The fact that the future Duchess had personally come to the palace to meet with the Duke was still rippling through the halls like an unspoken storm.
The men waiting outside the council room had caught a glimpse of her. As expected, curiosity stirred in their eyes—but Lady O’Hara remained unshaken. She offered polite greetings with perfect decorum, without the slightest sign of agitation.
Even the Duke of Thèse was no different.
If anything, her bearing was more dignified than his. Her presence was so composed—so poised—that it made the onlookers even more uneasy. Normally, when a man and a woman closed the door and remained in private, it would spark all kinds of rumors. But this time, no one dared to speculate.
At most, they assumed they hadn’t argued.
But affection? That seemed even less likely.
“Then, let us proceed with the remaining agenda items and submit the report to His Majesty,” said Decarno, voice crisp as paper.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Summon each department head. Finalize the documentation and submit it within two days.”
His tone was as straight and precise as a freshly dipped quill. Those who had dared to linger, watching with suspicion, bowed their heads and silently retreated. Letting idle curiosity slow them down would only lead to their own downfall.
“……”
Even after the room had cleared, the Duke’s posture didn’t shift. His arms were neatly folded on the desk, his gaze steady and cast downward, profile as sharp as if sculpted from stone. The sheer calm of his expression made it difficult to even ask when he’d sign off on military support.
“…Your Grace, perhaps this isn’t the right time to say this, but—”
“Then don’t.”
Pylon shut his mouth, biting the inside of his cheek. He had known Decarno long enough to read the silence between his words. His friend had always been serious—but today, he seemed weighted down by something heavier.
What in the world happened?
He had seen that stoic expression many times before, but today… something was off.
Just then, Michael re-entered the conference room. Only then did Decarno lift his cold, distant gaze.
“Your Grace, the lady has returned to the residence.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. I’ve sent a new groom along with her. He’ll take her directly to the west annex.”
Michael, aware of the Duke’s subtle unease, gave a firm nod. The man driving the carriage was one of the most trusted servants of House Thèse—trained and loyal, capable of handling any emergency.
“I will confirm her safe arrival at the annex personally and report back at once.”
“…Alright.”
Even so, Decarno’s answer didn’t sound satisfied. A grim silence lingered—something unresolved.
“Tell me, is the security at my house really that lax?”
“…Pardon?” Michael blinked, taken aback. “Your Grace, I’m not sure I understand…”
“He was the first to tell me news that I didn’t even know,” the Duke said flatly. “And he came directly to my house to say it.”
His hands, clasped together on the desk, tightened.
Michael instinctively straightened under the weight of that gaze—ice-cold and calculating, like a beast assessing its prey. The security at the Duke’s residence had always been airtight—on par with the imperial palace. Ever since the suspicious death of the previous Duke, every guest had to be registered in advance, or bear a formal invitation.
Even family members were turned away without notice.
There was only one exception.
“…My apologies, Your Grace. But the annex falls under Lady O’Hara’s authority. Today’s banquet was hosted there, and it seems the guest entered under her invitation.”
“……”
Michael had already guessed what had happened. The western annex of the ducal estate had always belonged to the Duchess. It was a tradition—sacred and untouchable, even by the head of the house.
“If you’d like more details on what transpired…”
“Go to Ohara yourself—or send someone you trust. Find out exactly what happened, and when.”
Decarno’s order cut like glass. He had originally intended to send someone else, but now pointed directly at Michael. At the shift in tone, Pylon—who had been quietly observing—grew visibly more tense.
“…This is serious,” he muttered under his breath.
“If you don’t watch that mouth of yours,” Decarno said with a warning glare, “it will become serious.”
“Y-yeah, got it…”
Pylon backed off with a sigh, sensing the invisible wall forming in the room. He had a hunch this situation was far more complicated than he wanted to be involved in—but even so, he didn’t have the courage to just walk out now.
“…Who holds territorial rights over the Lyman Sea now? Calais? Off the coast of Addis?”
“Huh? Yeah, but why—?”
“Go there. Now.”
“…What?”
Pylon stared at him, stunned. The tone was so casual, as if Decarno were suggesting they go hunting or fencing after work. A foreign merchant ship might’ve been one thing—but this was Calais, a former enemy.
“Are you serious?”
“You were in the military too. You know exactly what this means. Addis is one thing—but Calais? That’s another matter entirely.”
“There’s a ceasefire in place.”
“…Hah.”
A hollow laugh escaped Pylon’s lips. But the Duke wasn’t joking. He never joked. And that made the order all the more frightening.
He was about to protest again when Decarno pulled a sheet of paper from his stack of documents and began to write.
“Here.”
“That’s—!”
“This should cover your travel expenses.”
His handwriting was elegant, each stroke smooth and commanding. In his hands, even the postponed naval budget looked like a blank check. Pylon was left speechless as the Duke stood and leaned against the desk.
“All invoices and costs related to this investigation will be billed separately.”
“…I don’t even know what this is.”
“Neither do I.”
The message was clear—find out everything, then forget it.
He had done all he could for now.
As he prepared to leave the conference room, Decarno found Michael waiting at the door again.
“…You shouldn’t be here.”
“I apologize, Your Grace. I have one last question.”
Michael looked troubled. Though he had received the Duke’s orders, there were now two conflicting tasks.
“Should I… cancel the lady’s birthday gift?”
◇ ◆ ◇
The night breeze carried a light, fragrant scent of roses.
The glass greenhouse nestled in the annex was the most secluded, exotic place on the entire ducal estate. It was home to a variety of rare trees and flowers—many of which could not be found anywhere else in the Belize Empire. The atmosphere reminded her of a tropical island she had once visited by ship.
“What do you think? Do you like it here?”
The late Duchess had adored this place. A former princess of the Northern Duchy of Nyx, she had grown up surrounded by luxury—yet this garden had filled her with unmistakable pride.
The greenhouse and annex were the pride of House Thèse—a dream come true for any woman of high society.
“This will be your kingdom alone, Evangeline.”
She had no way of knowing she would end up like this.
Evangeline let out a faint, bitter smile as she recalled the voice of the former Duchess, a woman as regal and composed as her son. The woman had been graceful, stunning, and at times, piercingly cold.
Even after acknowledging Evangeline as her future daughter-in-law, it had taken months for her to speak to her with warmth.
If that woman could see her now…
Evangeline brushed her fingers over the silver-blue petals of a rare rose. The flower made her heart flutter, knowing it bloomed only in this greenhouse.
I wonder if there’ll ever come a day when we can touch one another’s hearts like this again.
It was too early to ask—but today, even the fragrance felt different. But her thoughts weren’t entirely on the flowers.
“Woof! Woof woof!”
“Rex!”
Startled, Evangeline turned and spread her arms.
A large dog bounded toward her, silver fur flowing like silk. Rex was no ordinary puppy.
He was a lion hound—a noble breed from the ancient North. The former Duchess had brought his ancestors to the south when she married into House Thèse, and had personally raised and bred them. Though the Duchess had passed before Rex was born, she had lovingly stroked his mother’s belly before her death.
Rex barked again, leaping into her arms as if to chase away her lonely thoughts.
