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Chapter 42
Davitt returned to the banquet hall to announce the end of the event.
After receiving each attendee’s farewell, he was escorted back to the main hall of the lord’s castle by the knights.
The day’s work was over. Only then did Davitt remove the ceremonial attire he had been wearing.
He had kept his head held high all day while wearing this heavy outfit. His neck ached from the strain.
Ruling over others was not something anyone could do.
As he climbed the stairs toward his bedroom, the shoulder epaulets and chest insignia weighed heavily with every step.
Walking straight to his destination, he unexpectedly came face-to-face with the Duchess in the middle of the hallway.
The knights who had been accompanying Davitt stepped back, watching the couple carefully.
The Duchess, having returned first and presumably finished her bath, was in a pure white negligee.
She approached, the hem of her dress fluttering, and the smell of alcohol was gone, replaced by a clean, soapy scent.
She held the reliquary box she had received from Joachim.
“Duchess, may I keep this? I’ve come to ask for your permission.”
“Do as you wish.”
Davitt had no interest in the relic.
“I think this could be useful in its own way. You can now prove your bloodline to the entire world.”
“Is there really a need to prove it?”
“It would eliminate unnecessary doubts. I suppose the priests might have assumed you were a fake prince appointed by the governor’s office. That’s probably why Joachim suddenly requested a private meeting. Oh, and it might have another use too.”
The Duchess’s eyes sparkled, her face bright as a child’s.
“And what would that be for?”
“Couldn’t it be used to verify parentage? If I were to have a child, and the test showed it didn’t glow, it would reveal that the child’s father was someone else.”
“Are you still drunk?”
Davitt took a candlestick from the wall and carefully examined the Duchess’s face.
Her eyes seemed more alert, though her cheeks were still flushed.
“You’re fine. You were a bit dizzy earlier, but now you’re completely lucid.”
“I see.”
Davitt responded nonchalantly and placed the candlestick back on the wall.
Drunk people usually believe they are sober. And in that state, they often speak their true thoughts.
Perhaps he could use this opportunity to glimpse the Duchess’s subconscious a little.
He decided to listen a bit longer to what she would say.
“Now that it’s come to this, I must be devoted to you, my Duke, for life. But, you know, there’s no way you would share the same bedroom with me. Oh, what should I do? I can’t just let the Dvorka ducal line end from the start… another woman could have the child, but then, what about me?”
She tapped her chin lightly with her index finger while rambling, which looked rather amusing.
“What nonsense are you talking, Duchess?”
Davitt stepped closer, observing her carefully.
Her cheeks were like smooth autumn apples.
Perhaps the hot bath had raised her body temperature, making her more intoxicated.
He cautiously placed the back of his hand on her cheek. It was warm, like freshly baked bread.
“You’re more drunk than I thought.”
“D-Duke, I’m serious. I need an heir, but… I don’t want to be a Duchess who betrays her sovereign, no matter what.”
Davitt easily interpreted her drunken rambling.
Now that it was possible to verify parentage, she meant that the heir should be from her husband.
Not entirely unreasonable. But did such a small object really need to carry that much authority?
“If you’re afraid of being exposed, you can simply consider the relic nonexistent. Very few people even know it’s in your possession.”
“…That’s true.”
The Duchess agreed without resistance.
She smiled faintly, then dropped her head.
Why did she suddenly seem so drained?
Was it anxiety about the heir? Or was she anxious because of her age? She wasn’t old enough to worry about succession yet.
But why drink to this point?
Davitt recalled the wedding banquet. Back then, the Duchess had drunk wine by the bottle, yet she had shown no sign of losing control.
‘She must have a strong tolerance. To get this drunk, she must have downed a lot of spirits.’
Drinking to such an extent indicated serious concern.
And who had been drinking with her today…?
He suddenly remembered again. The Duchess’s hair, which she had carefully tied with a ribbon, had come loose.
“Who were you drinking with?”
“Huh?”
“I asked, who drank with you today, Duchess?”
“Just a friend.”
The Duchess shrugged lightly, answering casually.
“…A friend?”
Could someone who passionately confessed a desire to become a consort be called just a friend? How open-minded must one be to allow that?
“Yes, a friend. Even a witch from hell… can have a friend.”
The Duchess smiled as if she hadn’t just lowered her head.
She laughed unguardedly again, even bringing up her own self-deprecating nickname.
Davitt closed his eyes tightly and ran a hand through his hair.
It was unsettling to imagine anyone else seeing her like this.
He didn’t like that she called herself the hell witch.
He was confused. Where did this vague discomfort come from?
Perhaps it was the notion that she must always appear dignified and refined, like her first impression.
Was he too fixated on that?
He wished she would be consistent, and not reveal sides he didn’t know. That way, he wouldn’t be manipulated by this inexplicable discomfort.
