ILVD 05

Chapter 5

By now, buying desserts for Leticia had become a part of Raoul’s regular outings.
After handing Asha a dessert box tied with ribbons, he was on his way back to his office when he frowned slightly.

“Strange… my ears are itching.”

“When your ears itch, it means someone’s speaking ill of you, Your Grace.”

“Hagen.”

“Ah, of course, not I.”

Whether he knew that such a hasty denial only deepened suspicion, no one could tell.

Raoul’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile as he met his aide’s eyes.

“Please don’t smile like that, my lord. My poor heart won’t survive. The people in the capital have started calling it your ‘killer smile,’ you know.”

For the record, the phrase ‘killer smile’ did not mean his charm could kill—it meant “those who see his smile rarely live to tell the tale.”

Coincidentally, during the past month, the sales of every confectionery he had visited skyrocketed.
Apparently, loyal customers had rushed in, fearing that their favorite shop might vanish from existence after his visit.
Concern and sympathy toward the shopkeepers had followed as a bonus.

“That’s none of my concern,” Raoul murmured.

“Indeed it shouldn’t be, Your Grace. It’s best for everyone if it stays that way.”

Then, almost as if remembering something, Raoul took something from his inner pocket.

“By the way, the Emperor sent me this today.”

A gold envelope gleamed between his gloved fingers.

“A royal invitation, I see.”

The seal alone was enough for Hagen to recognize it.
Raoul’s visits to the Imperial Palace were a routine occurrence—once a week, at least.

There had been a time when an imperial messenger had foolishly insisted on receiving a written reply right in front of him, saying,

“Act like the Emperor’s dog, and return his call properly. I hold the leash of the one who owns you—”

That particular messenger had gotten his “reply” in a rather unexpected form: his own severed head.

Since then, the Emperor himself had chosen to hand Raoul his invitations directly.

“Which banquet is it this time?” Hagen asked, pulling out his notebook to adjust the schedule accordingly.

Raoul, however, spoke in a flat tone.

“It isn’t addressed to me.”

“Yes, of cou—”

The aide stopped mid-sentence, blinking in confusion.

“…I’m sorry, did you just say it’s not for you?”

Indeed, the Emperor had handed it to Raoul himself, yet the invitation was not his.
And there was only one other person in House Kafka who could possibly receive such a letter.

Leticia Kuhn Kafka.

“His Majesty sent it for the young lady?”

“Correct.”

In the Empire of Leroy, children under ten were strictly forbidden from attending official gatherings.
Only with a guardian’s presence—or at the debutante age of eighteen—could they participate.
Even the Emperor was bound by that law.

So what exactly was his intent in inviting an eight-year-old child?

“His Majesty is aware of her age, I presume?” Hagen asked carefully.

“He said it was a small gathering for noble children.”

The Duke’s indifferent tone didn’t convince him. Hagen shook his head slowly.

A “gathering for noble children”? That was the polite way of saying a networking ground for heirs of powerful houses and the Crown Prince’s future allies.

“Will you allow the young lady to attend?”

Hagen’s eyes were practically shouting: Will you send our precious, fragile, beloved little lady into that den of wolves and vipers?

Before Raoul could reply, he lifted a pen from the desk.

Whizz—!

Something brushed past Hagen’s cheek.

He turned slowly, finding the pen embedded deep into the marble wall behind him—lodged so firmly that even a sword might not have pierced it.

He exhaled a long breath.

“My lord, I’ve mentioned before that repairing the walls is quite expensive. Please refrain from such… expressions.”

Raoul only shrugged, unconcerned.

“It’s not like we’re short on money.”

“Even so, unnecessary spending is hardly prudent. No matter how irritated you may be that His Majesty sent that invitation to the young lady—”

“Irritated?”

Raoul’s tone carried the faintest trace of surprise, as though the emotion itself were foreign to him.
He flicked the envelope across the desk with a swift motion.

“Either way, it’s not for me to decide.”

“Would you not deliver it to her personally?” Hagen asked, catching the envelope between his fingers.

