TLDWAE 36

Chapter 36

“Then, I’ll excuse myself first. I have somewhere to stop by, but as you can see, I’m already late.”

The orange glow that had filled the sky only moments ago was being devoured by black. As she reached the entrance, the ever-creepy coachman was waiting for her.

Karia replaced a farewell with a light smile, climbed into the carriage, and left the mansion.

Leaving behind only Noah, who still stood there dumbfounded.

“What was that murderous aura just now?”

He couldn’t quite call it killing intent, but it was certain that Karia had just tried to lay her hand on him with a different meaning.

Noah stood there, racking his brain desperately, wondering if he had done something wrong. But nothing came to mind. Surely it wasn’t because he had insulted the duke when they were already at the point of divorce…?

“No way.”

Noah anxiously stroked his chin. If it wasn’t because of his mistake, then the meaning of that burning gaze was—

“Could it be… ‘I want it so badly, I almost feel like killing to have it’… was it that?”

“Huh? Want who? That’s no good, absolutely no good!”

The one who reacted to his muttering was Shagal, who had somehow appeared behind him.

Among Noah’s men, every single one of them was awkward and useless, so he had at least sent Shagal as an escort since the man could hold eye contact and talk to a lady. After just a week of eating well and resting comfortably, his skin was glowing with health.

Noah pushed Shagal’s head away and covered his stinging ears as the man fussed about who he was trying to snatch up this time. This annoying subordinate never gave him a chance to think seriously.

“Weren’t you supposed to escort the lady on her outing?”

“Ah, but the lady said no one needed to come along today.”

“So you think that means you don’t follow her? Do you even know how many eyes are watching her right now? If the lady doesn’t want you to follow, then you trail her from where she can’t see you!”

“Go right now!” Noah kicked Shagal’s shin and stormed out of the mansion, fuming.

For just a fleeting moment, something silver glinted under the starlight from within the folds of his black robe.

* * *

On what seemed like an ordinary day, the entire household was thrown into chaos. The duchess exposed the misdeeds of the dowager and declared she would divorce, then left the house.

Cristan had stood a step behind, watching as his father belatedly summoned the servants, berated them, and scolded the vassals.

A few days later, the duke called him in to ask,

“Cristan, did you know how your mother was living in this house?”

After several sleepless days trying to set things right, Duke Pandeon was mentally and physically exhausted. Cristan, seeing his father’s hollow eyes shining fiercely under heavy dark circles, gave a bitter laugh.

“Well… you sure are asking that early.”

With that single remark, Cristan turned on his heel. His father’s voice, thick with anger, called after him, but he didn’t stop. His father’s gaze was merely looking for someone to pin the blame on.

Cristan had never had any expectation of his father, but seeing him flail only after the damage was already done was simply pathetic.

“Young master, are you really planning to just wait here? Who knows when the duchess will return—”

Taking advantage of the household’s chaos, Cristan had skipped his studies for several days and gone to a small orphanage, one Karia often visited to volunteer.

“But I can’t think of anywhere else she’d go.”

He had the carriage stop in a quiet spot near the orphanage and simply waited for hours. The head of the orphanage, seeing him, invited him in to have some tea, but Cristan refused. Thanks to that, both coachman and escort knight had to waste away the time as well.

But as they say, all waiting comes to an end. Before long, a luxurious carriage—out of place in the shabby neighborhood—pulled up in front of the orphanage building.

The coachman climbed down, opened the door politely, and out stepped a noblewoman with neatly pinned golden hair.

“Ah.”

It was his mother.

But she looked very different from usual. At home, she always dressed plainly, but now an ornate necklace hung at her throat. The fabric of her dress shimmered faintly, clearly the finest quality, and the carriage she had arrived in was even larger than the best one owned by the ducal house.

“Of course. She’s royalty. This look suits her far better. How foolish of me.”

Cristan quickly hid the pouch of coins he had brought. It was his emergency savings, little by little gathered just in case she was in financial trouble. But seeing her now, he worried offering such paltry money would only earn him scorn.

“Let’s go back.”

“What? After waiting all this time, you’re just going to leave? Even if you don’t ask her to come home, you could at least step down and greet her.”

