Chapter 48
‘…They know each other?’
Elses looked back and forth between the two men with a puzzled gaze.
Bolton gave a grandiose bow, performing his manners with exaggerated politeness.
“It’s been a long time, young master.”
The title that came out of Bolton’s mouth made not only Elses, but also Cassian — who had just entered the room — stare at Astaire in shock.
Only Tezet, as always, remained unreadable behind his expressionless face.
Hearing that title, Elses immediately grasped the connection between the man before her and Astaire.
‘So he’s connected to the House of Perdean.’
The man who had tried to sacrifice innocent lives to open the dimensional rift — that man was someone tied to Astaire’s bloodline.
Elses glanced at Astaire worriedly.
He wore the coldest expression she had ever seen on him.
Bolton, on the other hand, seemed amused by that reaction, smiling as if he was enjoying himself.
“It seems we have much to discuss after so long. Perhaps it would be better if you dismissed the others?”
His tone clearly meant that Elses, Cassian, and Tezet — standing beside Astaire — should take the hint and leave.
But Elses had no intention of doing so.
It wasn’t that she distrusted Astaire — it was that he looked far too unstable right now. She couldn’t bring herself to leave him alone.
Before she could voice that thought, however, Astaire’s hand caught her wrist.
“…Stay.”
His grip was desperate, as though her presence itself were a lifeline.
Then, glaring at Bolton, Astaire spoke.
“There’s nothing in our conversation that needs to be hidden from them.”
“My, my. I had hoped we could reminisce about old times, but you’re being rather unkind.”
“Enough talk. Let’s get to the point.”
Astaire cut off Bolton’s mock politeness with an icy tone, leaning forward across the table to close the distance between them.
“Is my father involved in this?”
At that, one corner of Bolton’s mouth lifted.
He added a sneer to his expression and replied,
“I serve only one master.”
That alone was an admission — that the Marquis of Perdean, Astaire’s father, was deeply involved.
Astaire’s gaze didn’t waver, as though he’d expected that answer.
But Elses saw it — the veins standing out on the back of his clenched hand pressing against the table.
After finishing the interrogation, Astaire stepped out of the room and addressed Lancelot, who was waiting outside.
“Lancelot. Prepare everything — we’re going to the Marquis of Perdean’s estate at dawn.”
Lancelot flinched slightly at the order, but after meeting Astaire’s composed face, he bowed.
“…Understood.”
Astaire then turned to the three who were waiting for him.
“Thank you all for your work. Get some rest — I’ll see you in the morning.”
Tezet turned away without much of a response, his expression suggesting that Astaire’s family matters didn’t interest him.
“Hey, you…”
Cassian began to say something, but then stopped himself.
“…Never mind.”
He simply ruffled his hair and walked off.
“Your Eminence.”
When Astaire looked at Elses, who stood there with concern in her eyes, he gave his usual faint smile.
“Go rest. You must be tired.”
Elses stared at him for a moment, but under his gentle gaze she eventually followed Tezet and Cassian out.
Finally alone, Astaire turned toward his quarters inside the cathedral.
But before he even took a full step, he squeezed his eyes shut and let out a pained breath.
“……”
Bolton’s mocking voice echoed in his mind.
“No matter how much you deny it, the fact remains — you are the son of Perdean.”
Bolton had confessed everything his master had done — the Marquis’s sins, laid bare for his own son to hear.
Not reluctantly, but with enjoyment, as though he took pleasure in dragging a father’s sins into the light before the son.
He clearly believed the son would never expose his own father.
Listening to Bolton’s words had been excruciating — even though Astaire had long known what kind of man his father was.
Yet still, it felt like the ground beneath him was crumbling away.
The disgust ran deep.
It felt as though worms were crawling through every vein, through every channel where his father’s blood flowed.
If he could drain that blood — if he could erase his lineage entirely — he would have done it without hesitation.
“Your Eminence.”
A voice called from behind. It was Elses, who had apparently come back.
Astaire composed his face and turned.
“Did you forget something?”
“No… I was worried.”
Her eyes were fixed entirely on him.
He realized then why she had returned.
