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CHAPTER 67………………………………………
If things continued as they were, and he simply fell asleep, the feared situation would never come to pass. It would remain unresolved—whether the man behind the veil was truly Cayenne, or just the dream Etisha so desperately wished for.
That way, she could stay by his side just as she was now, pretending to know nothing. She could let her remaining short life slip by without either him discovering her feelings, or her heart being torn apart.
If she did so, she would never be hurt.
She would never have to cry her heart out over impossible love, nor would she have to stand alone before the castle walls with tears streaming down her face.
But, even so…
It touched.
That fleeting brush of contact.
So brief, so momentary that it could hardly be called a kiss.
And with Cayenne’s eyes closed, he didn’t even know what had happened between them.
It definitely… touched.
Etisha’s lashes trembled. She had dreamt of kissing Cayenne countless times before—but this was different.
There was a vast difference between the real and the imagined.
Slowly, she lowered her hand. The hand that clasped his—the left hand, the one bearing her wedding ring.
As their joined hands shifted downward, the torn veil slipped softly aside. And like dawn breaking at the end of a long night, Cayenne’s sleeping face was revealed.
His eyes were closed, his expression peaceful.
The tension had left his features, showing him strangely vulnerable.
The jet-black hair, the straight forehead, the perfect bridge of his nose, and the lips that always made her heart race…
Etisha’s trembling gaze lingered endlessly on that miraculous sight. No matter how much she looked, it wasn’t enough.
This wasn’t false.
This wasn’t a dream.
Cayenne…
Cayenne was right beside her.
The veil had been lifted completely, and what she saw beyond it was not only him—but also her own heart.
The heart that had been directed toward Cayenne all along.
“You heard it as well, did you not? That the Duke of Wintel is not truly the child of his parents. If that is the truth, then the dukedom must be abolished.”
Laxen. A hushed conversation took place near Warphtel.
A broad-shouldered middle-aged man was speaking intently to an older nobleman, his senior in years.
“Please, Duke Zieckpanther, advise His Majesty on this matter. If it is your words, Emperor Ignivan will surely listen.”
The middle-aged man had thick bones and dark brown hair. His heavily layered clothing was northern in style, as was his strong accent.
Count Mongmad—the husband of Countess Mongmad.
He was now earnestly trying to persuade Duke Zieckpanther, known as the Emperor’s left arm and a brilliant strategist.
But Duke Zieckpanther only shook his head, his silver eyes glinting.
“Count… The Wintels are an old and storied house, and Grand Duke Cayenne is His Majesty’s comrade-in-arms, one who has shared life and death with him. Do you think we could strip him of his title simply because of the slanderous words of some rabble who disrupted a wedding?”
Though white-haired and elderly, Zieckpanther’s gaze still shone keenly.
From the days of the late Emperor’s youth, he had loyally served the imperial family, and even now under Emperor Lasis Ignivan, he bore the weight of politics as a venerable elder statesman.
It had long since been time for him to retire, but Zieckpanther cared nothing for age. He had never married, never sired children. His sole mission was to serve the Emperor and oversee matters of state.
“But, Duke, you were there as well. You felt the disturbance in the chapel. Surely you sensed something amiss.”
“If intruders storm a wedding, anyone would react so.”
“Anyone, yes. But not Duke Cayenne. A man as ruthless and unflinching as he would never be shaken by the words of a mere commoner.”
“Count Mongmad. I sense barbs in your words. If you bear personal grudges, resolve them yourself.”
“That is not it, Duke! Please!”
As Zieckpanther turned to leave, Count Mongmad hurriedly followed.
It was true that Cayenne had severed some of his dealings with the Mongmad family, causing their standing to plummet. But this was not simply personal vendetta.
“My wife—my lady wife knows that child.”
“…That child?”
“The ragged brat who barged into the ceremony. She’s a commoner, but was raised as the foster daughter of Lady Sirileze.”
“…”
“My wife says the girl is as ignorant and timid as any peasant. There’s no way she’d dare spread lies at Duke Wintel’s wedding. And that magic stone—how did she obtain it? A teleportation stone is worth a fortune. How could a mere commoner girl have such a treasure? It is suspicious indeed.”
Zieckpanther clicked his tongue.
To him, Mongmad’s words were nothing but nuisance. Poking into such things would bring nothing good.
Of course, he had no intention of reporting it to Emperor Ignivan. He must not.
