STLECM 12

CHAPTER 12

“Lady Etisha. It seems there’s been a misunderstanding.”

Just as Cayenne opened his mouth to speak, the Emperor suddenly appeared.

“Ah, here you were.”

Emperor Ignivan placed an arm around Cayenne’s shoulder like before, then turned to Etisha.

“Though it’s late, congratulations on your marriage.”

“Your Majesty.”

“I heard you announced your marriage without even having an official witness? Why didn’t you ask me? I would’ve happily given my certification.”

Emperor Ignivan sounded mildly disappointed that Cayenne had announced his marriage without telling him.

“And without a word, you handed over the estate I granted you along with the fiefdom…”

No, looking at him now—he was blatantly sulking.

“Are you really the same Duke of Wintel I used to know?”

He clapped Cayenne on the shoulder. Cayenne’s expression didn’t change a bit and he coldly ignored the Emperor’s playful tone.

“Your Majesty, you’d best refrain from such pointless chatter.”

“Haha.”

“And I suggest you remove your arm.”

“…Haha.”

Emperor Ignivan quietly pulled his hand away.

“Anyway, I never imagined this man would ever get married. What changed your mind, I wonder? You’ll hold the wedding in the North, yes? Will I be invited?”

He leaned toward Etisha as he asked, his golden hair cascading down, almost brushing her.

“Oh, and one more thing…”

The Emperor lowered his voice and whispered softly to Etisha.

“This is a wedding gift.”

He held out a pendant to her—small, bearing a crest, and strung on a long chain to wear around the neck.

“Baroness Etisha, if anything ever happens in the North, contact me. Stamp this seal on a letter, and it’ll come directly to me.”

“Your Majesty…”

“Ah, no need to thank me. Just take care of Cayenne for me. I have high hopes now that the Duke is getting married.”

He stepped away from her with a mysterious smile in his eyes.

“Thank you,” Etisha said, bowing politely as she accepted the pendant.

The Emperor addressed her once again.

“By the way, I need to grant you a new surname. But since you’ll soon be a Wintel, there’s no need for anything grand, is there? Etisha Heinz… If I remember correctly, your late mother was from a foreign country, yes? What was her surname?”

“Yes, she was from the Kingdom of Thyssen. Her surname was El.”

“Ah, then we’ll go with your mother’s name.”

Just like that, Emperor Ignivan chose her new surname.

Etisha El.

She would bear her mother’s name, not her father’s.

“Etisha El. Baroness El. It sounds pleasant. We’ll go with that. I’ll send the title certification and appointment letter by tomorrow.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Now then, enjoy the rest of the Founding Festival—both of you.”

And just like that, the Emperor disappeared.

Etisha looked down at the pendant in her palm, then looped it around her neck as she watched him go.

“Lady Etisha.”

Cayenne spoke in a low voice beside her.

“Rather than stay at the party, might I suggest we return to the estate early? What do you think?”

His gaze lingered on her neck.

More precisely, on the pendant the Emperor had just given her.

Etisha nodded.

“Yes, Duke. Let’s go back. To be honest, I’m a bit tired.”

“Are you feeling unwell?”

“No, nothing like that. Maybe it’s because I saw my father today.”

“…I see. Then let’s return.”

Cayenne escorted her as they left the party together.

The lights and people slowly faded behind them.

As the carriage rolled away from the palace, Etisha glanced back at the grand party hall and thought:

‘Tomorrow is finally the last day of the Founding Festival. And after that…’

She was leaving.

To the North.

‘I hope tomorrow comes quickly.’

Etisha realized why she hadn’t wanted to stay at the banquet, why she longed to rest at Cayenne’s villa instead.

It wasn’t because she was tired.
It wasn’t because she’d seen her father.

‘I just… want to go North already.’

Because her heart had already left this place and was soaring far beyond—toward the northern lands.

Meanwhile… At the Heinz Estate

Viscount Heinz stormed through the mansion’s front gates, kicking them open.

The loud bang brought out the servants, and both Lady Larienne and Madam Dorothea rushed down to the parlor.

“Dad! So? What happened? Did you bring Tisha back?”

Larienne peered behind him, but of course, Etisha was nowhere to be seen.

“Dear, what about the dowry discussion with Duke Cayenne?”

Madam Dorothea chimed in, but Viscount Heinz simply fumed in silence.

