SEM 11

#011

‘What on earth are you thinking?’

Eliana, locking eyes with Rodin, wrapped her arms around Gredie’s neck. Now that they had made such a public scene, not even the Emperor would dare lay claim to her.

Perhaps exhausted, Eliana slumped in his arms. Gredie gently lifted her up and glanced out the window. Several noble ladies had already fainted in shock and were being carried back to their estates by their servants. The rumors sure to spread from the mouths of the onlookers made his head spin.

And worse yet, the opponent was Emperor Mateo. Even if he were summoned right now, he’d have nothing to say in his defense.

His mind was already made up. Gredie had decided to accept Eliana, who dared propose a deal to him.

It was a way to fulfill Rosella’s request—and at the same time, to snatch away the woman the Emperor had his eyes on. By claiming Eliana for himself, Gredie would prevent the Emperor from taking any new mistresses for a while.

Being robbed by a bastard son he didn’t even consider human would enrage the Emperor to the point that even living a normal life would be difficult for him.

Of course, the one who would bear all that weight and grovel beneath the Emperor’s feet was Gredie himself. But it was his choice.

“This is going to be interesting.”

“…I’m glad to hear that.”

That was her limit. Eliana closed her eyes. It was the third time she’d lost consciousness in his arms.

* * *

“Gredie!”

To his surprise, the first to greet him was Claire.

Her crimson hair whipping in the wind, Claire Raymond rushed toward him and looked up.

“What is it, Lady Raymond?”

Gredie sighed softly, looking down at her. Claire Raymond—Lady of Marquis Raymond’s family, one of Empress Rosella’s closest ladies-in-waiting, and a fervent admirer of Gredie Cryber.

The reason she had chosen to become Rosella’s lady-in-waiting, despite her noble birth, was solely because the Empress had promised to hand Gredie over to her.

“I told you, I hate such stiff titles. Just call me Claire.”

Claire frowned at Gredie’s polite formality.

Even seeing her beautiful face contort didn’t change Gredie’s expression. Instead, a hint of annoyance appeared in his eyes at being stopped by her.

“I see no reason to do that.”

He shrugged, looking down at her as if genuinely confused. Despite his coldness—bordering on icy—Claire refused to leave his side.

“You’re awful. Truly!”

“Is Her Majesty looking for me?”

“…No.”

Whatever hope she had quickly crumbled. Gredie’s evident disappointment made Claire bite her lip.

“Then what is it you want?”

With no hint of emotion, Gredie asked. Claire, without warning, shoved a crumpled paper toward him—it was a tabloid sold by a boy in the capital square.

“The Diary of Laola.”

Gredie took a quick glance at the title and sighed.

“A few days ago, I thought it was just passing gossip…”

“…”

“But this indecent posture! And that wound on your earlobe—what is that about?!”

Seeing the cut on Gredie’s ear, Claire screamed and stomped her foot.

The hallway was empty at sunset, but in the palace, even walls had ears and eyes. Her reckless display of emotion made Gredie give a weary smile.

“Must I explain that to you?”

He touched his earlobe. The sting made him frown involuntarily, and he quickly dropped his hand.

“Gredie!”

“Do not call me so casually. I never gave you permission to use my name.”

From beginning to end, Gredie remained unyielding. Claire finally broke into tears.

“You’re truly… impossible to the end!”

As she sobbed, Gredie reached instinctively into his pocket—only to sigh again. He had given his handkerchief to Eliana earlier and hadn’t gotten it back.

“I must go see His Majesty now.”

Leaving Claire behind in tears, Gredie walked off down the corridor.

“Oh my God!”

Claire, her face buried in her hands, looked stunned by how coldly Gredie had turned away.

He had always offered his handkerchief when she cried. But today, he didn’t even offer comfort, let alone a handkerchief.

She had planned to use that as an excuse to see him again—but now, disappointed, she slumped to the floor.

Her sobs, louder than before, echoed through the palace corridors. They reached Gredie’s ears as well—but he kept walking.

At the corner, Viscount Bliss appeared as if he’d been waiting.

It seemed he had seen Gredie and Claire together from a hidden spot and had waited until now.

“It’s been a while.”

“Yes, Your Grace. A rare visit to the palace indeed.”

“My brother dislikes it when I come.”

At Gredie’s comment, Viscount Bliss lowered his head. That Gredie still called the Emperor “brother” despite the disdain he received was something only he could do.

“But what brings you here today?”

The question carried a clear undertone: Why come, knowing you’re not welcome? Gredie’s visits to the palace were rare—and every time, the Emperor’s aides bore the brunt of His Majesty’s irritation.

“I figured I should at least let him know I’m getting married.”

Viscount Bliss’s face froze. He quickly composed himself, but Gredie noticed and watched him with amused interest.

“Please wait a moment.”

“I’ll look around while I wait.”

Viscount Bliss clearly intended to prevent the meeting from happening, and he hurried off. Gredie slowly began walking again.

The corridor leading to the Emperor’s office was special. Massive portraits of past emperors and empresses lined the walls on both sides, and the red carpet exuded a heavy atmosphere.

Gredie didn’t spare a glance at the portraits. He simply walked the Emperor’s path.

With each step, he clenched his teeth to block out the child’s screams in his head.

“Say it! Say it now! This is not your place. Swear that you’ll never come here again!”

Each strike of the switch on his back came with a sickening crack that rang in his ears.

“Aagh! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Mother!”

“Stupid brat! Where do you get off calling me mother, you filthy thing?!”

The voice of the late Empress, now surely wandering the fiery depths of hell beyond the River Lethe, still rang in his head. Though now an adult, the memory of abuse clung to him like chains.

He could still feel the cold sweat trickling down his back.

Halfway through the corridor, Gredie stopped, bending over and gasping for breath. It felt like he was drowning.

“What kind of idiot just stands here like this?”

As he knelt, barely supporting himself on his knees, a familiar voice came from above.

“Rosella?”

“You should say Your Majesty the Empress.”

Rosella’s teasing tone made Gredie straighten and look at her.

“I greet Her Majesty, the Empress—the small sovereign of the Empire.”

“Oh, stop. It’s just us.”

She smiled brightly, trying to brush it off, but Gredie remained on one knee.

“…”

“Sigh, your stubbornness is really something. Alright, get up now, Duke Cryber.”

At her permission, Gredie stood. The man who had been struggling to breathe, sweating profusely, was now completely composed.

“What brings you here?”

Rosella gave a deflated smile at his formal greeting, twirling lightly around him like a dancer. She had already heard from Claire that he was in the palace, but seeing him was still a welcome surprise.

“I was on my way after receiving word that His Majesty requested my presence. I didn’t expect to run into you.”

“I was also waiting to request an audience with His Majesty.”

Rosella tilted her head at his words. Turning slightly, she let a maid whisper in her ear.

“Seems the gossipmongers have put you back on the chopping block.”

Her face, casual just moments ago, hardened suddenly at the maid’s words.

“…”

Her gaze was fixed on Gredie’s earlobe.

“Looks like the vermin are getting bold again.”

She said flatly, eyes still on the cut.

“Ah!”

Claire had caused such a scene that Gredie knew Rosella was referring to the injury Eliana had caused.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak—

“His Majesty awaits.”

At Viscount Bliss’s words, Rosella pressed her lips together and took the lead.

Something about her back looked irritated, and Gredie frowned. Pleasing Rosella had never been easy—then or now.