YAED 07

Chapter 07

At the uncomfortable dining table, Caella did her best to properly fulfill her duties. Thanks to Pheon, she had snapped out of her daze and could focus on discussing the visiting Kerujan delegation’s schedule instead of losing herself to despair.

But after much discussion, a casual remark from Pheon left Caella flustered once again.

“Should Duchess Monde show up again today about the same matter, tell her I sent my regards.”

Pheon’s eyes were fixed on Caella.

In Kraina’s capital, Kryne, Caella had spoken using the distinctive noble phrasing—gracefully indirect, which Pheon found exceedingly irritating.

He had always preferred speaking bluntly. Caella knew this well, yet this time Pheon himself was using that same meaningful, aristocratic phrasing with her.

If she later met Duchess Monde again and passed on Pheon’s message, it clearly meant that Monde should direct her complaints to Pheon himself, not to Caella. Ultimately, it also meant Pheon would handle any trouble involving that family which was causing Caella distress.

Duke Adeo de Chasser of Ostein also showed considerable interest.

“What happened? Is something wrong?”

Before Caella could answer, Pheon bluntly recounted to Duke Ostein exactly what Duchess Monde had said to her.

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Pheon immediately regretted his words at her swift apology and the way her gaze quickly darted away from him.

He knew his tone and expression made him rather difficult for Caella—a gently raised princess—to approach. Before his regression, his wife had always tried hard to coax even a single word from him.

Yet he’d always responded with terse answers or brushed her off by saying, “That’s a matter for the rain to decide,” leaving her embarrassed and her efforts wasted. It had been that way his entire life.

Now, hearing his curt refusal again, Caella would surely view him as an extremely awkward presence. He had once believed their relationship needed to remain distant, but no longer. Pheon had no intention whatsoever of repeating his foolish mistakes.

“What I meant is, it’s not something worth your concern.”

Her clear, icy-blue eyes turned toward him once more. Merely seeing her look at him again filled him with boundless satisfaction.

He cared for her this much—how could it possibly be acceptable to end things on bad terms? At the very least, he wished for a good relationship.

“Honestly, you should have been angry, Caella.”

Of course, Caella was too kind to ever do that. She was the type of person who endured patiently for a very long time, gradually shifting circumstances bit by bit.

Had they been given more time—if Caella had possessed infinite patience and the strength to persevere—she would have eventually taken full control of Lusenford Castle as the Grand Duchess.

But they had no time. Four years had been far too short, and in the end, they’d lost everything.

“Duchess Monde must have crossed quite a line to say such a thing.”

Adeo murmured politely.

“The Duchess and the Grand Duchess are not the same, after all.”

Caella echoed Pheon’s words to Duchess Monde, adding a slight smile.

It was nearly just a polite upturn of her lips, yet Pheon realized how long it had been since he’d last seen her smile. She was someone who knew how to smile—just a hint of it brought forth a gentle warmth, as if sunlight followed only her.

“The Ostein Duchy, sanctioned by His Late Majesty, and the ordinary Monde Duchy are legally distinct under Imperial law. What she said is utterly absurd.”

Pheon stated firmly. At the same time, this meant the esteemed Princess of Ostein had no reason whatsoever to become entangled with the Emperor’s illegitimate children.

“If such a thing happens again—and I hope it never does—don’t just let it go, Caella. Tell me.”

“Thank you.”

The formally smiling Caella seemed like someone entirely unrelated to him now. Pheon knew her reply was merely formal as well.

*

The three of them had been extremely busy for several days. While Adeo and Pheon conferred with the Ministers of Foreign Affairs about Kerujan, Caella ran through the Imperial Palace, clutching the hem of her dress.

“If Grand Duchess Lusenford were here, she could simply take charge herself.”

Duchess Monde pouted, but given that the Empress couldn’t move at the moment, Princess Ostein was the highest-ranking noblewoman present—certainly outranking the Emperor’s unrecognized bastards.

Duchess Monde firmly believed, without a shadow of doubt, that her daughter would become Grand Duchess. Until now, high society had largely shared that view.

“Oh, Mother, why say such things? Pheon isn’t married yet.”

Of course, Beatrice Lavalle, who tried to dissuade her mother, likely had other thoughts of her own.

Honestly, Caella was somewhat curious about exactly when Beatrice had become so casually familiar with the Emperor’s name, but now wasn’t the time to investigate that.

“There’s just too much to do!”

Even the high-born princess was on the verge of crying out in exasperation. The Greater Krainan Empire couldn’t possibly slight the Kerujan Kingdom’s delegation.

Through their combined efforts, a schedule showcasing Kraina’s dazzling wealth, influence, diverse culinary traditions, and elegant banquets had been prepared.

