YWPWYLFDM 56

Chapter 56

The Count had barely refilled his cup before trying to bring it back to his lips, but Byron stopped him by taking hold of the glass.

“Wh–why, what’s the matter, Lord Byron?”

Just a moment ago, Byron had been the one pouring him more, and now he was stopping him from drinking? The Count even wondered if Byron regretted giving him the wine and wanted to keep it for himself.

Fortunately, that wasn’t the reason.

“Why are you getting so worked up? What does it matter to you whether the prince becomes crown prince or not?”

“P–pardon? What do you mean by that…?”

“My, my. Have you already forgotten the promise you made with me?”

That promise—that once Byron rose to the throne, he would make the Count of Senosfon king. Though the details had never been discussed, the Count’s face brightened as he recalled it.

“Ah… of course I haven’t forgotten such a promise. Forgive me. I made a fool of myself over nothing.”

What a simple, easily handled man he was. That was exactly why Byron liked him.

With a faint smile, Byron leaned back into his chair, crossing his legs. It was time to bring up the matter of the Count’s son, who had dared to lay his hands on what was his.

“I also have something important to discuss with you, Count.”

“What is it? Please, speak freely.”

Byron took a graceful sip of wine before continuing. The Count leaned forward as if ready to accept any words that fell from Byron’s lips.

“…Are you aware that your son has been meddling with my pet?”

His voice carried an unmistakable undertone of displeasure.

“P–pet?”

Had Byron brought a dog? The slow-witted Count furrowed his brows in thought. But soon realization dawned—that Byron meant the girl, the so-called daughter living in the annex. Nervously, he began fiddling with his lips.

“S–she’s still doing that? I clearly told her not to… not to bother with that.”

He had almost said “there’s no need for it,” then quickly corrected himself—but too late. Byron had already caught on.

…So he was eyeing a connection with the Emperor’s in-law position, was he?

A man whose inner greed showed through so transparently. He didn’t even know how to hide his base ambition for honor.

Still, it was an understandable mistake if he had believed Aila to be Byron’s real daughter. Byron decided to let it slide.

What mattered wasn’t the past, but how the Count would rein in his son from now on.

“You’d do well to discipline him—for his own future’s sake.”

“Of course. I’ll speak to him properly. My foolish son has caused offense. Forgive us.”

The anger the Count had felt earlier over the crown prince matter quickly subsided, but in its place grew a new anxiety. He gulped down his drink nervously.

Later that night, after drinking heavily with Byron, the Count staggered back to his estate. Ignoring his wife’s protests, he ordered his sleeping son out of bed and dragged him before him.

Still in his nightclothes, his hair a messy bird’s nest, Gerald only yawned with bleary eyes, failing to grasp the situation.

“…Gerald, didn’t I tell you clearly that you don’t need to curry favor with that girl in the annex?”

It had been less than a day since he told him to curry favor. But the moment Byron revealed she wasn’t his real daughter, he had gone back on his words.

So why was Gerald still hanging around her?

“I heard from the head chef that you demanded he bake a fresh chocolate cake just so you could share it with her. What exactly are you thinking?”

Finally awakened by his father’s scolding, Gerald pouted and muttered sulkily.

“You said, ‘there’s no need,’ not ‘don’t do it.’ What I do is my freedom, isn’t it?”

What a bratty answer. As if adolescence alone weren’t enough, being woken up to be scolded had left him in an even fouler mood.

“…What kind of talk is that? Do you think I’d make you do anything bad? Just stop. She’s off limits!”

The Count’s face, already flushed from drink, reddened further with rage. It looked as if steam might burst from his ears any moment.

“Why are you like this, Father? One moment you tell me to please her, the next you say I don’t need to. Which tune am I supposed to dance to? You never even gave me a proper explanation!”

Gerald, too, had no intention of backing down. He was furious at being kept in the dark—first told to treat the “precious guest in the annex” well, then suddenly told not to bother.

