Chapter 109
It was Sinclair.
Huh…
I was speechless.
Well, I was indebted to the Grand Duke for this funeral, even though I hadn’t expected it.
It was the Grand Duchy who helped me when I was imprisoned in the underground cell, and it was also thanks to the Grand Duke that the Emperor lifted the surveillance and siege on the Owen family.
Right, it’s all because of that woman.
Tsk. She won’t do any of the duties she’s supposed to after marriage—she only charms the Grand Duke and finds her own way to survive.
I needed someone to vent my anger on. Perfect.
Yan’s lips twisted.
“How long are you going to keep acting like this?”
Sinclair scolded Yan sternly.
“Where do you get the nerve to talk informally? You’re just a demon!”
“Watch your mouth. Unless you want to watch the Crown Prince get hurt.”
“Hah, is that a threat?”
Yan irritably tried to snatch the bottle of alcohol from Sinclair’s hand.
But Sinclair didn’t let go.
Their grips met in the air, straining.
The bottle trembled.
Since when was Sinclair this strong?
No—must be because he was drunk. That had to be it.
Yan was startled for a moment, but quickly regained composure.
“…Give it.”
When he ground out the words through clenched teeth, Sinclair loosened her grip.
Bang!
“Ow.”
Yan’s back hit the tree and a groan escaped before he could stop himself.
To make things worse, the alcohol spilled down his front, staining his clothes yellow.
What the hell? He fell over from just that? Is he really the commander of the Crown Prince’s guards?
Sinclair was bewildered.
Michael wasn’t supposed to die yet, and yet he did.
And now even Yan—the bright supporting character who protected the Crown Prince in every situation, who never faltered—was a drunken mess?
No—shouldn’t he be cleverly sorting out the situation for the Crown Prince, swiftly sweeping away the villainous forces, and stepping into the palace with confidence?
Ugh, something was wrong.
Where did all that charisma go? The charisma he showed when the Emperor hid in the secret room and sent the Crown Prince to face Theodore on the battlefield?
Sigh…
Sinclair couldn’t help the sigh that escaped.
If things were like this, Alfred couldn’t possibly grow up awesome like in the original, you insane siblings!
Yan, unaware of Sinclair’s frustration, grew irritated.
In the past, she couldn’t even look him in the eyes, always avoiding him. Now she stood tall, chin lifted, looking down at him pitifully.
Yan brushed his front, leaning against the tree as he staggered to his feet.
Swish!
A luxurious handkerchief was tossed at him.
It was damp.
“It’s a wet wipe.”
“…?”
“Wipe.”
“!”
“And when you’re done, don’t throw it on the ground. Put it in your pocket and throw it away later.”
What? She was giving him chores like he was a servant?
Yan doubted his ears.
Why was she acting like an older sister and speaking informally?
Last time he was thrown out of the dressing room, it all happened so fast he couldn’t even process it.
But today, it was clear—she had changed.
She was no longer the coward Sinclair who was stabbed by him repeatedly, who jumped from high places on his command and broke her legs, whose spine was injured and still stayed silent.
Had she been waiting for this chance?
Living quietly all this time for a moment like this, Sinclair?
When they told her to marry into the Grand Duchy—the Owen family’s greatest enemy—she must have rejoiced.
Was even the poison act all just a performance?
If so, she succeeded.
The Grand Duchy was second only to the Emperor. They alone had the power to crush the Owen family.
Thwack!
“Urk!”
Something struck Yan’s head before he saw it.
“What the—?!”
“Oh my, sorry.”
Sinclair fanned herself smugly while looking down at him.
“I almost dropped my fan.”
“…!”
“How rude. Who glares at their older sister like that? I said sorry.”
“Heh.”
“Oh my, what’s that insolent snort?”
“Older sister? Snort?”
“Why do you keep talking informally? People will say the Owen Marquisate doesn’t know etiquette or hierarchy. Be careful. Don’t disgrace your family.”
He was speechless. That was exactly what Sinclair always heard from Kenneth.
“Enough!”
Yan swung a fist to strike her, but Sinclair caught it instantly, twisting his arm behind his back and slamming him into the tree.
His face hit the rough bark with a thud.
Ugh.
The pain in his twisted arm was worse than the scraped face.
It felt like his arm might snap.
Yan bit his lower lip hard.