Ah, how long had it been since she’d properly worked like this? Caella sank down wearily, utterly exhausted.

She had selected the banquet dishes and dance music, decided on the napkin and curtain colors, chosen tablecloths and floral arrangements, reviewed the guest list multiple times, and thoroughly familiarized herself with every subtle political issue the attendees might discuss.

All of this was precisely what Caella excelled at. She had carried out these duties flawlessly even as Grand Duchess, yet at Lusenford, no one had ever acknowledged her efforts.

In truth, she’d often struggled to accomplish anything properly due to lack of cooperation, and when results inevitably turned out poorly because of that lack of support, she was usually met with ridicule. Being a Grand Duchess without strong backing had been immensely difficult.

Now, finally doing the work she loved, smoothly and alongside true professionals, Caella’s expression glowed with happiness.

“Wow, that was fun….”

She couldn’t have been happier knowing she had a mountain of tasks awaiting her tomorrow as well. Feeling useful, she sat alone on the half-finished sofa in the meeting hall and kicked off her shoes.

“Ow, ow….”

Everything was perfect—except her feet hurt terribly. One shoe was tossed aside carelessly. “Right, I’ll just leave the other one right next to it,” she thought, flicking the second shoe through the air.

The shoe arced farther than expected and struck the leg of someone who had just entered, then dropped to the floor with a thud. Caella jolted upright in alarm. The moment those violet eyes turned toward her, an apology burst out reflexively.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

She hurried over, barefoot on the polished carpet, and snatched up the nearest shoe.

“I didn’t know anyone was coming in… I’m really sorry.”

She’d made a mistake. Her heart pounded, cold sweat broke out—what should she do? She’d surely receive that icy gaze again, even colder than the chill of Lusenford.

That detached, contemptuous glare that stripped people bare, brimming with unmistakable disdain and indifference. Apologies tumbled endlessly from her lips as her small hands trembled while frantically searching the carpet.

This behavior was most unbecoming of a Grand Duchess. The Duke’s dignity had been severely compromised, and he’d surely think poorly of her. Shame washed over her.

Before Caella could retrieve the shoe lying near the large man’s ankle, he picked it up himself. Pale-faced, Caella followed his hand upward with her eyes.

“Caella, it’s alright.”

Pheon wasn’t looking down at her from a standing position—he had lowered himself beside her and gave a faint smile. Caella stared back at him, wide-eyed like a squirrel or cat confronted by its natural predator, shoulders hunched tightly.

“Why are you so startled if it’s alright? Did I scare you?”

Only upon seeing his calm, handsome face did she snap back to her senses. A soft breath escaped through her slightly parted pink lips.

“I’m sorry for startling you. Can you stand up?”

Unlike the booming-voiced Lusenfords, Pheon asked in a very soft, quiet tone.

Her small chest rose and fell rapidly with her startled breathing, and her eyes were wide. If he didn’t lower his voice, she might faint from fright.

Caella sat collapsed in the vast meeting hall—empty until the Kerujan delegation’s arrival—her pale platinum hair shimmering in the sunlight, flawless skin glowing, and petite frame looking almost fragile.

She seemed as though the slightest touch might break her, or she might vanish altogether into the light spilling through the tall windows reaching from floor to ceiling.

Caella had always been like this. Just looking at her made him uneasy; getting too close felt like something might shatter.

Either her, or something within him. The foolish Pheon—who once thought avoiding her entirely was the easier path—reached out his hand before she’d even fully regained her composure.

“Let me help.”

Without letting her properly protest, he lifted Caella up effortlessly and seated her on the large sofa where she’d originally been sitting. Even the weight of her heavy gown was nothing to him.

“…Thank you.”

Caella barely managed her thanks before realizing once again that she’d used honorific speech. Her linguistic habit, forcibly shaped over four years by Pheon, wouldn’t change so easily.

“Don’t mention it.”

But Pheon chose not to point that out.

He gently took the shoe she’d been clutching, paired it with the one he’d picked up, and neatly placed both beneath the sofa. Then, instead of sitting beside her, he settled on the sofa behind her.

His lean frame was packed entirely with solid muscle, and his towering height made his presence as heavy as it was imposing. Thus, when he sat diagonally on the rear sofa, Caella felt her body instinctively lean toward him.

“This room is the only one empty right now.”

Reading Caella’s immediate thought—“Is there anywhere to escape?”—Pheon spoke casually. Tilting his head back, he watched her profile: neat, clean, and serene.

“The Grand Ballroom on the second floor, the first-floor hall—not to mention every small room—is swarming with people. Both you and I came here to avoid others, didn’t we?”

In other words, there was no place to run and rest alone. Caella swallowed a groan and lowered her slightly lifted hips back onto the seat.

