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Chapter 77
“That man still goes on about it, even though he doesn’t even have a daughter.”
Killian’s sneer made Bastian flinch.
Only the head of the Droche family could dare to call the King of Diares “that man.”
Bastian tucked in his lips and blinked, then raised his index finger as if he wasn’t finished.
“His Majesty also said, ‘Since I am working hard to produce a princess, it would be premature to break the promise already. Tsk, tsk.’”
This time, Kim twitched.
Everyone knew the king had a beautiful mistress. That was no mere gossip; even the royal family didn’t bother denying it.
So the idea that the king was “working hard” to produce the future Duchess of Droche wasn’t exactly inaccurate—though certainly indecent to say aloud.
“Ahem.”
With a cough, Kim steered the conversation back.
“The Grand Duke of Elcatre said he had pursued the partnership with you, Your Grace, under the assumption you would marry the next princess. If that isn’t so, he wishes to cancel the contract quickly.”
The Elcatre family were distant relatives of the royal line.
“As you know, their house motto is that ‘blood is thicker than water.’”
So thin a connection it might as well have been watered-down mineral spring… yet they’d opened their wallets for it.
While Bastian trembled nervously, Kim just lifted his shoulders calmly.
“I’ll reply that the rumors will soon fade, as they always have. That’s the best course.”
Kim was an expert at handling scandals—an ability sharpened by years working in House Droche.
After all, their master had been born into a background people never left alone, and blessed with a face that drew attention wherever he went. He was, by nature, a “walking scandal.”
Kim knew: the best response was usually no response.
“I’ll also give personal reassurances to the Grand Duke and the Marquis that the rumors aren’t true. But with His Majesty, it would be better if you went in person—”
That was the established way: share the truth only with insiders, but make no public move.
But Killian cut him off.
“No. That won’t be necessary.”
He rose from his chair with a smile.
“A little noisy explanation won’t ruin me.”
The words noisy explanation made Kim blanch, recalling the recent Magic Association trial.
Killian patted his shoulder lightly.
“Don’t worry. I don’t plan to wear a sparkling outfit and pose for pictures again.”
Fastening his coat, Killian left the office.
For a moment, he looked like a fairytale hero, striding off to rescue the heroine.
***
In the reception room, Marquis Parvon jumped up from the sofa, along with others waiting.
Among them was the editor-in-chief of the Minutes Daily, who had come personally to confirm the truth.
Killian approached him first, lips curved.
“Y-Your Grace, what brings—”
The editor, a small man, swallowed hard at the tall shadow looming over him.
But Killian only smiled warmly, as if he had no thought of using his stature as a threat.
“I need the front page of the Minutes Daily. It’s the most trusted page in Diares.”
“Y-you flatter us.”
“Let’s say the Duke himself has issued a statement. The statement will be…”
Killian’s gaze slid to Kim.
“Our secretary will write it up beautifully.”
“Ah—yes, of course!”
Securing the editor’s agreement, Killian turned to Kim.
“Before you draft it, find the contract with Elcatre.”
“Should I bring it to your office?”
“Not to me—send it to the lawyer. File a lawsuit against the Grand Duke for breach of contract.”
Kim’s eyes flickered at the extreme response, but quickly steadied.
“Yes, as you command.”
He knew the lawsuit would never actually proceed.
The Grand Duke will fold before then.
Not because he was afraid, but because once the official denial was printed, he’d have the excuse he needed to back down.
After all, the Duke of Droche would never let go of an investor so easily.
Droche could manage without outside funds, but in business it was always better to use other people’s money.
Killian’s steps stopped in front of Bastian.
“We should also send a message to His Majesty.”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Tell him: instead of worrying about the marriage of a princess not even born, he should manage his already-grown son properly.”
Killian’s eyes gleamed cold, then softened again.
“Add this too: That prince keeps coming to my staff, kneeling and blocking their way—like someone with too much time on his hands.”
Bastian blinked.
“…You mean proposing marriage?”
Everyone in the castle knew Prince Troy’s hobby of chasing after Deborah Millicent with proposals.
“Ah, so that’s what it’s called? I thought it was just a threat. If it’s really a proposal, then this is a problem. Strengthen the castle gate security. No more outsiders slipping in.”
With biting sarcasm, Killian turned to address the room.
“Also inform anyone else planning to withdraw: tell them the Duke of Droche has been deeply wounded.”
His face showed little injury, but he shrugged.
“Wounded enough that those who caused losses by pulling out will face permanent disadvantages.”
At last, his eyes returned to the editor.
“I trust you wrote all this down. A newspaper front page is the best kind of threat letter.”
The editor nodded vigorously, scribbling like a man charged with a sacred duty.
Killian sat casually on a sofa armrest, fingers laced together.
“So now, only one problem remains…”
He asked Kim:
“The minister who insisted on coming in person—still not here?”
“Ah, well—”
Before Kim could finish, the reception room doors burst open. Someone rushed in, breathless.
“Your Grace! The prince has just crossed the castle gates!”
Killian tilted his head. Not surprising.
“Is that all?”
The man added quickly:
“He brought four armed soldiers with him! Our guards tried to stop them, but His Highness subdued them by force and forced his way in…!”
Killian closed his eyes, massaged the back of his neck, and groaned. His only friend’s madness gave him a pounding headache.
“Told you—we need stronger gate security.”
***
Riana blinked, mouth still open.
She’d just sat down in the maids’ dining hall, savoring the smell of today’s menu—chicken thigh steak—when she speared a broccoli floret.
It hovered in the air, still uneaten.
“Put that down.”
“….”
With tears in her eyes, Riana lowered her fork.
It was Prince Troy Diares giving the order—flanked by four bodyguards.
I didn’t even get to touch the chicken yet.
At Troy’s signal, one guard whisked her plate away.
Chicken thighs taste fishy if they go cold…
Troy sat across from her.
“I think you know why I’ve come.”
“Maybe Mrs. Baker will reheat it for me later…”
“What?”
“…Excuse me?”
“…Huh?”
Troy’s dark eyes twitched. It was the first time a woman besides Deborah had brushed him off.
Fluster lasted only a moment; then his eyes flashed dangerously.
“Still not paying attention? Do I need to twist your neck again, like last time?”
“Oh, surely Your Highness doesn’t need to dirty your hands again…”
“Answer me while looking at me, not your plate.”
“Ah—your face dazzled me so much I couldn’t.”
At last, Riana’s clear eyes met his.
His annoyance was obvious. His golden brows twitched, unable to contain themselves.
“…Let’s get straight to the point. When I told you to stay away from that knight—Gray, or whatever his name is—I didn’t mean for you to switch to another man and get into a scandal with him.”
“….”
“And yet here you are, entangled with my woman’s man. Our oh-so-interesting Isolation Tower maid.”
“…Figures.”
Riana sighed, as if she’d known this was coming.
So now he’d just swap the names—same threat, different man. She didn’t even need to guess.
Troy had even bet on it: that Riana wouldn’t fall for Killian.
Of course this scandal would enrage him most of all.
That must be why he brought five swords.
One at his own waist, four with the guards.
But Riana had her reasons not to fear him.