“Dad! Answer me! Are you really sending Tisha off to the North? You can’t be serious!”

Larienne finally snapped, and Viscount Heinz, rage boiling over, shouted:

“Shut up!”

“Darling, why are you yelling at her?”

“You shut up too! Nothing is going right!”

He took out his fury from the banquet on his family.

After yelling for a while, he slumped onto the couch, finally regaining a bit of control.

“Haa… That’s enough. Bring me some water.”

He drank from the glass the servants hurriedly brought, the air around him heavy and cold.

“I’ve been thoroughly humiliated.”

He muttered, and Larienne demanded answers.

“What do you mean, humiliated?”

“That damn Etisha somehow tricked Duke Cayenne. She was given land.”

“…Huh?”

“She became a landholder. A baroness. Got a new surname too. She’s no longer a Heinz. She’s left our family completely.”

Shame burned visibly on the Viscount’s face as he explained. He was clearly plotting how to get back at her.

But before he could think of a plan, Larienne responded first.

“What… She’s not a Heinz anymore…?”

Her eyes flared red with fury.

A warped, twisted obsession boiled up within her. She looked even more enraged than her father.

“Then that’s it? No northern business deal? I told you! I told you she had to stay with us, that we needed to bring her back!”

Larienne clenched her fists and rose from the couch.

Her father was useless now. She should never have listened to him.

“Forget it. I’ll take care of everything myself.”

Everything that belonged to Heinz, belonged to Larienne.

Even if Etisha wasn’t a Heinz anymore, Larienne didn’t care.

“Tisha belongs to me. No matter what anyone says.”

She had no intention of letting Etisha go. Her twisted obsession only grew.

‘Tisha…’

Her adorable little doll—made to exist only for her.

Larienne’s favorite plaything that never got boring.

‘I want to see her.’

From the moment Viscount Heinz remarried Dorothea ten years ago, Larienne had become obsessed with Etisha.

She’d adored her 10-year-old stepsister, always clinging to her, praising her, following her.

“You know… I think you’re the prettiest person in the world, Lari.”

Etisha’s shy little voice…

“You’re amazing. Everyone loves you. I do too.”

Blushing cheeks. Sparkling eyes.

“Okay, I’ll just do what you say at the party, since I don’t really know what to do. Please don’t get mad.”

Larienne wanted to own all of it.

She wanted Etisha trapped in her grasp forever.

Never to go outside. Never to make other friends. Never to fall in love.

Always next to Larienne. Only with Larienne.

Sweet. Obedient. Beautiful.

Just like that 10-year-old child.

‘When she got diagnosed with Quama Fever, I was terrified…’

The thought of Etisha dying horrified her.

She locked her up, scared that her precious doll might burst before her very eyes.

But now, she was going to leave—for good.
She’d die far away, and Larienne wouldn’t even know.

‘No.’

She refused to let her go.

‘If you’re going to die, then die beside me.’

Larienne made up her mind.

She couldn’t just stand by and let Etisha go.

“…The carriage.”

She crossed the hall and flung open the front gates—where her father had kicked them earlier.

“Bring me the carriage. Now.”

She was going to the imperial banquet this very moment.

She was going to drag Etisha back no matter what.

“This is how it should’ve been from the start! I’m the only one who can bring Tisha back!”

Larienne was out of her mind.

She had completely forgotten Cayenne’s strict command:

“Remain confined to the estate until the end of the Founding Festival. Do not show yourself in front of Etisha.”

To defy a duke’s order was madness—especially for a viscount’s daughter.

Even Larienne, the socialite rogue of the capital, couldn’t get away with that.

Brats are only indulged as long as adults allow it.

Dorothea, fully aware of this, blocked her daughter.

“No, Larienne!”

She grabbed her daughter’s arm.

“Mom, let go.”

“No. You’re not going. Someone stop her—take her back to her room, now!”

Larienne struggled, but the maids and servants restrained her.

She was eventually dragged off, kicking and screaming.

“Keep her locked in until the festival ends. Don’t let her take a single step outside!”

“Mom!”

“Careful! Don’t hurt her! Not a single scratch on my Larienne’s body, understood?”

Dorothea adored her daughter.

She had always said yes to everything. Never once denied her anything.

Even when Larienne threw tantrums or acted out, she doted on her.

But now—just this once—she wouldn’t let Larienne risk herself for Etisha.