“I’m sorry… for today.”
“……”
“But I swear to God, I won’t let this be swept aside. Even if I must risk my title, I’ll see justice—”
“What are you apologizing for?”
Astaire’s quiet question stopped her mid-sentence.
He stared at her blankly, and Elses, frowning as if in pain or anger, continued.
“It isn’t your fault.”
“……”
“I’m worried about you, Your Eminence.”
Not about how the case would proceed, but about him.
If it were her, she might feel anger toward her father — but she wouldn’t blame herself.
His father’s sins were not his own.
But Astaire wasn’t like that.
Even as a powerless child, he had known of his family’s evil and could do nothing to stop it — and he had never forgiven himself for that.
He would always believe he bore responsibility for not stopping his father sooner.
Elses stepped closer to him.
“Your name is Astaire Belcastel. Isn’t that right?”
It was public knowledge that he had once belonged to House Perdean — and that he had been cast out.
In truth, he had left of his own will.
“So the name ‘Perdean’ no longer has any hold over you.”
Her eyes softened.
“I hope one day you’ll forgive Astaire Perdean.”
“……”
Astaire stared at her in silence as she stopped before him.
For a brief moment, her figure overlapped with a memory — of Ruel, the boy who had once reached out a hand to him.
“Will you come with me?”
But the chill night wind blew, and the ghostly image of the dead boy faded — leaving only Elses standing before him.
At that moment, he realized it.
He was no longer seeing the ghost of the dead, but a living woman standing before him.
Suddenly aware of what that meant — of what he was beginning to feel — Astaire looked at her blankly and asked,
“Then… will you hold my hand?”
“Huh?”
“So that I won’t fall apart.”
He extended his hand toward her.
Elses blinked, unsure what he meant, then smiled and took his hand without hesitation.
“There. Better?”
She gave a small, teasing grin and shook his hand playfully.
“I’ll hold on tight. So you don’t fall.”
Astaire smiled faintly, gripping her hand firmly in return.
Once again, it felt like a miracle — like salvation had come to him a second time.
The next morning, at the imperial palace.
After his morning shower, Cedric walked into his bedroom, poured himself a drink, and filled his glass.
Drinking right after a morning bath was his usual ritual to start a good day.
And today, he was in a particularly good mood — thanks to the report Count Gale had delivered the night before.
“The Cardinal has cornered the Marquis of Perdean.”
Cedric had laughed when he heard it.
“The son uncovering the father’s crimes… what a tragedy.”
Just as planned.
After Count Lorlt was exposed and Astaire had come to the palace, Cedric had deliberately pressured the Marquis of Perdean to act hastily — waiting for him to be caught.
His plan had two purposes.
First, to divert Astaire’s attention toward his father’s house, allowing other operations to proceed elsewhere.
Second, to make Astaire face the truth of his father’s corruption — and thus choose to cover it up himself.
As a Cardinal, second only to the Saint in power, Astaire could easily bury the matter if he wished.
“He may be the Saint’s dog, but surely he wouldn’t bite his own father. He’s not as insane as Duke Rittenhouse.”
Blood runs thicker than water.
How many sons could truly drag their own fathers into ruin?
Besides, if this scandal went public, not only would the Marquis’s name be tainted, but so would his son’s.
Even if the law no longer punished families for a man’s sins, people still did — with whispers and judgment.
“He won’t expose him. He’ll want to keep it quiet.”
If Astaire chose to bury the matter, Cedric intended to let him.
And in doing so, he would gain something he had never had before — leverage over the proud, unyielding Cardinal.
“That weakness might even help me with the Holy Kingdom later.”
Everything was unfolding in his favor.
“…I bet that noble face of his will be glorious when it finally crumbles.”
Smiling to himself, Cedric raised his glass, imagining Astaire’s expression when he arrived.
A servant had already reported that the Cardinal’s carriage had departed, so he should arrive soon.
But as time passed, and the moisture in Cedric’s hair dried completely, Astaire still hadn’t appeared.
‘Why isn’t he here yet?’
Cedric set his glass down, a sense of unease creeping in.
Then —
Knock, knock.
