<Episode 13>
4. Words I Thought I’d Never Hear in My Life
Alfi slowly nodded.
Because he had been away from the estate for so long, there was much he didn’t know about the duchy. That must be why his father had gone to the trouble of adding so many excessive footnotes.
Perhaps it was a thoughtful gesture born from the desire for the family duties to continue without trouble.
But maybe… just maybe…
Alfi gently wondered if his father had done it out of genuine concern for him.
Of course, he quickly brushed off such a hopeful thought.
‘…Which is it, I wonder?’
Either way, he’d eventually find out by following the traces his father left behind. Alfi smiled softly.
“I’ll organize the contents related to the documents the retainers brought and deliver them to you soon.”
Benedict nodded.
“I was a little skeptical, but you’re still the same.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
Alfi had only returned earlier that morning.
Yet he had already found the former duke’s logs and familiarized himself with them—Benedict saw a glimpse of the sharp and meticulous Alfi he remembered.
“I don’t know if it’s appropriate to say this, but I’m kind of envious… that you get to read Father’s journal.”
Truthfully, Benedict also wanted to read his father’s journal.
It was a culmination of his life and thoughts. Surely, it must include notes on the matters he had cared about most—even in his final moments.
Perhaps even things about Lucien…
With that thought, Benedict looked up at Alfi more urgently. There was something he had wanted to ask ever since Alfi came back.
“Hey, do you know about the secret room used by successive dukes?”
In fact, that secret space was located in the former duke’s office.
Benedict had freely come and gone there since childhood, so he naturally knew of its existence, location, and how to open it.
It was probably a form of succession training. That way, even if Benedict was suddenly left alone, he could always access the former duke’s records.
But it had been nearly a week since the funeral, and he still couldn’t open the space.
He hadn’t met the “conditions” to do so.
And if there was anyone to discuss this with, Alfi—the hereditary butler—was the most suitable.
He must’ve also learned a great deal from the previous head butler.
“Ah.”
It seemed Benedict’s hunch was correct. Alfi twirled his raised index finger as if trying to recall something, lips moving silently.
“Uh, well…”
“You’ve heard something, haven’t you?”
“Yes! I definitely heard about it. Good grief, how could I forget? There’s something important about it.”
Benedict was impressed. He felt reassured—after all, Alfi was always reliable in times like these.
“That space is only accessible to the Duke, right? That’s quite an appealing little detail.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“So every duke has secretly taken their girlfriends there when they wanted to confess… Why are you glaring at me?”
Why do you think?!
Benedict stared at him, mouth agape at the shameless comment.
“Master. It’s really admirable that your family has handed down a surefire confession strategy for generations. You should be proud!”
“I’m not even slightly interested in that kind of thing!”
“But it’s always fun to watch a stoic male lead be tamed. In any case, keep this in mind—if you’re going to confess to Miss Lucien, do it in that secret room. It’s basically a magical chamber where ordinary girls come out as duchesses.”
Benedict waved a hand, realizing this conversation had gone completely off track.
“Enough.”
He had wanted to ask if Alfi knew about the family ring needed to open the space—but there was no serious conversation happening here.
“Aww, I hope you can open that room soon. When are you planning to go retrieve the ring?”
Benedict turned to him with a shocked face.
“Wait, you know where the ring is?”
“Huh? Of course I do.”
“Where is it?! I’ve searched Father’s office and even his bedroom, but I couldn’t find it anywhere…”
“Pff, it’s not in places like that.”
“Then where?!”
Benedict ran up to him with desperate eyes.
Alfi adjusted his cracked glasses slightly and once again raised his index finger before answering.
“The Royal Palace.”
Benedict blinked in surprise at the unexpected answer.
The family ring had always been something his father never took off. Even during their final confrontation, the ring had been on his father’s finger.
But the royal investigation team had returned only a few belongings, and the ring wasn’t among them. He had assumed it had been left somewhere in the mansion…
“That ring has always served as a token of ‘brotherhood’ from the king to the duke since the first generation. You know that, right?”
It was a gift from the founding king to his brother, Duke Winfield.
To honor their brotherhood eternally, whenever a new duke was appointed, the royal family would return the ring personally and share a symbolic embrace.
It was a ceremonial confirmation that the successors were continuing the legacy of that bond.
“…Ah.”
Benedict covered his forehead, scolding himself for not thinking of such a simple fact.
“I see. The moment Father passed… the ring returned to the royal family, and I need to formally request it back.”
He said that, but still felt strange.
Even though he had inherited the office and responsibilities, the idea of actually becoming “the duke” still felt awkward and unreal.
“If you appoint a formal guardian and submit a request to the palace, you can receive the ring anytime.”
“That formal guardian would be you, right?”
“Of course, I won’t leave your side. But legally, I’m still a servant—so I would be the one receiving protection, not giving it.”
“You’re saying I need another adult guardian?”
Benedict didn’t look pleased.
He had just resolved, during his conversation with Lucien, to start doing things on his own.
“A guardian isn’t someone who acts on your behalf. They’re someone who discusses things with you and helps guide you to the right decisions.”
“But who would do that?”
It was nearly impossible to find an adult willing to watch over him in a family known for its short lifespans.
“Well, there have been a few similar cases in the past.”
Alfi twirled his hair with his finger.
“Thankfully, the royal family has kindly offered to act as your guardian.”
It was, quite literally, an example of the brotherly bond in action.
But Benedict didn’t like the idea of direct interference from the palace. Not because of any specific event—he just didn’t like it.
They were too interested in the Winfield family’s marriage affairs. That much was clear from history.
Every time a duke came of age, they would immediately send a list of recommended spouses. That was just how they operated.
If the palace got directly involved, Benedict feared he might be forced into marriage the moment he turned eighteen.
He had no idea why they were so obsessed with the duke’s marriage—but either way, Benedict had no desire to pass on this cursed hereditary illness to future generations.
“No royal guardians.”
Benedict worried about what to say if Alfi asked why, so he quickly tried to come up with an excuse.
“Then I guess we’ll have to ask someone else.”
Fortunately, Alfi didn’t ask for a reason.
But Benedict’s relief was short-lived. The moment he considered who that “someone else” might be, a heavy weight settled back in his chest.
Emma Winfield.
She was a renowned botanist who occasionally gave lectures at the academy, and sometimes wrote political columns for the newspaper.
Despite her fame, she lived in seclusion and rarely made public appearances.
She was also the wife of Benedict’s grandfather—who had died young at thirty—and the biological mother of his late father.
Recently, Benedict had written to her several times. Wanting to inform his grandmother of the tragedy that had befallen his father—even though she had never met him—he had revised his letters over and over before finally sending one.
But she never replied. She hadn’t even attended the funeral.
“Ugh.”
Thinking about it made his blood boil.
Alfi gently placed both hands over Benedict’s forehead with a smile.
“No wonder our young master has a fever. After all, she does hate the Winfield family.”