As winter’s chill faded and spring began to whisper its arrival, the slightly warmer sunlight reached beyond the soon-to-be-replaced curtains, carpets, and tablecloths to Caella’s dress.

She gazed at the high-ceilinged meeting hall, where every finish and ornament clearly reflected the Emperor’s venerable authority.

Her mind felt both cluttered and entirely empty at once. Her entire being was drawn solely to Pheon.

Caella lowered her head and tightly clenched her fists atop her knees.

Her left cheek tingled faintly toward him, but even if she turned her head, Pheon wouldn’t be looking at her. This was merely a strange habit born from a foolish, hopeless crush that had begun in childhood.

“How could I possibly maintain such a habit after enduring his treatment for four whole years?”

She always felt, somehow, that he was watching her; that he listened attentively to her words; that, somehow, he’d eventually grant her requests.

Thus, Caella kept hoping—though even that hope had been entirely forgotten by her third year as Grand Duchess.

“I’m just being foolish.”

Caella stopped thinking. A fool shouldn’t think at all.

*

The light remained unchanged. Or perhaps the sun had shifted slightly westward.

Beneath her thick lashes, her blue eyes gauged the direction of the shadows stretching across the room. In the tower where she’d been confined, shadows were the only things that changed, making her extra sensitive to their direction.

Had she dozed off briefly? Relieved that no one had found her yet, Caella realized she was lying on the sofa.

Moreover, as before, she was covered by a dark, heavy cloak.

Reflexively, she looked toward the sofa behind her—the one with its back facing hers.

Pheon was gone from his seated spot. Instead, she saw long legs stretched out over the armrest. He, too, lay carelessly with his eyes closed. Caella clenched the cloak tightly in rising irritation. This man never changed.

“Even if I came back from the dead, this man wouldn’t change.”

Occasionally, it was these small acts of quiet kindness and consideration from his typically aloof self that had kept Caella from letting go of him. Once, that had been true. Because she had loved him so much, feeling irritated by his current thoughtfulness was tremendous progress.

Back then, she’d been genuinely flustered and overjoyed—even when Lusenford treated her as though she didn’t exist, as if their shared past held no memories at all.

Caella glared at Pheon’s handsome face—his delicate eyes and long lashes inherited from the Empress.

“…You’d better save this for Beatrice.”

Since she’d already given up everything, such words now slipped out effortlessly.

If Pheon treated Caella this way, perhaps that was why Beatrice had ended up involved with the Emperor rather than Pheon. Recalling how Beatrice referred to the Emperor as “our Vincent,” Caella felt a strange discomfort in her chest.

Yet among them all, the biggest fool was Caella herself. She flung the cloak over Pheon’s face.

His features disappeared beneath it. Feeling slightly satisfied, Caella quickly put on her shoes with an impassive expression. She needed to leave before Pheon woke.

Her footsteps on the soft carpet were feather-light. Though she stumbled slightly from rushing, she finally reached the door, closed it firmly behind her, and walked down the corridor with her usual graceful, dignified gait.

Once she’d gone so far that her presence vanished around the corner, Pheon, still draped in the cloak, gave a faint smile.

“You’re absolutely right.”

The cloak Caella had practically thrown at him carried a soft, sweet fragrance—orange, or perhaps lemon. It blended the juicy sweetness of ripe fruit with the bright scent of summer flowers.

A fleeting, ethereal aroma—desiring permanence yet destined to vanish quickly—mirrored its owner perfectly.

Buried beneath the overwhelmingly dazzling flowers of high society, she was the kind of presence one remembered long after parting, lingering even longer in the heart.

Given her immense wealth and officially recognized imperial lineage, every gentleman in society had only ever admired Caella from afar.

Though Caella herself had followed only Pheon since childhood and had no interest in other men, Pheon knew well the gazes of his fellow males.

The gentlemen who admired Caella were genuinely worthy of the title—unlike Pheon, whose origins were far less refined.

Men who placed instruments even in cold, dark, quiet places and delighted in her cheerful smile whenever music played—all possessed a certain level of culture and refinement.

They had the leisure to enjoy music with her—like Prince Elkanan, who was now arriving from Kerujan, for instance.

“Oh, Your Highness. There you are. Duke Ostein has arrived from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. He says there are new changes to discuss.”

Pheon loosely draped the cloak over his shoulders and headed toward where Duke Ostein and Caella were seated.

Caella, sitting quietly, glanced at him briefly with her blue eyes before naturally looking away—having just thrown the cloak at him, she’d been checking his reaction. He gave a faint smile and deliberately sat right in front of her.

He should look his fill—this was the image he’d carry with him for the rest of his life.