~Chapter 15~

“Found him.”

It was the time when the morning star rose. Maxmuel ran into the office and spoke.

“Good work. The child?”

Maxmuel explained calmly.

The youngest of the Harmelda family was a boy, only seven years old. His name was Paulo Harmelda.

Before the mansion was ruined, he had become weak and left for the mountain villa to recover, together with the head servant and a trusted knight.

Not long after they left, the Harmelda estate was attacked. The head servant hid Paulo well.

“So that’s what happened. Are the servant and the child’s identities certain?”

Since most had lost their memories, the only way to confirm was through a blood-related magic test.

“When Lady Lovelace wakes up, if we take her hair and—”

“Don’t say a word to Lovelace. Not yet.”

Better not to raise hopes and bring disappointment.

“Bring me the boy’s hair. I’ll confirm it myself.”

Blood-relation magic wasn’t difficult for him.

Maxmuel nodded firmly.

“Will you tell her?” Maxmuel asked.

“Tell who what?”

Larvihan raised his head from the documents.

“That Lady Lovelace is the daughter of the Harmelda family.”

It had already been three days since he discovered the truth. Lovelace, who thought herself alone, also had a younger brother, only seven years old.

Maxmuel had expected Larvihan to tell her at once. But he never mentioned it, which surprised him.

Rumors were spreading in society about Lovelace:

That a pretty girl from the slums had seduced the Duke… that she was good at nighttime matters… that Larvihan only wanted to play with her, but like a stray child, she clung and wouldn’t let go.

Larvihan never cared about society gossip, so Maxmuel hadn’t reported it. But he worried. Bad rumors about the Duke’s fiancée could cause harm.

If they revealed that Lovelace was the daughter of Count Harmelda, who only fell into the slums by accident, sympathy would turn those rumors into support.

Maxmuel wanted Larvihan to announce it quickly. But Larvihan delayed, as if he had forgotten.

“Later.”

“Is there a problem?”

“There are many.”

Maxmuel couldn’t understand. How could being raised from a slum girl to a Count’s daughter be a problem?

“Leave it. Until I say otherwise.”

Maxmuel had no choice but to step back.

“Oh, by the way, the Lady has invited the Pope to the mansion.”

“What?”

Larvihan’s voice shot up sharply.

Larvihan slammed open the door. Lovelace, who was changing clothes, screamed and covered herself. Even though she was already in her inner dress, she felt embarrassed.

“You shameless man!”

“Sorry. It’s urgent. I won’t look—just talk.”

He strode across the room, pulled a chair, and sat.

“You rude man, can’t you see the Lady is—”

“Anna. Enough.”

His voice was so low and sharp that Anna closed her mouth.

Turning his back to Lovelace, Larvihan said:

“You called the Pope?”

“Well… he wanted to check if I’m treated properly before giving marriage permission…”

“Why should the Pope check that? Is he your godfather?”

“You didn’t know? Anyone with unclear identity is considered the Pope’s child. Without his approval, they can’t marry.”

“Unclear identity?”

Larvihan frowned. He remembered the old laws. Not written in imperial law, but in custom: if someone’s identity was unclear, the Pope or the Emperor had to guarantee it.

It was an old, useless custom.

Yet now, they were using it against him.

“That’s true. I only remember my name and age, but not my childhood.”

Had magicians erased her memories too?

“Don’t you want to know about your lost family? Don’t you want to know who you are?”

Lovelace thought for a moment, then shook her head.

“Doesn’t seem like it’d be a good memory. I don’t want to cling to the past.”

“If my parents were good, they wouldn’t have let me wander the slums, picking up scraps.”

She didn’t expect much from the past.

“Still, maybe it was a mistake or an accident.”

“Why are you saying this suddenly?”

Why indeed. Why did he want to allow this meeting just because she asked?

Larvihan shrugged. He thought about his schedule. If he hurried, he could return by late afternoon.

