Chapter 15
“Marquis Avalon could never be a spy.
He may dislike war, but doesn’t he hate the Imperial family?”
Trying to change the subject in haste, Harvich rose from his seat.
“For the time being, it would be wise to keep a close watch on the retainers’ movements.
At this banquet, we’ll see those who can gain access to the Emperor’s closest circle.”
For some reason, his thoughts rushed to Lincia, alone in her chamber.
When he had stepped out of the bedroom, she had already been asleep.
“Understood.
Today, the nobles of the capital are expected to attend the luncheon.”
“Very well.
Make sure you are prepared in time.”
Leaving Hugh behind, Harvich exited the office.
He recalled the events of the night before.
Harvich was not a man driven by impulse.
He avoided drink, knowing how easily intoxication stirred recklessness.
Yet last night, though not drunk, he had been impulsive.
Taking hold of Lincia’s hand in the banquet hall.
Not stopping her when she undid his clothes.
Her trembling fingers loosened the buttons, and Harvich naturally assumed she would strip him completely.
That she would then claim they had shared a bed.
But Lincia did not.
She undid only the buttons of his coat, nothing more.
With careful hands, she merely loosened the uncomfortable garments and ornaments.
Each time her hand brushed against the open folds of his clothing, Harvich felt a strange sensation.
A very specific kind of urge.
Just when the fleeting touch of her fingers began to feel lacking, Lincia stood after undoing every fastening.
The whisper of fabric against fabric was tantalising.
The strings came undone, and the dress slipped to the floor.
Her elegant neckline flowed down to a slender waist.
And then…
The moment the thought went that far, Harvich’s face burned red.
He had been no better than a beast.
Watching her change in secret, believing him too drunk to notice.
And not only that.
Harvich had deliberately pulled her into his arms as she headed toward the sofa.
“…Y-you’re awake?
I’ll sleep on the sofa, so… don’t worry.”
Her voice trembled, thin with embarrassment at the situation.
But Harvich’s gaze was fixed on her slender, pale neck.
He wanted to know just how intoxicating the body connected to that graceful line would be.
A base desire urged him to bite down, to leave a mark.
But her soft, trembling voice doused the fever in him.
“…In the morning, you’ll regret it.”
The words alone were more than enough to cool the restless heat inside him.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?”
Lincia did not answer.
Harvich understood the silence.
She surely was uncomfortable, yet admitting it aloud would be even worse.
…And still, what irked him about her quiet was the possibility.
He forced himself to shake off the thoughts.
His feelings toward Lincia would serve him no purpose.
When Harvich knocked and opened the bedroom door, he found Lincia surrounded by maids, being dressed.
Her clothes were not yet on.
Only a thin nightgown clung to her figure.
“…Ah.”
Her long lashes trembled violently at the sight of him.
Her white skin flushed red.
It was not uncommon for a husband to see his wife as she dressed, but that was not the kind of relationship they had.
Stiff as stone, Harvich’s tongue moved anyway.
“…I’ll return in a little while.”
The memory of last night lingered still.
He shut the door with a rough hand.
His heart pounded like that of a guilty man.
One hand dragged down his face when—
“Your Grace.”
Philip, the chief butler, appeared behind him.
“The nobles of the capital, who were invited to the banquet, have arrived in the Duchy of Cassius.
They request the gates be opened without delay, as they are nearing the castle.”
Harvich gave a short nod.
“Shall I send Marquis Avalon to receive them?”
“No, I’ll go myself.
Ready my horse.”
With that, Harvich headed toward his office.
Normally, such trivial matters would be left to retainers, but he needed air.
Otherwise, the vivid fragments before his eyes would not fade.
The knight quickly prepared his mount.
Harvich climbed onto the horse and rode toward the ducal gates.
He had not expected that the Empire, after sending resources in excess, would refrain from interference.
But what awaited him at the gates was far beyond his expectations.
“…What brings you here?”
Julius Durand.
The Emperor himself had come to the Duchy of Cassius.
Without a single word of notice.
“Already discovered?
I didn’t expect you, of all people, to greet me.”
Though Julius spoke as if troubled, he looked anything but.
“Had you given word, I would have sent an envoy.
This place is hardly fitting quarters for Your Majesty.”
“Ah, I have no particular business with the Duchy.
It’s just that no matter how many letters my sister sends, you never reply, nor do you meet with her.
I suppose she must be disappointed that I married her off to the frontier.”
Harvich almost let out a bitter laugh at the man’s feigned melancholy.
Such words might fool others, but not him.
The Imperial Academy, shielded from outside influence, had been the perfect place to speak of rebellion.
Julius had enrolled under another noble’s name, placed in a convenient year.
The two had met in the library, sharing information regularly.
“Why have you come today?
It isn’t the agreed date.”
“Do we need a reason to meet?
We may say it is for the cause, but I think of you as a friend.”
Harvich narrowed his eyes at the man who had arrived without warning.
Julius never sought him out without cause.
He was meticulous about concealing his movements, afraid of leaving a trail.
“Speak plainly.”
“I said it’s because I missed you.
The uprising is near.
You might die if we fail, so I wanted to see you one last time.”
Though Julius spoke of concern, Harvich did not believe it.
He had already witnessed Julius’s merciless hand.
“Snow.
It’s snowing.”
At his quiet words, Harvich turned to the window.
Where Julius lived, snow was a loathsome constant.
But in the South, it was rare.
The first snow of the year drew students rushing outside.
And apart from the crowd stood a single woman.
Lincia Durand.
Her pale skin glowed against her deep navy hair and violet eyes.
Even amidst the power struggle, she was beautiful.
So much so that even Harvich, who lacked any real sense of beauty, thought her lovely.
“Are you interested?”
“In what?”
“My half-sister.
If the rebellion succeeds, should I let her live?”