“I’m busy.”

“But if you were to hand it to her yourself—”

The sentence never finished. He was already out of the office, door firmly shut behind him.

Hagen sighed.

“Honestly… he could at least pretend to be straightforward.”

After fifteen years of service, Hagen understood his master’s moods better than anyone.

To most, Duke Kafka was an emotionless madman—a murderer who smiled only before he killed.
But Hagen knew better.

He feels things. Just faintly.
He takes longer to recognize them, longer still to understand them. But he feels.

That was why, when Leticia had flinched from him, Raoul had chosen distance over confrontation.

“She’s afraid of me.”
“If I approach her, I’ll only ruin the atmosphere.”

He’d taken that to heart—too literally, perhaps.

And yet, despite his words, Hagen had found a secret alcove in the Duke’s study filled with…

Children’s toys.

A row of carefully crafted dolls and dozens of parenting manuals stacked in meticulous order.

“She didn’t avoid my eyes today. Still seems a little scared, though.”
“Bring me a list of the capital’s most famous dessert shops.”

“Still,” Hagen muttered to himself, “it seems they’re getting closer these days. That’s something.”

And with that, he began walking toward the young lady’s room—invitation in hand.

The Letter

To the Honorable Lady of House Kafka,

I have heard that your eighth birthday has recently passed.
Though belated, allow me to extend my congratulations.
As the Crown Prince has also turned eight, I have arranged a small gathering for children of the realm.
It would please me greatly if you, too, would attend and spend time befriending those of your age.

—

Baldéar Jeanne Leroy., Emperor of Leroy.

Leticia placed the letter down after reading it to the end.

She had completely forgotten this particular event.

Back then, House Kafka rarely mingled with other nobles, and she had no friends her age.
So when the Emperor himself had invited her, she had been thrilled—blissfully unaware of what awaited her.

“So the rumors were true. The ‘White Crow Lady’ suits you well.”

“Is it true you’ve never met your real mother? Did the Duke never tell you about her either?”

Her first ball had been a disaster.

Even as a child, she had sensed that their words—cloaked in innocence—were sharp enough to cut.
She hadn’t understood the malice behind them, only that their laughter hurt more than she could say.

Now, staring at the gilded seal, Leticia asked quietly,

“Did Father say anything?”

“His Grace said… he would respect your decision.”

Of course he did. That was just like him—always leaving the choice to her.

She wanted to refuse. The memory of that humiliation still burned.
But she also knew better now. She knew what it meant for nobles to decline imperial requests.

“Are you sure it’s really all right if I don’t go?”

“Yes, my lady. Perfectly all right.”

The answer came without hesitation.
And though she recognized it for what it was—a kind lie meant to protect her—Leticia couldn’t help but pout.

“But it’s the Emperor’s invitation. We both know you can’t refuse him, right? Not even you, Father.”

“…My lady…”

Hagen trailed off, unable to respond.

She watched him silently, those clear red eyes fixed on him, searching for honesty.
And for a moment, Hagen felt a swell of affection so deep it startled even him.

He lowered himself to one knee, meeting her at eye level.

Serving a man as cold and terrifying as Duke Kafka, the servants of the household—including himself—had long made it their mission to surround this child with warmth.

At first, it was just to survive—to preserve one small flame in a house of shadows.
But before they realized it, that flame had taken root.

Words become seeds, the saying went.
And their daily reassurances—our lovely young lady, our little sunshine—had blossomed into truth.

She was no longer a helpless toddler; she had grown.
And Hagen felt a strange, paternal pride rise within him.

“Hagen?”

Her voice brought him back. He smiled gently before answering.

“Indeed, His Grace cannot refuse the Emperor’s summons.”
“But you, my lady—” he said softly,
“you still can.”

Leticia blinked, uncertain whether to believe him.
Her eyes shimmered with doubt, but also something else—something fragile, like hope.

And for the first time in a long while, Hagen thought,

Perhaps our little lady is far stronger than even the Duke realizes.