarded her with cold eyes, Emma lowered her head in silence.
"For Enya, who has spent her entire life moving only between the Duchy Estate and the Capital, to wander outside for three full years and remain somewhere I cannot find her—that is, in a manner of speaking, quite impressive. Wouldn't you agree?"
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