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Chapter 47
Daniela’s steps kept slowing down as she became more absorbed in trying to recall her memories.
In the meantime, Lowell returned, bringing with him a guest who appeared to be Count Cyril Auburn.
He was a middle-aged man with short gray hair, sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, and skinny limbs—yet with a slightly protruding lower belly. Overall, he had a very ordinary appearance.
He knelt respectfully before Ashed.
“Cyril Auburn pays respects to his honored lord.”
“…What?”
At that moment, Daniela cried out in alarm.
Hearing his name made a once-fuzzy memory rush back to her with vivid clarity, as if it had never been lost at all.
Cyril Auburn.
In the original novel, he was one of the villainous Duke Ashed’s most trusted retainers and administrative officers, and the only son of Sir Leopold Auburn, Ashed’s former mentor.
He was also the one who pushed Ashed, after the Resinia Massacre, further down a dark path—encouraging him to become more ruthless and merciless.
Blocked by Adrian and his allies from exacting proper revenge, Ashed’s anger and inferiority complex only deepened.
Cyril incited him to start a war, telling him to vent his intense emotions through massacres and violence.
Because of him, Ashed ended up taking even more innocent lives, and ultimately brought about his own downfall—abandoned by all and killed by his own subordinates.
“That can’t happen.”
She had just barely managed to stop the Resinia Massacre and was working hard to improve Ashed’s reputation by launching charitable efforts.
If Cyril provoked Ashed into starting another war, everything she had worked for would be undone.
“Milady!”
Daniela, now pale-faced, rushed down the stairs in a panic.
Just as Ashed was ascending the stairs toward his office with Cyril and the head butler, she stood in their path.
“Y-Your Grace!”
Ashed looked at her with narrowed eyes, puzzled.
Seeing her pale and trembling, he couldn’t help but ask with concern,
“What’s wrong?”
Behind him, Cyril spotted Daniela and wore a meaningful expression.
“So this is the Duke’s wife.”
Suppressing the contempt and hatred that surged within him, Cyril bowed respectfully to her.
“It is an honor to meet you, Duchess of Albrecht. I am Count Cyril Auburn, a retainer of His Grace and an old friend.”
“…Nice to meet you.”
Daniela forced herself to respond to his greeting.
What she really wanted was to demand what he had come to say to Ashed—and to tell him not to push him toward anything reckless—but she couldn’t.
“I have to stop this.”
She had to make sure Cyril didn’t provoke Ashed into starting a war.
To do that, she needed to hear what they discussed.
Swallowing hard, Daniela turned to Ashed.
“…Your Grace, you’re planning to have a conversation with Cyril in your office now, right?”
“That’s right.”
“If it’s alright… may I join you?”
“…You too?”
“Yes. Traditionally, the mistress of the house is supposed to help host guests, isn’t she?”
She offered a suitable excuse and looked up at him with desperate eyes.
Ashed studied her warily.
Why was she, of all people, so eager to be part of his conversation with Cyril?
The etiquette excuse didn’t even suit her.
He stepped closer to her and leaned in, whispering quietly so only she could hear.
“What’s your real motive?”
“…Please don’t ask. Just let me join. Please.”
Daniela whispered back, pleadingly.
Ashed gave a short, incredulous chuckle.
He still didn’t understand why she was so desperate, but seeing her beg like that, pale and looking like she might faint at any moment, made him soften.
“Damn it. I guess I have no choice.”
He decided he’d only talk about superficial matters today.
Anything relating to military affairs or confidential matters she didn’t need to know—he’d handle that through letters later.
Letting out a quiet sigh, he finally said,
“Alright. Let’s do that.”
“Really? Thank you, Your Grace!”
Daniela lit up and exclaimed happily.
Ashed gave a small smile at her reaction, then turned to Cyril.
“Looks like my wife doesn’t want to be separated from me. Cyril, I hope you don’t mind her joining us?”
“O-Of course not, Your Grace.”
Cyril answered awkwardly, though clearly displeased.
Ashed turned to Daniela and warned her in a low voice,
“If I tell you to leave, you leave. Understood?”
“Of course.”
Even though she had no intention of doing so, Daniela replied with a shameless face.
Ashed, Daniela, and Cyril made their way to the drawing room.
The head butler had insisted that Daniela—still in poor health—shouldn’t be seated in the cramped and uncomfortable office chairs.
And so, the three of them sat in the drawing room drinking tea, which the head butler had prepared.
Their conversation mostly involved Ashed asking after Cyril’s well-being or inquiring about the current status of Cadillac Village, where Cyril now resided.
“Good. He doesn’t seem to be bringing up war.”
Daniela sighed in relief and sipped her tea.
It was made from dried Stoke flowers—the ones Ashed sent her every day.
Sweet and fragrant.
Just as she was setting down her half-empty teacup, Cyril looked at Ashed with a meaningful expression.
“Your Grace, I have something urgent I must discuss with you.”
“Go ahead.”
Ashed raised one brow in response.
Daniela quickly drew in a sharp breath.
Cyril’s expression was clearly not normal.
It looked like he was about to bring up war—or something just as dangerous.
She grabbed her teacup again and pretended to take a hurried sip before coughing violently.
“Ugh! Cough, cough!”
Ashed immediately turned his attention to her.
“What’s wrong? Are you alright?”
“I don’t… I don’t know! I suddenly feel so nauseous…”
At that, Ashed’s expression turned icy.
He glared at the head butler and demanded,
“What did you put in the tea? Is there something suspicious in it?”
“N-No, Your Grace! Of course not!”
The head butler paled and waved his hands frantically.
Daniela quickly shook her head.
“No, it’s nothing like that… I just feel a little sick, Your Grace.
I’m tired, and I haven’t taken the antidote yet… I think that’s why.”
“…Sigh.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace… Could you help me to the bedroom?”
Ashed clicked his tongue, frowning.
She had said she was fine—and now looked like she was about to collapse.
It left a sour taste in his mouth.
At the same time, he was a little curious.
Why was she so obviously faking this, just to escape the room?
Supporting her limp form with one arm, Ashed spoke to Cyril.
“…You may have already heard, but my wife still hasn’t fully recovered.”
“I-I see.”
“It’s quite late, so it might be best if we continue this another time—through letters.”
“Understood. I wish the Duchess a speedy recovery.”
Cyril stood, his expression clearly dissatisfied.
Ashed simply nodded to him as a farewell, then led Daniela out of the drawing room, practically carrying her.
After leaving the Albrecht ducal mansion, Cyril passed through the main street and entered a secluded alley.
Once out of sight, he slammed his fist against a wall and roared,
“Damn it! Bloody hell!”
His plan to casually bring up the Kingdom of Aquila’s suspicious movements while talking to Ashed had completely failed.
It would have been much more natural—and convincing—if he could have just implied a future invasion, rather than stating it outright.
It would also reduce the risk of suspicion, and with no written evidence, easier to deny later if needed.
But with the duchess interfering, everything had gone wrong from the start.
He cursed repeatedly, venting his frustration.
“That damned duchess just had to ruin my plan!”
He muttered and fumed for a long while.
It was obvious to anyone that she had intentionally interrupted the conversation to derail it.
That foolish woman couldn’t possibly have figured out what he was planning.
So what was she trying to prevent?
The fact that he couldn’t figure it out was driving him crazy.
As his boiling anger cooled, a sense of stubborn determination began to rise instead.