“Th–that’s because… even I have secrets I can’t—”

“If you don’t want me near her, then at least explain why. Then I can decide whether or not I’ll accept it. I’m not a child anymore!”

When he was younger, he had obeyed blindly. But not anymore. Arms folded, Gerald glared defiantly at his father.

The Count felt the last of his drunken haze evaporate, a throbbing headache setting in. His son always managed to cause him migraines.

“Forget the reason. Just stay away from her, no matter what!”

“I won’t!!”

The two glared at each other, neither willing to budge.

At last, after a long silence, the inevitable happened. Parents never win against their children. The Count surrendered.

“So… you’ll listen if I give you a reason?”

“I’ll hear you out first.”

The Count shook his head in exasperation, while Gerald jutted his chin out stubbornly, still sulking.

“…If I tell you a secret, can you keep it?”

The Count’s voice dropped low. At the word secret, Gerald’s eyes lit up, and he nodded eagerly, forgetting even to fold his arms.

“Well… the truth is—”

The Count of Senosfon began explaining, carefully omitting Byron’s true identity.

He told his son that the guest was of high status, and that’s why he had suggested Gerald curry favor with her. But since she wasn’t Byron’s real daughter after all, there was no need.

“This must never leave your lips. Not to anyone. Not even to the girl herself—she doesn’t know. Understood?”

The Count mimed sealing his lips. Gerald nodded reluctantly, though with a dissatisfied look.

“Now do you understand why you mustn’t get close to her?”

The Count asked with grave seriousness, expecting his son to finally relent. But his hope was swiftly shattered.

“Nope.”

Gerald’s flippant reply, given with a crooked posture, made his father’s jaw drop.

“Wh–why! What’s still the problem?”

“…What difference does it make if she’s not a real daughter? I like her!”

Of course, Gerald’s feelings had shifted slightly. She’s not even his real daughter, yet she acts so high and mighty?

In fact, this made things easier. He no longer had to tread carefully around her as a precious guest’s daughter. If she was no blood relation, then toying with her might even be simpler.

“You little brat…! Are you really going to disobey me?!”

The Count roared, veins bulging in his neck. But Gerald only scratched his ear with a bored look, as if shooing a fly, then stood up.

“I’m going to bed. If I want to grow taller, I need sleep. I’m still growing, you know.”

Earlier, he had shouted that he wasn’t a child anymore. Yet now he was hiding behind “I’m still growing.” The Count nearly burst a blood vessel in frustration.

And yet, a part of him thought—He really takes after me in my youth. The realization filled him with a pang of guilt toward his late father.

“I don’t know where on earth such a creature came from.”

At that, the Countess, who had been listening silently, turned a sharp gaze on her husband. Her voice made it clear she knew all too well the origin of their son’s temperament.

Meanwhile…

Duke Roderick Weishafen paced anxiously outside the birthing chamber.

Though two weeks still remained until the due date, labor had begun early, and the chamber had been hastily prepared.

This wasn’t their first child, and yet his nerves hadn’t eased with experience—if anything, they had grown worse.

When Aila, their firstborn, was delivered, she had been robust and the mother still young. But thirteen years had passed since then. Despite the careful care of the mage Candice Ephosher, the child now was weak and frail.

From within came Ophelia’s cries of pain. At first, they were spaced apart, but the intervals shortened until they seemed endless.

“Is it not over yet?”

Roderick asked, his voice tight with worry. He had lost count of how many times he’d already asked.

“Calm yourself, Roderick. It will be fine. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Candice, waiting at his side in case of emergency, tapped his arm lightly.

Her presence was indeed a comfort. With her magic aiding the birth and her potions at hand, the risk to mother and child was minimal.

Even so, unease gnawed at him. Roderick buried his face in his hands, exhaling a weary sigh.

And then, at that moment—

From the birthing chamber came the faint cry of a newborn child.