“I said we’re going back.”

At Cristan’s stubbornness, the coachman had no choice but to start the carriage. The boy looked out the window in silence, his face conflicted.

‘Mommy… I wanna see Mommy.’

When Karia first entered the ducal house, Cristan had only been three years old. With his little legs toddling around and his clumsy speech, that was all the boy could do.

He hadn’t yet known what death was, nor understood the tangled interests of adults. All he knew was to wander the mansion endlessly in search of his mother.

“Ah, Cristan.”

Sometimes, while walking down deserted paths, he would run into her. She wasn’t his real mother—she didn’t have brown hair and pale green eyes—but the way she looked at him was just as gentle. Cristan adored her.

“Did you come all this way alone? Your grandmother will be worried.”

“Cheh… I don’t like Grandma.”

After the former duchess had passed away, the dowager had seized control of the mansion, holding Cristan tightly and forcing him into strict heir education.

If Karia were to bear a child and that child became heir, the dowager’s power would weaken. So she intended to secure the succession early.

To little Cristan, barely three years old, the sudden changes were frightening and unpleasant. Most of all, he hated how his grandmother badmouthed Karia behind her back and taught him to treat her with hostility.

“Carry me.”

Whenever he said that, Karia would always look troubled, but in the end she’d open her slender arms and lift him up. Even as a child—no, because he was a child—he knew who truly cared for him.

In the entire mansion, no one loved him freely as she did. Not the nursemaids who clung to power, not his indifferent father, not his frightening grandmother. Karia was his favorite.

“Cristan! How many times have I told you not to associate with that woman?! Why won’t you listen to your grandmother?!”

“Grandma, you’re always mean to Mommy! I like Mommy way more than you!”

“Hmph! What sort of fox of a woman has bewitched this child so that he won’t even listen to me?”

The eldest son of the distinguished Pandeon ducal house, rightful heir to the title. Cristan didn’t understand complicated words, but he understood one thing: in this house, he was second only to his father.

So he defied the dowager whenever she insulted Karia. He wanted to protect her.

“Mommy, where are you going? Don’t go!”

But his illusion didn’t last long. The dowager had Karia sent away to the territory. Cristan couldn’t do anything.

When he tried to chase after her departing carriage, the dowager caught him and said,

“This is all your fault, Cristan.”

“M-my fault?”

“If you hadn’t behaved so willfully, she wouldn’t have been driven away.”

That day, Cristan tasted despair for the first time in his life. When his father returned, he clung to his legs, begging for his stepmother back.

“She went willingly, to familiarize herself with the territory as the duchess. You can’t just call her back whenever you please.”

His father was always like that.

What bride, upon marriage, would want to immediately move alone to a strange territory with no ties? Yet his father never considered her feelings, never even wondered about them.

Since no one raised the issue, he assumed there was no issue at all. No—he made it so no one could raise an issue.

Three years later, when Karia returned from the territory, Cristan resolved to finally be her ally. But his father would not listen.

“Your mother would never do such a thing. The duchess said nothing either. You must be mistaken. Stop concerning yourself with nonsense and focus on your studies.”

At most, he would perform a token check. When he questioned the dowager, she would offer a seamless lie, and the duke would accept it without investigation.

Each time this happened, Cristan lost someone. First, the cook’s son he had played with often. Then, the maid who had cared for him for years. Then, his respected swordsmanship master.

“Young master, don’t test my patience. The more you do, the more trouble you bring upon yourself.”

At last, Cristan stopped resisting. Like a doll without will, he wore the clothes chosen for him and studied as ordered. The dowager was very pleased with her increasingly dull and obedient grandson.

And at some point, Cristan began echoing the same words others said to Karia.

“Don’t waste your strength on a battle you cannot win. It will only disturb the household.”

He despised her. She was imperial royalty, an adult, yet why wouldn’t she resolve the situation herself? Why did she only tremble miserably before his eyes, still looking at him with such loving eyes?

If the servants disrespected her, why didn’t she slap them? If she couldn’t manage that, why didn’t she ask Father for help? And if not even that—then at least… at least get a divorce.