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Chapter 67
“Wait, I—”
I gently moved a stray lock of hair that hadn’t been tucked away yet.
His hand trembled just enough that I had to take a breath — the faintest shaking as his fingers brushed the soft skin at my hairline.
It was unlike him. Even after wielding a heavy sword for so long, his hands never shook; yet now they did.
When his touch returned, Beatrice flinched slightly, and Ian, startled, drew his hand back.
“Does it hurt?”
“No. It’s just… ticklish.”
He spoke with an exaggeratedly grave tone even though he barely touched her.
Beatrice turned and smiled.
Ian couldn’t quite believe how comfortably she had turned her back to him as if entrusting everything to him.
Even as he carefully fastened the necklace, he found it hard to focus on the present.
The scent that brushed his nose when he momentarily bowed to check the chain wasn’t tangled.
The fragile, soft feeling against his fingertips in that stolen instant.
None of it seemed real.
“All done.”
Beatrice let her hair fall back into place and adjusted the emerald on the necklace he had put on for her.
When Ian stepped back, she smoothed the string at her neck and said, “This time I’ll keep it safe so it doesn’t break or get lost.”
She liked that she no longer had to hide it.
Ian answered more solemnly than before to her faint smile.
“That won’t happen again.”
Beatrice had said that to thank the one who’d given it, but accidentally it stirred an unpleasant memory.
“I won’t make that happen.”
“I don’t regret what I did that day.”
She had been scared, but she didn’t regret saying what needed to be said that day. If she had bowed to Prince Sharte — the one who denigrated and belittled Vivian Sharte and showed hostile inferiority toward Ian Deivan — she would have regretted it far more.
“You truly are a Prowell through and through. Anyone can see it.”
Loyalty. Faithfulness. The words that described the present Prowell.
They couldn’t endorse something fundamentally wrong, and they couldn’t join an unjust cause.
That had earned them many enemies, but also quiet admiration and respectful awe.
“I’m glad the name Prowell suits me,” Beatrice said.
“…Be careful, though.”
Worry couldn’t help but well up. Prowell had too many enemies.
Sharte’s blatant hostility was, in some ways, the easier kind.
There were many who resented the gradual but definite shift in the times — the reducing influence of high nobility — and they disliked it. Sharte had moved to attack Prowell; others might watch for chances to do the same.
Ian Deivan stood at the center of the emperor’s policies, but it was Prowell who actively led other nobles and held adversaries in the capital.
“Prowell and I have Ian, right?”
Beatrice suddenly reached out and took his hand, and in her words there was absolute trust.
There was only one answer to whether he would stay by her side no matter what.
Ian gripped her hand more firmly. Then, with resolute intent to protect her, he said, “Yes. I’m here. Don’t forget that I am.”
He seemed satisfied to see Beatrice nod solemnly at the repeated assurance.
“My mother is like that, and Janine will be overjoyed when she hears this. She’ll welcome you with open arms.”
The Marquis of Prowell couldn’t hide the delight he’d been wearing since a while ago; he kept smiling.
He helped carry Beatrice’s luggage himself and, lowering his voice though unable to hide his excitement, continued, “For now I’ll try not to make a fuss about you. All sorts of stares and contacts you won’t want will pour down on you, and we’ll have to block them.”
“But you can’t hide that forever. Eventually I’ll have to deal with it.”
“Of course. I want to proclaim officially that you’re family, that you’re part of the Prowell household… but—”
In truth he wanted to shout from the rooftops, “My niece is here!” but he was holding himself back for Beatrice’s sake.
“I’ll at least pretend I don’t know for a while, until you’re settled.”
“You don’t have to. I’m fine.”
“No. I haven’t done enough for you. If I can’t even shield you from prying eyes for a little while, I’ll have failed in my duty.”
The smile had gone and been replaced with a determined tone.
Beatrice started to say he’d already done enough for her, but stopped. If she said that, he’d only feel sorry and say he should’ve done better from the start.
“My lord duke… I can only be thankful to you.”
“I still have a long way to repay what you did for me.”
“Don’t think of it as a debt.”
Ian was already standing by the Prowell carriage. He greeted the marquis but kept his eyes on Beatrice.
The marquis stepped first onto the carriage, and Ian naturally reached to help Beatrice. He took her hand and, in a formal gesture, brought it to his lips and kissed the back of her hand.
His lips parted slowly, but he still didn’t let go.
“Lady Beatrice.”
Those words, slightly delayed, sounded strange when used to refer to her.
When that title came from Ian’s mouth, the situation finally felt real.
“I hope you don’t forget what we discussed.”
The politely phrased words could have created distance, but Ian’s intention wasn’t that. The tone reminded one of the letters they had exchanged — formal yet intimate. It was paradoxically closer despite the courtesy.
“I won’t forget.”
There was no way she could forget any of the moments she’d had with him.
“So, Ian, you be careful too.”
Ian could only nod at Beatrice’s thoughtful concern. He promised he would, right up until the last second as the carriage door closed and she rose inside.
He couldn’t shake the feeling he didn’t want to let her go.
Once she left for the Prowell household, chances to meet like this would be extremely rare.
‘That’s not the only problem…’
If the first issue was purely personal, there was another, more realistic concern.
Whether she wanted it or not, Beatrice would be placed in the center of power that moved with Prowell.
No matter how quietly she acted, it wouldn’t matter.
By the time the empress heard the news, Prowell’s bustling activity — which until then might have seemed oddly calm — would be noticed.
“Have you managed contact with Lady Sharte?”
If so, they had to begin formal actions to bring down Sharte, who could be the greatest problem.
“Yes. Our contact person has safely made contact. The Lady knows who our people are now.”
“Good. The prince may be oblivious, but the duke notices quickly. Be careful.”
“We will.”
Attempts to plant spies inside had failed several times. Sharte was not to be underestimated.
But they had also let their biggest weakness appear without realizing it — typical Sharte arrogance. They ignored small things, scoffed at them, and steered themselves toward ruin.
“…The Lady reported she found something suspicious about the palace personnel placements.”
“Already moved?”
“They seem to have given convenience to those of noble faction when selecting and assigning palace administrators. In reality, they appointed many who lack ability.”
That could strip the leader of the nobles’ council of authority.
Especially since the emperor had emphasized selecting people based on ability.
The Lady, having grown up in a noble household, had sharp eyes for what was decisive.
“…We must secure witnesses before he realizes and tries his usual scapegoating.”
Before the duke catches on and attempts his specialty — cutting off the tail — the emperor needed to tighten the noose and punish him at once.
“If possible, deliver any related evidence quickly, but tell the Lady to be careful.”
“Understood.”
They were already moving to pass information around — caution seemed like it should be the Lady’s responsibility, not theirs. Their urgency was understandable given their zeal, but caution was necessary.
“…The day of Sharte’s glory seems not far off from an end.”
Ian silently agreed with Kane’s words.
The emperor’s intent was the downfall of Sharte; that outcome could be only one of two things: either Sharte would vanish without a trace, or the emperor would be struck back by Sharte.
But as long as Ian was around, the latter couldn’t happen. Therefore—
“This is only the beginning of tying him to this. We’ll dig out piece by piece and finish him.”
Ian Deivan was more than ready; he was prepared to stand at the very front and personally bring Sharte down.