“Shall we go? I’ll escort you to your bedroom.”
Davitt offered his arm, and the Duchess lightly placed her hand on it.
Without a word, they reached her door.
It was time to part. She released his arm and looked up at him.
“Duke, you know…”
“Yes?”
“Do you still… want to get to know me?”
Now she hiccuped too. He chuckled lightly.
“I don’t know.”
“I thought so. Good night.”
The Duchess turned away, her expression defeated, and waved goodbye. The silver-gray ribbon around her wrist moved with her hand. Seeing it, Davitt couldn’t help but speak.
“I don’t know, but…”
“…Yes?”
“Don’t drink to the point of getting drunk.”
His words left out a part: with that person.
Yes. If she says he is a friend, then he is a friend.
Even if she said he wasn’t, he had no right to interfere.
“Tomato and egg soup. Even if your stomach isn’t feeling well, you must try at least a few spoonfuls.”
The head chef of the lord’s castle urged the Duchess before stepping back.
Watching the Duchess seated across the table, Davitt sighed again.
Her eyes were swollen, understandable, but why were her lips swollen too?
“…What should I do? I don’t remember anything.”
The Duchess muttered weakly as she spooned the soup.
“Did you forget receiving the relic too?”
“I remember going to the guest room with you. But from the bath onward, my memory’s cut off.”
“I’ve heard bathing in hot water while drunk isn’t good for your body.”
“I just wanted to wash quickly, but I dozed off in the tub…”
The Duchess mumbled excuses as she brought the soup to her mouth.
Perhaps it was fortunate that she didn’t remember last night’s conversation.
Davitt realized he had said too much unnecessary talk to her yesterday.
At least now that she was sober, they could have a serious conversation about the banquet.
“I’d like to have a private conversation with the Duchess. Could the staff step out?”
At Davitt’s request, the servants attending the meal all left.
“…A private conversation? With me?”
The Duchess’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Duchess.”
“Yes?”
“I am fully willing to be used by you.”
“That’s something I’m grateful for.”
The Duchess calmly dropped croutons into her soup.
“…At least tell me your intent. I’ll ask again—why did you kneel before me?”
“Huh? You asked the same question yesterday. I think I answered. As the lord of Blansk, I swore loyalty to the sovereign of Dvorka.”
The Duchess spooned the soup topped with croutons into her mouth.
It sounded almost casual, like someone relieving a hangover, though it was not a matter to take lightly.
A vein stood out slightly on Davitt’s forehead. Their difference in mindset made even starting a conversation difficult.
“The oath of loyalty you gave yesterday is something one gives to the lord who granted their title. By kneeling before me, you effectively declared to the world that you are my subordinate.”
“I am your subordinate. Though I may be royal and a minor duke in Levanteia, on Dvorka soil I am merely a count.”
“Even so, there’s no reason to bend your pride for me.”
She had knelt without hesitation, and Davitt was internally shocked but showed no outward reaction.
She, who had never bowed to foreign sovereigns congratulating her marriage, knelt to him.
Now she was ready for a serious conversation. She set down her spoon, took a sip of water, and looked Davitt directly in the eyes.
“What’s the use of pride in front of people who have lost their country?”
“What do you gain by kneeling before a puppet like me? That’s what I want to know.”
“Puppet? Yes, a puppet. You’ve put it well. I’ll be honest. I don’t like that my husband is a puppet. I want you to be a real sovereign.”
Her clear, unwavering voice struck Davitt’s eardrums.
“…Hah.”
Davitt was momentarily speechless.
He still instinctively resisted the title of sovereign.
Did she bend to him because of her own pride? She didn’t want to admit her husband was a puppet, so she raised him by lowering herself?
“No, let me speak clearly. I want the people of Dvorka to have a real sovereign. As for why I knelt, I wanted to show that I recognize you as this country’s sovereign. As a lord, and as a Levanteian royal and noble.”
“…A real sovereign.”
Absurd.
The Kingdom of Dvorka had fallen. Only the tiny island of Padon remained, and the fleeing royals barely survived. Without wealth or military power, there was no way to restore the country.
Completely absorbed by the invaders, Dvorka’s independence was over.
The people of Dvorka would not have a real sovereign—perhaps ever.
Davitt smiled bitterly.
“Your recognition doesn’t change my position. I am a hostage of a fallen nation, unable to even preserve my own life. Hiding from the people doesn’t grant me any authority or power.”
“Hmm.”
“There is nothing I can do for the people of Dvorka… unfortunately.”
He could not raise an army or seek foreign assistance.
No matter how much he struggled, he could not restore the lost country.
He could not free them from the hellish colonial life.
That was reality, and Davitt had long accepted it.
“I’ve heard your thoughts. Now, I’ll ask you something.”
“…Yes.”
“Have you ever tried?”
