“You can read lips, is that right?”
At Lukas’s sudden question, Adrienne flinched where she stood, frozen. The moment he descended from the corridor, he had dismissed Tessa and brought Adrienne into his office alone.
“This won’t take long. After all, there isn’t much for us to talk about.”
Adrienne’s eyes followed Lucas’s mouth intently, not wanting to miss a word. As soon as he finished speaking, she nodded.
“I’ll speak. You’ll write. Understood?”
Lukas set a piece of parchment and a quill pen on the desk. Adrienne’s gaze fell to the items, but quickly rose again to fix on his lips.
“Ahem.”
Lukas cleared his throat unconsciously. The way her eyes were locked not on his face, but directly on his lips, stirred an odd emotion in him.
“I want nothing from you.”
[…]
“And I hope you’ll stay quietly out of the way. So please, don’t do anything.”
[But I…]
Adrienne instinctively moved to sign, but seeing Lukas’s frown, she picked up the quill instead.
— I am your wife, Your Grace. And now, I’m part of the Fortress of Rantschka as well.
Lucas scowled deeper as he read the neatly written sentence.
— That’s why I want to help, even in small ways. Anything I can do.
“I’m saying no because ‘I’ don’t find it acceptable. So just stay where you are and do nothing.”
— Is it because I’m from Tehevia?
Adrienne’s expression fell as she wrote, then looked up at him.
— Or is it because I cannot speak?
She lowered her gaze again and shakily continued writing on the parchment.
When she looked back up at him, her eyes shimmered as though tears might spill at any moment.
“If it’s both, is that reason enough?”
Lukas stared at her in silence, his expression unreadable. Though no sound came from him, Adrienne imagined his voice would be cold as ice.
“I hate anyone from Tehevia. Honestly, that hatred is so deep that it doesn’t even matter to me whether you can speak or not.”
[…]
“I don’t trust you. I won’t. So…”
— Just as today’s Tehevia is not your enemy, neither am I.
“On the surface, maybe. But that doesn’t mean you’re on my side. Am I wrong?”
[…]
“How long do you think Tehevia will stay quiet? You know your father far more than I do.”
His lips twisted with a cold smirk. Adrienne wanted to speak further, to push back—but she stopped herself, afraid it would only widen the rift between them.
Lukas had lost his mother in the war with Tehevia. It had been during the fiercest fighting, and he hadn’t even been able to see her at the end—let alone mourn her.
How could I possibly claim to understand that pain, that grief, that rage?
Scrrrch.
Setting down the pen, Adrienne stood slowly, her face drained of any will to continue. She could feel Lukas’s gaze trailing her, cold and biting.
“I’ve heard the Grand Duchess had been living in the detached palace.”
It was Jeord, entering the office, his eyes flicking to the parchment spread across the desk.
“What?”
“And now, she’s no longer of Tehevia.”
Lukas’s face visibly contorted at Jeord’s words, but the man didn’t stop. The image of Adrienne’s sorrowful face lingered too heavily in his mind.
“So now you’re loyal to her?”
“Your Grace!”
“If you were trying to win her favor, you’ve succeeded. Haven’t you, Jeord?”
Lukas smiled thinly, his gaze sharp as a blade.
“You know that’s not what this is.”
“Then don’t try to impose your thoughts on me.”
Hff.
Jeord sighed briefly, then said, “The Grand Duchess possesses magical power, doesn’t she? Tessa, though diligent in training, is still limited. Use what you can, Your Grace.”
“So you’re saying I should exploit her?”
“Turning an enemy into an ally is a form of strength, too.”
“You and your clever words again, Jeord.”
Lukas scoffed under his breath. They’d known each other too long—Jeord knew exactly how to provoke or guide him, down to the smallest reaction.
That light…
Tessa had claimed it was magic.
Power that had burst forth in the midst of danger—magic she didn’t even know she had.
“She’s of the Kiel bloodline.”
Tessa’s voice interrupted suddenly as he entered the room. Both Lucas and Jeord turned toward him at once. Tessa grinned and shrugged.
“That power—she inherited it from the queen, who must have been of Kiel lineage.”
“I’ve never heard anything of the queen being a Kiel.”
“Kiel descendants are equated with black magic. Surely you remember the history—how one of them learned dark magic and ravaged the land.”
Two hundred years ago, during the age of the Holy Temple of Ascro, countless lives had been lost to a dark magic known as the “Black Mist.”
In those days, the title of Archmage carried more weight than that of an emperor.
But it was that very dark magic that had ruined the temple’s authority, and transformed the sacred Kiel forest into the monster-infested Shadow Forest. The Kiel bloodline had either perished or been scattered.
“Can you imagine a queen revealing she was of the Kiel bloodline? The people would have never accepted it.”
“And yet she confided that heavy secret to you.”
“Is that really the point right now?”
“Hah. So she’s winning over my people one by one, is she? Remarkable woman.”
Lukas’s voice was sarcastic, but his eyes were glacial.
“If that’s how we’re judging, then the Grand Duchess has already won the favor of the locals as well.”
“What?”
“She treated their wounds herself. Had Yuria distribute the healing powders.”
“Who gave her permission—!”
“Your Grace, this isn’t something to be angry about. If anything, she deserves praise.”
As Lukas shouted, Tessa spoke up blandly, earning a scowl. Tessa just rolled his eyes.
“Try opening a window once in a while, Your Grace. Fresh air needs space to enter.”
“Ha! That’s quite poetic, Jeord.”
Ignoring Lukas’s withering glare, Tessa clapped once, grinning like a fool. He was sharp one moment and maddening the next—exactly like now.
Tch.
Running a hand through his hair, Lucas stormed past them both.
Unbelievable. Nothing gets through to these people.
Adrienne Cladius.
What in the hell did she do? What could she possibly have done in that short time to stir up everyone like this?
Lukas suddenly recalled her face.
A pale face with nothing vivid but those unshakably clear eyes—eyes that stared directly into his without flinching.
Damn it. So what?
She’s still the daughter of Dephil, a Tehevia royal through and through.
— I am your wife, Your Grace. And now, I belong to this fortress.
Wife, she said.
He had never once thought of her that way.
His father’s intentions had never mattered. Perhaps it had been about shielding him from Crown Prince Agmund and Empress Belloria—but it had always been a dangerous gamble.
The current emperor, weakened by old war wounds, had long since ceded authority to the crown prince. Naturally, the Empress’s powerful family stood behind him.
It wouldn’t be long before the Rodian Empire belonged to Agmund.
“What makes a bastard like you worthy of a grand duke’s title? Be grateful for what you have. The name of Rantschka doesn’t change anything. You exist to defend the empire’s borders from the barbarians. That’s your purpose—and your reason for still breathing.”
The cold voice rang in his ears again.
“Tch. Like I ever wanted this damn title in the first place.”
He had never wanted the title, the estate, the fortress—or a wife.
All Lukas had ever wanted was for his mother to be safe.
But she had died. Killed by Agmund’s schemes.
“It’s circumstantial at best. No evidence. Restrain yourself. You have no power, and I have no grounds to protect you, a bastard, from the crown prince and the empress.”
The emperor’s icy warning had driven Lukas into madness. But no amount of rage could bring his mother back.
So he had thrown himself into the war—fighting ruthlessly, killing without mercy, laying waste to everything.
People began to whisper that he resembled the devastation wrought by dark magic two centuries ago.
They began to call him…
The Black Mist.