“Still, Duke, even the slimmest chance must be considered. If Lady Sirileze was barren, then Duke Cayenne must surely be Duke Kailes’s bastard son. And by Imperial law, bastards cannot inherit. Which would mean—”
At that moment, a hand fell suddenly upon Count Mongmad’s shoulder.
He flinched in alarm.
“Wh-who’s there?”
“It is I, Count.”
The radiant blond Emperor—the Sun of the Empire—stood behind him.
Lasis Ignivan.
“…Your Majesty.”
Zieckpanther bowed deeply in greeting, and Mongmad hastily lowered his head as well. But the Emperor did not acknowledge their courtesy.
“I heard quite the amusing conversation. Might I join?”
“…Forgive us, Your Majesty.”
“A bastard may not inherit. Yes, that is indeed Imperial law. But there is also this statute, Count Mongmad: slandering the honor of the royal family is punishable by immediate execution, is it not?”
The Emperor patted the Count’s shoulder firmly, with strength in his hand.
“I was the one who granted Cayenne his dukedom. If, as you claim, he is unfit, then I made a grave mistake. But if he is fit, then you have spread false rumors that dishonor both Duke Cayenne and me, who judged him worthy. That is a serious crime.”
“Y-Your Majesty—”
“And how, I wonder, should such a criminal be punished? Duke Zieckpanther, what say you?”
The Emperor’s golden eyes gleamed brilliantly, like sunlight.
“In history, such cases were punished by confiscation of property and exile to the Red Isles, or else by stripping of title and reducing the entire family to commoners.”
“Is that so? Hm… Count Mongmad, perhaps you should choose which punishment you’d prefer—so I can accommodate you.”
The Emperor grinned slyly.
His lips curved boyishly, far too pure and youthful for the heavy crown he bore. He looked less like a sovereign and more like an unseasoned youth.
“Cayenne is my sworn friend. We have shared the edge of life and death. Do you think I cannot tell whether he is a criminal or not? He is no bastard. He is the true son of the Duke and Duchess of Wintel.”
The Emperor believed in Cayenne.
Believed that he faced him always in sincerity, never in lies. That trust was so firm, so absolute, that Emperor Ignivan could not see the darkness Cayenne concealed.
“If ever his claim were truly false, come to me at once. I would strip him of the dukedom without hesitation. I say this not as his friend, but as Emperor. So never let such nonsense leave your lips again.”
With his crimson cloak billowing, the Emperor strode away, his pace sharp and full of displeasure.
Count Mongmad did not dare follow, only stood frozen. He had come perilously close to becoming a criminal.
Exile… or, worse, reduced to the very commoner status he so despised.
Zieckpanther gave him a cold warning.
“Count Mongmad. Do not provoke His Majesty’s wrath again. Leave Wintel alone.”
“Y-yes, Duke Zieckpanther.”
“What could you possibly do? The only witness, Udite, has already vanished.”
“Yes… you are right. I was rash.”
“tsk…”
With a click of his tongue, Zieckpanther departed. Count Mongmad stood dumbfounded for some time, reflecting on his blunder.
Why on earth did I do that…?
It had been his wife’s persuasion—the idea that, if fortune smiled, Duke Wintel’s title might be revoked—that led him astray.
Count Mongmad had energy, but he was far less reliable than his wife.
It was she who truly ruled their house, while he was little more than its figurehead. And so he had trusted her words this time as well. But it seemed that judgment had been terribly mistaken.
I should never have meddled… Never.
He sighed deeply. He would need to hurry back north and deliver this ill news to the Countess. His shoulders slumped as he made his way toward Warphtel.
Hm?
A thought suddenly struck him.
Wait… How did Duke Zieckpanther know Udite’s name?
He recalled their earlier exchange.
<What could you do? The only witness, Udite, has already vanished.>
Surely the Duke had seen her for the first time at the wedding. So how did he know her name?
Count Mongmad’s eyes narrowed. But soon enough, he dismissed the suspicion.
He remembered how Udite had loudly introduced herself in the chapel.
<Yes, that’s right. I am the foster daughter of the former Duchess of Wintel, Lady Sirileze, and Cayenne’s foster sister—Udite. I’ve lived here in Wintel Castle for over ten years. And yet, I wasn’t even invited to the wedding. How tragic.>
Of course… He had misjudged again.
And in the end, whether Zieckpanther knew her or not didn’t matter.
The question was not who knew of Udite, the foster daughter of Wintel. The true issue was whether Duke Cayenne was the rightful heir of the house—or not.
