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Chapter 72…………….
“Your Grace, what are you saying? This isn’t because you handled things poorly. It’s the fault of those who misunderstood and spread false rumors.”
“……Yes.”
“I was… well, a little flustered, but I think you must have been even more… Are you all right?”
Why did Cayenne feel as if he were going mad whenever he looked at Etisha?
Why did his gaze linger on every part of her face—her eyes, her nose, her lips, her features? Why did every single word she spoke capture all of his attention?
Why was it that, just because Etisha mentioned she was going for a walk, he postponed his long-cherished plan of killing Raien Wintel, the man he had sworn revenge upon, just to follow her instead?
Why was it that, whenever he saw Etisha, he wanted to kiss her—why was it that when her lips brushed against his cheek, the ecstasy nearly made him lose his mind?
Cayenne pressed his forehead with his hand.
He thought it might be easier to return to the battlefield and slaughter ten million enemies singlehandedly.
“Your Grace……”
Etisha called out to him in a worried voice, but Cayenne only muttered like a madman.
“Don’t call me ‘Your Grace.’ Call me Cayenne.”
“……”
“And this walk… I think you’ll have to take it alone.”
Cayenne left Etisha standing alone atop the high watchtower and boarded the lift by himself.
He touched the mechanism that controlled the pulley, and the lift carrying him began to slowly descend.
Down, down—falling endlessly, with no bottom in sight.
Not long after, the day of the scheduled outing arrived.
Today was the day of the gray wolf hunt.
Everyone in Wintel Castle seemed excited, as if they had been counting down to this very moment. The Northerners clearly relished the hunt.
The knights who were going to join in the hunt carefully polished their armor and weapons, while those who were cheering them on embroidered ribbons with wishes for good fortune.
Etisha, of course, stitched a ribbon as well—one she meant to give to Cayenne.
“I don’t know if he’ll accept it, but…”
Since that incident in the lift, Cayenne’s attitude toward Etisha had changed every time they met.
Some days he seemed fine, other days it looked like he was suppressing anger, and on others he appeared tormented, as though in pain.
Etisha was terribly worried about why he acted that way, but she had hardly any chance to talk to him.
“Could it be true he doesn’t have a mistress? Then why did he marry me?”
She had married him to act as a decoy duchess, shielding his supposed mistress. But if there was no mistress, then there was no need for a false duchess at all.
In that case, did her very existence have no meaning for Cayenne?
“Why did he really…?”
Her thoughts were cut short by the sound of a horn.
The hunt was about to begin.
On the wide plain, carriages and horses were lined up, surrounded by armed knights.
“……Your Grace. Please be careful.”
Etisha tied the ribbon she had embroidered to Cayenne’s sword scabbard, praying for his safety.
She knew very well that Cayenne’s swordsmanship was the finest in the Ignivan Empire, but she still worried.
Gray wolves—
And not just one, but a pack swollen in number after a fruitful spring season.
She couldn’t hide her anxiety. What if something happened in the forest? What if Cayenne got hurt?
Her face was heavy with worry, and Cayenne’s expression was no brighter.
“You must also be careful, my lady. The wolf pack won’t come here, but still—just in case.”
“Yes, Your Grace. I will.”
As they exchanged a few brief words, the other nobles mounted their horses one by one and rode off to the hunt.
Most of them were young heirs of noble families, full of blood and spirit, though a few middle-aged nobles, unable to let go of their youthful glory, joined as well.
At that moment, someone approached Cayenne with two horses.
One was his own black steed, and the other a gentle-looking bay.
“Cayenne. Time to set off.”
“Yes, Father.”
Kailes handed him the reins. Knowing it was time for the hunt, the black horse neighed vigorously, brimming with energy.
“I’ll be back.”
Cayenne swung onto his horse, his black cloak billowing, and galloped forward without looking back.
Though he had set out last, he effortlessly took the lead.
Etisha watched until he disappeared completely into the forest, then turned back toward the Wintel carriage.
She wasn’t going to get in—she just knew Lady Cirileze was waiting there.
“I should wait with Mother.”
She walked to the carriage, greeting the knights standing guard with a few kind words.
But then she noticed a small group of noblewomen gathered on the other side.
“Countess Montmad, are you still saying such things? Be careful. What if Lady Cirileze hears you?”
“Yes, that’s right. Who else could be Wintel’s heir if not Duke Cayenne?”