He refused to let out an ugly groan. Groaning meant defeat.
Was this a dream?
How could something so absurd be happening?
He tried to twist free, but the more he resisted, the more it hurt.
“Aaagh!”
Not a dream. Definitely real.
This had never happened before.
Being overpowered?
Unthinkable. And at his father’s funeral, no less.
For some reason, the Emperor had delegated all funeral authority to the Grand Duke.
Officially to honor his contributions—but perhaps it really meant the Emperor no longer trusted the Owen family.
Disgusting.
Normally, the next family head managed the funeral. Doing this made it look like the Grand Duke was overseeing their whole family.
He’d wanted to protest, but his older sister, Empress Kenneth, told him to endure it.
Their lives depended on Bodrina now, she’d said.
So he endured this humiliation, again and again. And now this woman dared lecture him?
And weren’t Sinclair’s knight and maid following her?
Was he being humiliated in front of them?
As the alcohol faded, Yan’s head grew clearer. His breathing turned rough.
The bark scraped his cheek painfully.
The cypress tree’s scent stung his nose. His eyes grew wet with humiliation.
He tried to break free, but Sinclair held him firmly.
Then Sinclair’s face came close beside his ear, sweet fragrance brushing his skin.
The tiny hairs on Yan’s ear stood up.
“Yan Owen. Protect Crown Prince Alfred well.”
“…!”
What? A threat?
Was she planning to kill the Crown Prince instead of Theodore?
He rolled his eyes to glare at her.
“Don’t forget—the Emperor is targeting the Crown Prince. Not with you this weak.”
At that moment, the pain in his arm vanished.
The pressure on his back disappeared.
The cypress trees swayed mockingly in the wind.
“Aaaargh!”
Yan punched the tree. His knuckles left round blood marks on the bark.
He sighed and turned around.
Sinclair hadn’t left. She was still watching him.
“You’re just like when you were a kid. Need a punching bag?”
“….”
“But I’m not taking your tantrums anymore. So behave properly.”
Swish.
Yan instinctively caught what was thrown at him—a damp wipe.
The one she’d given earlier was on the ground.
Humiliating.
“Wipe clean and greet the guests properly.”
Rustle, rustle.
The Grand Duchess walked away, along with her attendants.
To think he lost to her!
His whole body burned with anger, but the wet wipe cooled his face.
He stared at it, then wiped his face clean.
As much as he hated it, the witch had a point.
With the Crown Prince’s life at risk, he needed to focus.
He needed to protect his poor sister Kenneth.
When he was five, at the age when a child needs their mother most, Shiny left him.
Kenneth took her place.
Michael told Shiny she could take Kenneth with her.
But Kenneth refused.
She said she couldn’t leave her little brother alone with such a cold father.
Since then, Kenneth did her best as both older sister and mistress of the Owen household.
When she became Empress—the highest place a noble daughter could reach—he felt she had the whole world.
But after bearing an imperial heir, her brilliant life shattered.
Every child she gave birth to died. The more she lost them, the more distant she and the Emperor became.
Eventually, she became unable to bear children.
To wipe away his sister’s tears, he had to protect her only child—the Crown Prince, Alfred.
It was the least he could do for the sister who stayed behind rather than leaving with their mother.
Right. This wasn’t about Sinclair. It was about protecting his sister and the Crown Prince.
Yan wiped his face again, combed his hair with his fingers, and cupped his hands to breathe into them.
Ugh.
The alcohol stench was awful.
He looked around and spotted a patch of mint growing in a corner.
He reached out.
“You mustn’t eat that, my lord.”
Yan turned sharply.
It was the maid who had been standing beside the Grand Duchess earlier.
They hadn’t left?
How insolent.
Pluck.
Yan tore off the leaf anyway.
“It looks like mint for freshening breath, but it’s a poisonous herb that causes allergic reactions,” she said.
Then she held out a small glass bottle.
“Mouthwash.”
“…?”
“The Grand Duchess said to make you presentable before bringing you.”
He looked up.
A few servants, maids, and knights were waiting.
“…Hah.”
“Hurry. The high priest will arrive soon. Rinse and spit.”
A servant held a cup under him to spit into, and Sophia extended the bottle again.
“You all must have a death wish, hm?”
Yan’s eyes sharpened, looking for someone to vent his anger on.
