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Chapter 4
Lawson set the pen down on the desk with a light tap and gave Yuric a sly smile.
Yuric sighed and ran a hand through his hair. In high society, it was still mocked as undignified for the heir of a prestigious noble house to sit in the Administration Office wrestling with paperwork. It was considered un-aristocratic.
That view had softened somewhat in recent years, but it had not disappeared.
In truth, Yuric had graduated from the Imperial Military Academy. But rather than sweating with a sword in hand, he preferred sitting calmly and looking down at the workings of the world. So he had deliberately chosen a position in the administration.
During his interview, people had looked at him strangely. Why would the heir of a noble house, not even a second son, choose a demanding civil servant’s post?
Still, Yuric had been satisfied with his position.
Yes.
Until Sehil ran off yesterday.
Without realizing it, Yuric clenched his teeth and fists. Lawson flinched slightly.
“Dignity… yes, it’s important. These days, nobles working in the Imperial Palace aren’t criticized much anyway. I misspoke.”
Yuric hadn’t been angry because of that, but he decided to let it pass. If he wanted the approval documents to reach the Chancellor quickly, he needed to stay on good terms with the senior officers beneath him.
Lawson cautiously returned the pen to Yuric’s hand.
“But really, why do you look so pale? Something happen?”
“What could possibly have happened?”
Yuric forced the words out between clenched molars. He managed a smile, but it carried a sharp edge. Lawson laughed awkwardly and changed the subject.
“Ha, did you argue with someone you’re seeing? It happens.”
“Seeing someone? I’m not. There’s no one.”
Lawson’s eyes widened as he leaned closer.
“At Madame Garner’s salon the other day, everyone was talking about you! They said you and Lady Ashel are… involved!”
“What nonsense…”
Yuric frowned. Lady Ashel? He had encountered her briefly while walking in the palace garden. All that had happened was a polite greeting and picking up the handkerchief she dropped.
And that was enough to start rumors?
Lawson leaned against the desk with a disappointed look.
“So it’s not true?”
“Absolutely not. What are you even talking about? Why are such rumors being made, and why are you getting swept up in gossip? Are you that idle?”
“Gossip? Nobles are lining up just to be linked to House Windsor, even by rumor. You’re the only one unaware. Especially all the young ladies and gentlemen who’d love to be in the arms of Sir Yuric, the ice sculpted from the North.”
Yuric’s eyebrow twitched again. He was usually expressionless, so Lawson liked to tease him like this.
Lawson grinned and put on a dramatic tone.
“Ah, the Prince of Northern Ice. Cold and distant, but surely warm to his lover…”
“Be quiet before I throw you out myself.”
Despite the joking tone, Yuric’s reply was sharp. He gestured toward the door, clearly telling Lawson to leave.
Lawson stood up with a grin.
“You lecture me about dignity, and now you speak so roughly?”
“Only to you. Only to you, Sir Lawson Tenner, embodiment of indignity. Get yourself together and go do your work.”
Yuric adjusted his monocle and began reviewing the documents again.
Lawson turned away, grumbling, but then came back and leaned on the desk once more.
Yuric glared at him.
Lawson smiled again.
“I heard some big news. I meant to tell you earlier but forgot.”
“I’m not interested.”
Ignoring him, Lawson glanced around and leaned in closer.
“The First Prince and his knights from the southern front are returning. They’ll reach the capital within three days.”
“…The knights?”
“Yes. The Prince’s knight order. The iron-blooded officers’ corps. The nobles who know are already in a frenzy. Victory banquets, celebration parties—Pemen Street is packed with nobles ordering new formal wear.”
The First Prince’s knight order was returning…
Yuric’s eyebrow twitched.
Caron Chevinel of House Chevinel—the same Caron whose proposal letter now sat in Yuric’s possession—had accompanied the Prince as his deputy commander to the southern front.
Of course.
That explained the timing. Their only son was at war, and yet a marriage proposal had arrived. It had been rushed.
Yuric understood.
“And you know who’s in that knight order. That man. High society will turn upside down again. If you really were seeing Lady Ashel, I was going to warn you to be careful.”
“I told you, I’m not.”
“I know, I know. Anyway, the living fantasy of every Omega is returning. The capital won’t be quiet much longer.”
Lawson nudged Yuric’s arm.
“Since we’re on the subject, how about we choose partners for the victory banquet before the Empire’s prodigal son arrives?”
He grinned mischievously.
So that was the real point.
Yuric brushed his hand away.
“Enjoy yourself alone, Sir Lawson.”
“Ah, the Northern noble remains cold.”
Lawson shrugged and finally left.
Yuric returned to his paperwork, then froze.
Caron Chevinel.
Even thinking of the name made his brow crease.
He had followed the First Prince to war, graduated top of the Imperial Academy, and was one of the most talked-about men in the Empire.
The Empire’s Prodigal Son.
The Playboy of Oshelon.
The Capital’s Living Fantasy.
The titles were not without reason.
He was talented. Handsome. And famously known for never refusing those who approached him—and never stopping those who left.
His scandalous and flamboyant private life swept through society, yet he never batted an eye. If anything, he seemed to enjoy it.
And from that man—or rather, his family—a marriage proposal had arrived.
Of course, House Chevinel likely intended to strengthen their noble prestige by marrying their Alpha heir to an Omega from the reputable House Windsor.
Yuric pressed his hands to his head.
Caron Chevinel.
More importantly—
He had been Yuric’s classmate.
One among many, yes.
And Yuric had once secretly admired him.
No, to be precise—liked him.
But Caron Chevinel had a terrible personality. Rude. Violent. Smug. Infuriating.
Yuric had liked him, yes—but he knew very well the man was not kind.
So he had given up.
No—more accurately, he had never even allowed himself to dream.
Yuric’s heart was too worn and tired to deal with someone so sharp-edged and overwhelming. He needed someone gentle, someone who could hold him kindly.
Not that he had much experience in romance. It was just… a thought.
And above all—
Yuric was an Alpha.
Not a sweet, fragrant, soft Omega.
He was solid. Cool. Sharp. Rational.
An Alpha.
Yuric gripped his hair tightly. The Chancellor was out, and he was alone in the office. Only then would he allow himself such behavior.
“…This is driving me insane.”
He closed his eyes as a dull headache throbbed behind them.
Marriage.
To that man.
Because his parents had fled into bankruptcy and his sibling had run off with all his assets, he now had to step forward himself—an Alpha—hoping desperately the other side would not withdraw the proposal.
And he had to personally make sure the marriage went through.
It was absurd.
He sniffed faintly. Perhaps the window was open and the air was cold.
Life truly did not go the way one wished.
Yuric lowered his head and knocked it lightly against his desk.
***
The old Club Deverie was a gathering place for young nobles. Part pub, part private club, it had become famous largely because one of its regular patrons was Caron Chevinel himself.
Any Alpha noble in the capital who was curious about how the Empire’s Prodigal Son captivated Omegas and noble ladies eventually visited.
As news spread quietly that Caron Chevinel was finally returning from hardship on the southern front alongside the First Prince, the pub section of Club Deverie was filled with citizens emptying barrels of beer.
Meanwhile, behind the firmly closed doors of the private club area, secret meetings were already underway.
