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Chapter 09
What Astaldo saw upon entering the dungeon was a dead body.
The man who had died with wide, staring eyes and blood foaming from his mouth was the suspicious attacker from the banquet hall.
Astaldo shifted a cold gaze toward Bolder.
“Why is he dead?”
“He used a special ability. He tried to move a weapon to attack me. I almost had my head pierced,” Bolder replied.
Astaldo looked in the direction Bolder was pointing; a spear was embedded in the wall along with a clump of hair.
Turning his gaze back, he saw that Bolder’s ponytail had been shorn off horribly. The spear had grazed Bolder’s hair before pinning itself into the wall.
Astaldo lightly nudged the corpse with his foot, causing the body to sway fruitlessly.
“Please issue your judgment.”
To survive as a knight without abilities when facing someone possessing them was a feat worthy of praise. Looking down at the body, Astaldo asked:
“Did you find out whose side he was on?”
“Unsurprisingly, he belonged to Guihgit. Though he denied it himself, his accent was Erpina—the capital’s accent.”
Astaldo nodded.
“Then why did he brandish a dagger in the banquet hall? With an ability of this caliber, he could have launched a long-range attack.”
“That is… we found that strange as well.”
“……”
“Rather, he screamed at us, demanding to know what we had done, accusing us of using black magic. It seems he believed we cast a spell to prevent him from exerting his power.”
It made no sense.
“Was there anything present that could suppress abilities?”
“Wasn’t the war trophy from Nuit kept inside? We will need to investigate it. If we only have that, we can take on that damn Emperor…”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence. It meant they would finally possess a countermeasure against Guihgit, who kept provoking Wesselwolf.
It made bringing back the war trophy from Nuit, the land of sorcery, worthwhile. Yet, was it truly the trophy that had blocked the power?
For a brief second, the harp melody played by Edda flashed through his mind, but it vanished just as quickly.
“We did capture a royal from Nuit. Interrogate her.”
Astaldo issued the order casually.
After the death of Ivar Wesselwolf, Astaldo ascended to the grand ducal throne.
Everyone assumed Astaldo would seek an heir through another woman.
And for good reason—Edda, one of Ivar’s wives, was utterly unremarkable.
Rumors about Edda were plentiful:
The woman discarded even by Ivar. An ugly woman. A woman with a strange personality.
However, the sight she displayed during the succession banquet shifted the perspective of a few.
The music she played on her instrument had been breathtaking far beyond imagination.
Come to think of it, there had been a rumor that Ivar cherished Edda, and that Ingrid had been furious because of it.
Looking back at her performance, wasn’t it plausible that Ivar had been fond of her?
Moreover, surviving the harassment of that very Ingrid proved she was clearly no ordinary woman.
Perhaps she had been hiding a massive ambition all along.
Maybe Edda herself had pulled the strings to crush Ingrid and become Astaldo’s official consort.
Nieve, who was assigned as Edda’s guard knight, thought the same. She, too, had wished to become one of Wesselwolf’s wolves, but simply because she was a woman, she ended up guarding a noble lady.
Yet, after guarding Edda for a few days, Nieve realized her preconceptions had completely shattered.
“Your Highness, do you have no intention of moving around?”
“You are being rude to Milady,” Claudel said sharply.
Yet that was indeed Nieve’s thought. Edda literally stayed in bed, rarely ever stepping outside.
At most, when nobody was around, she would quietly go for a short walk and return.
Other than that, she spent her time staring blankly out the window or lying in bed. That was all.
Nieve realized within just a few days how absurd the idea of an ambitious Grand Duchess truly was.
Edda seemed to have no intention of leading Wesselwolf’s high society, nor did she care to ascend to the imperial court.
Just a quiet Grand Duchess passing the time quietly—that was Edda.
She appeared to possess neither passion nor desire for life. Unlike the noisy surroundings, Edda was always serene and silent.
Even so, whenever a sudden noise occurred, she would flinch, startled, and raise her head.
Nieve clicked her tongue.
Astaldo, who should have questioned the Grand Duchess’s reclusiveness, showed no interest whatsoever, whether she hid away or not.
He even left the estate for several days—when he should have been arranging formal occasions accompanied by the Grand Duchess to officially acknowledge their marriage.
Is he really planning to take a new wife after all? Nieve thought, unable to fathom his intentions.
After the succession ceremony ended, Edda’s world returned to quietness.
Though she gained a female guard knight who clearly disliked her, the knight at least did not disturb her peace.
Nieve was taciturn and did not voice insults toward Edda like the others did.
Nothing could be better. What Edda wanted was a quiet life.
A life where she was not dragged into squabbles, not mocked, not ridiculed, and did not have to be hit.
It was a perfectly ideal life.
She would fulfill her duties as the Grand Duchess, but beyond that, she wanted to do nothing.
As a result, no one sought her out—not even her husband.
In stark contrast to that passionate night, her bedroom was cold and lonely.
Yet was she sad? No. There was a faint bitterness, but it was not surprising.
Until now, she had lived her life swallowing bitter loneliness and the sorrow of abandonment.
Therefore, the cold shoulder of a man with whom she had merely shared flesh once was entirely tolerable.
She only hoped that if her husband were to take a new wife, he wouldn’t bring home a woman like Ingrid.
Though even that hope felt unlikely.
Resignation. Resignation, always resignation once again.
Edda closed her eyes.
She knew that nobody was looking for her.
She knew that nobody wanted her.
If anyone ever wanted her, it was only when they had a use for her.
“Milady!”
Claudel’s voice rang out. Hearing her sound unusually flustered, Edda’s heart began to thud for no clear reason.
Though Edda always pretended to be composed, the slight shift in Claudel’s tone immediately invited anxiety.
A dread that something terrible had happened.
Claudel ran over with an expression of intense excitement.
“His Grace the Grand Duke has…”
Did he take a new wife? Or is he telling me to leave…?
Just as all sorts of horrible thoughts crossed her mind, Claudel smiled brightly and said:
“…sent you a gift!”
Huh?
Edda opened her mouth and closed it again. Did she just say a gift?
At Claudel’s gesture, a servant stepped forward carrying a wrapped box—a box wrapped in bright pink paper and tied with a light green ribbon.
“……”
Edda looked back and forth between the box and the people. Strangely, she couldn’t feel like this belonged to her.
This wasn’t something that should happen. Why was something good happening?
A gift? Could there be something else inside this box? For example, a severed head like the ones brought to funerals…
The box was far too large. Preparing for the worst-case scenario, Edda opened the gift box with slightly trembling hands.
However, what lay inside was a musical instrument—a lute.
Edda blinked her eyes for a long moment.
While Edda liked small harps, she loved the lute even more because it allowed her to sing along as she played.
It was such a beloved gift that Edda couldn’t bring herself to do anything at first.
It wasn’t that she had never received gifts before; both Lisonel and Ivar had given her presents.
However, this man had given her something knowing what she truly liked. It struck a strange chord within her.
“He said you may play it whenever you wish.”
At Claudel’s words, Edda finally smiled brightly and nodded.
She naturally brushed her fingers across the strings. A radiant smile touched her face for the very first time.
“Please tell him… thank you, tell him I am truly grateful.”
Her cheeks blushed, flushed with a warm glow.