“Time and place—I decide.”

“I can meet him then?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for allowing it.”

She smiled brightly. To him, she looked very beautiful.

Nicolai arrived at the set time. The mansion knights blocked him and the priests, but—

“Today, he’s my guest.”

Lovelace stepped forward, and the knights backed away.

After Larvihan had publicly called her his fiancée, even her smallest words carried weight.

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“You said you’d confirm how I’m treated before giving marriage permission.”

“So you truly plan to marry him?”

Their steps stopped in the hall. Lovelace looked straight at Nicolai.

“Not yet. But I keep the possibility open.”

Nicolai smiled gently.

“Where will you check first?”

“No need. I’ve already seen enough.”

Servants treated her with great care. That alone showed how important she was to Larvihan.

‘Not easy,’ Nicolai thought. If Larvihan had been forcing her, it would have been simpler. But he wasn’t. He was too smart.

“You’ve seen enough. Then you should leave now.”

“Not even tea?”

So they sat in a reception room near Larvihan’s office. Butler Davidson served tea.

The silence was heavy. The sound of pouring tea, of spoons clinking, and of their breaths filled the air.

Finally Nicolai spoke:

“Shall we play chess? With a bet?”

“What kind of bet?”

“The loser helps the winner once in great trouble.”

Lovelace had been an online chess master in her past life. She agreed quickly.

“Alright. No excuses later. Davidson, please bring a board.”

The game began.

As they played, Nicolai grew darker. Finally he pleaded:

“Please, let me take back a move.”

But Lovelace refused.

“No. Checkmate.”

“You’re more cruel than I thought.” Nicolai muttered.

“This was the last match, right? I won perfectly!”

She had won two games out of three.

“Congratulations,” Nicolai said, forcing a smile.

Relieved, Lovelace secretly sighed. Nicolai was far better than any computer she had faced. His unexpected moves had almost beaten her.

But in the end, she had won.

“What is this noise?”

Larvihan handed his bloody sword to Davidson at the entrance. His robe was stained. Anna took it from him.

“The Pope is here.”

No one else heard, but Larvihan’s sharp hearing caught it.

Lovelace’s laughter.

His mood plummeted.

“Where is he?”

“In the Sapphire Room.”

Larvihan rushed upstairs.

“…I’m glad you praise me, Lady Lovelace.” Nicolai’s voice rang.

Larvihan burst the door open.

“Larvihan?” Lovelace turned. Seeing his bloodied clothes, she gasped.

“You’re hurt?”

Blood stained his shirt and gloves. Every step left marks on the carpet.

He walked straight to her and kissed her neck. Lovelace flinched, but his gloved hand pressed her shoulder.

“No. But what is the Pope doing here, with my lovely fiancée?”

Nicolai answered calmly: “Playing chess.”

“Only chess? And tea?” Larvihan pointed at the cup.

“Yes, tea as well. Any problem?”

“There is. Too many eyes watch you. Be careful.”

Larvihan glared at him like a jealous lover.

“Laughing happily with such a lovely woman doesn’t look right.”

“Perhaps because your heart is filled with impure desire?”

Larvihan smiled.

“Yes. Because of this woman, I’m going mad.”

He lifted her hair and inhaled deeply. Nicolai’s face twisted faintly.

Larvihan leaned closer to her neck, then turned his head slightly.

“Shall I make imagination reality? Will you keep watching, Holiness? It’ll be boring for you.”

Lovelace gasped. Nicolai stood up. He bowed only to Lovelace, then walked out.

“We don’t need the Pope’s marriage approval. I’ll get it from the Emperor.”

If either Pope or Emperor approved, it was enough. He had allowed Nicolai only because Lovelace seemed eager. But seeing her laugh with him, he’d rather deal with Emperor Arwen.

At the door, Nicolai turned back.

“We will meet again soon.”

“Again?” Larvihan’s brows furrowed.