At the center of the hushed conversation was none other than Countess Montmad, who controlled all the gossip and scandals of high society.
Even though she had already heard from her husband about matters concerning the Emperor of Ignivan and Duke Zikpanter, she remained undaunted.
“Oh, ladies, do you think I invent such stories out of thin air? I merely cannot overlook wrongs. And wrongs must be corrected, mustn’t they?”
Countess Montmad knew instinctively: if she missed this chance, she would live a fallen life in the North forever.
“Etisha Wintel is preparing for her debutante, isn’t she? I must secure society’s opinion in my hands before that happens.”
She had already fallen out of Wintel’s favor, so it was too late to extend her hand back to them. Besides, she had something to rely on.
“If there truly is a problem with the Duke’s legitimacy, the Emperor himself said he would strip him of the title. All I need is clear proof. Just the proof…”
If she could find the missing Dité, that would be best. But Dité’s whereabouts remained a mystery.
So she came up with another desperate plan.
“You all know I have connections in the capital. It suddenly struck me—why did Lady Cirileze, who used to shine in the capital’s society, suddenly come down to the North?”
“Countess Montmad, please! If you say such things, we’ll all be in trouble…”
“As I suspected, more than twenty years ago there were rumors that Lady Cirileze was infertile.”
“What—what did you just say?”
“It’s certain. Lady Cirileze cannot bear children. That’s why she quietly fled to the North.”
“Oh my…”
The noblewomen whispered behind their fans, all looking troubled.
Whether or not Lady Cirileze was infertile, whether or not Cayenne was the true heir—at present, all the power of the North belonged to the Wintel family.
Anyone who fell out of their favor would share the Montmad family’s fate.
And yet, they couldn’t openly shun Countess Montmad either.
“Why such faces, ladies? If there’s a wrong, it must be set right. Don’t you agree, Viscountess Miril?”
“Ah, yes… Well, of course.”
“As I thought. A refined lady such as you would surely see reason.”
Countess Montmad curled her lips into a smile. She alone knew that Viscountess Miril’s second child was illegitimate.
“And the rest of you? Don’t you think so, Lady Hapdon?”
“No, no, Countess. It’s only that I lack your keen insight. You are, of course, correct.”
“I knew the brave Countess Hapdon would say so. You are always one to lead from the front.”
Countess Montmad also knew the Hapdon family’s secret—that they had falsely reported damages during the Imperial War and pocketed the compensation, thus rising into wealth.
She knew because she herself had orchestrated that fraud.
Several noble families had profited from those false claims, all of them now tied to Countess Montmad.
“I see. So then, there’s no disagreement that Lady Cirileze is infertile. In that case, whose son is Duke Cayenne really?”
She looked around at the noblewomen. They all cast their eyes down, avoiding her gaze, unable to answer.
If they sided with her, they would make an enemy of Wintel. If they opposed her, their own secrets might be exposed.
Montmad or Wintel. One or the other.
“Well… perhaps he’s the child of a concubine?”
One by one, the noblewomen began to speak.
“Yes, that must be it… Duke Wintel was born out of wedlock.”
It was a choice made out of fear.
Wintel was like a fierce tiger far away—terrifying, yes, but distant.
Montmad was the wolf right beside them.
And on the scales were the secrets of Wintel versus their own secrets.
To stir up Wintel’s secrets and risk punishment was frightening, but far more frightening was having their own exposed.
“As you all know, in the Ignivan Empire, bastards are not recognized as legitimate heirs. Naturally, such a child cannot succeed the family title.”
Countess Montmad tilted her chin up and smiled, satisfied at how things were turning in her favor.
“Yes. If Duke Cayenne truly is illegitimate, he must renounce his title.”
“No, not just renounce it. Shouldn’t he also pay for the disgrace he brought upon the nobility? To falsify one’s status is a grave crime.”
“Indeed… Yes, you’re right, Countess.”
“His Majesty will surely pass down the proper punishment.”
The noblewomen had chosen Montmad’s side. From this point on, Cayenne Wintel had to be a bastard.
Only then could he be stripped of his title, and only then would the Wintel family’s power crumble.
That way, the nobles who sided with Montmad would escape unscathed—perhaps even praised for their courage in confronting injustice.
“What we need is proof. Proof that Cayenne Wintel is a bastard.”
“You mean… we must find Udite?”
“That’s one way. But there is another.”
Countess Montmad lowered her voice.
“And that is…”
