But there was something he had to do first.

He wanted to go to her immediately and bring her back at once.

And yet—

“Select a few knights and send them to the villa. Tell them to watch over it properly until I arrive.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And bring Mother to me. I need to hear what happened.”

“Yes. And you, my lord…?”

“I’m going to the palace.”

Silar tugged at the collar of his shirt irritably as he answered. Having decided on his destination, he walked with purpose.

However, the butler could not quite fathom his intentions.

“Are you not going to Her Ladyship first?”

“The divorce papers—she must have sent them. They need to be dealt with.”

If left alone, they might be approved at someone’s whim.

“That is something I will never allow.”

Siliar ground out between clenched teeth.

***

It was an unusually quiet night.

The air was cool — perfect for an early night.

King Eremrus had just settled down — this was his favorite time of day. As he nestled into his soft blankets and hummed quietly to himself, he felt as though he had nothing left to envy in the world.

Some might call it undignified. A king, they would say, should not behave this way. But those were the words of people who did not understand.

After enduring a suffocating schedule day after day, anyone would treasure a moment like this. The throne was far more exhausting than it appeared.

His day began at dawn with a single cup of coffee, followed by the towering stack of reports that had accumulated overnight. Then came the council of state —

Hours of verbal sparring with ministers followed, after which he ate lunch in weary silence.

Next came diplomatic envoys from foreign lands or formal audiences with nobles.

In the late afternoon, he had tea with his family. He had dinner with his closest officials.

Throughout the day, he received constant updates from across the kingdom.

And more.

“Anyway, that’s why my rest time is precious. Especially my sleep!”

Eremrus was still wearing his disheveled nightclothes, seemingly unable to be bothered to straighten them, when he shouted from atop his bed.

He was addressing none other than his cousin, Siliar Vandyk.

“Do you have any idea how important proper sleep is?”

“You may enjoy as much of it as you like after I leave.”

“You little—! I’m already awake!”

Eremrus grumbled that there was no way he was falling back asleep now, and he let out an exaggerated sigh as he looked at his cousin standing there in the middle of the night.

Normally, the man would hesitate, even if he had been formally summoned. For him to appear unannounced at this hour could mean only one thing: the matter was serious.

Eremrus ran a rough hand through his tousled, reddish-brown hair, and a look of irritation flickered across his face.

“So? What is it? I doubt you came to deliver a case report at this hour.”

“I came to process a document.”

“That could have waited until morning.”

“It cannot.”

“D*mn it.”

No matter what, he always did as he pleased.

“Ask around. You’re the only one who dares behave like this before the king.”

“And yet Your Majesty keeps me by your side.”

“You brat?”

Neither of them conceded a word. Eremrus glared in the dark; their eyes were so similar that it was almost uncanny.

It was a pity there were no lit candles — he would have liked to display his fury properly. Not that he intended to be truly angry.

“So. What document?”

He would admit it — this was favoritism. After all, blood is thicker than water, and they had been close friends since childhood.

Then again, perhaps it was simply his temperament. Round of body and personality, King Eremrus was gentle by nature.

“There should have been divorce papers submitted last week.”

As Siliar spoke, he leaned forward and lit the nearest candlestick.

The sudden flare of flame caused Eremrus’s violet eyes to narrow slightly.

“Divorce papers? Whose?”

“Mine.”

“What? You’re divorcing?”

“I am not.”

Silar answered through clenched teeth. His reaction was instinctive; he had already been asked that same question far too many times.

Otherwise, he would not have spoken so sharply to the king. Eremrus, however, did not seem particularly bothered.

“Was there something like that? I don’t recall.”

“You likely haven’t seen it yet.”

Silar gestured towards the pile of papers on the desk. Even the document on top was dated three weeks earlier.

This clearly showed how overwhelmed the king was with work.

At the same time, Silar felt a flicker of relief.

If the divorce papers had been submitted, they probably hadn’t been processed yet.

By custom, divorces between nobles were finalized automatically once both parties had given their consent. This was not formally written into law, but it was the established practice.

Most nobles preferred to reach an agreement. Taking such matters to court was considered a disgrace.

Consequently, divorce petitions were usually approved the moment they were received.

Had Siliar not appeared tonight, the king might have approved the petition without even looking at it.

“So you rushed here in the middle of the night just for that?”

Having finally understood the situation, Eremrus clicked his tongue. It seemed that Siliar had heard about the filing the moment he returned from the provinces and had come running.

“But if the papers were filed, doesn’t that mean the two of you already discussed it? Ah—no. You wouldn’t be here if that were the case.”

Eremrus muttered to himself, then corrected his assumption. Siliar’s expression had darkened so severely that it would be unwise to speculate further.

It was difficult to say anything at all.

“Fine. Then all I have to do is not approve any divorce papers bearing your name, correct?”

“…”

“Why? Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

“I am aware that Your Majesty’s memory is not particularly reliable.”

“You insolent—? Then what, you expect me to search for it right now and tear it up?”

“…”

“You’re serious?”

“If there are two of us, we’ll find it quickly.”

“Hey, I need to sleep. When exactly am I supposed to sleep?”

“You may sleep tomorrow.”

‘If we fail to find it before sunrise…’

Siliar rolled up his sleeves and tilted his head slightly. Eremrus stared at his cousin in disbelief, his mouth falling open.

Once again, no one in this kingdom was bold enough to make the king work like this except that man.

“Call the chief attendant. That would be faster.”

“I do not wish to wake someone for a personal matter.”

“And what about me?”

‘So I can be woken? I’m the king.’

Still half-dazed, Eremrus muttered faintly, but his hands were already rifling through the stacks of documents.

He was too indulgent to refuse what was essentially a request from his family.

In fact, he resented the divorce papers for forcing this situation upon him.

***

Shff—shff—shff.

Cards slid and shuffled beneath sharp, practiced fingers. The hands moving across the table were deft and clearly belonged to someone very familiar with the task.

“Well then, whose turn is it this time?”

“Her Grace of Vandyk may begin.”

Drisena tilted her head slightly and balanced a fan of cards between her fingers. A cigarette hung from her lips, and the deep red of her dress made her look especially decadent that night.

In truth, the entire establishment reeked of indulgence.

Small groups crowded around each table. The lighting was dim enough to strain the eyes, and the air was thick with smoke and the heavy scent of alcohol.

Bottles and decks of cards passed quickly from hand to hand. Chips, standing in for sums of money beyond imagination, clicked sharply against the polished wood.

Drisena was now sitting in one of the capital’s most renowned pleasure districts — the place she had said she would be for three days while away from home.

It was not, strictly speaking, a den of corruption. It was simply a gathering place where nobles came to play games.

Though the stakes that changed hands were anything but ordinary.

“Was it Baron Nilsen who won the last round?”

“Indeed.”

“And yet, Your Grace, you haven’t lost your touch. It’s been some time.”

“Two months is hardly long enough to dull one’s skill.”

Drisena chuckled as she took her cards. She had been coming here for so long that many people recognized her.

When had that started?

After her husband’s death, when the weight of grief had settled upon her, her younger son had introduced her to the place. That must have been about seven years ago.

Back then, though, she had wagered much smaller sums.

“For this round, I’ll stake this much.”

“My, that’s quite a lot. Is there a special occasion?”

“Nothing in particular. I’ve come into a bit of spending money.”

“From your son?”

“No. From my daughter-in-law.”

“Oh? Your daughter-in-law means—”

“Not that one. The second.”

When the subject of a potential daughter-in-law came up, Martiana was the obvious choice for many. However, Drisena merely shook her head, as though the idea were absurd.

Martiana — give her money? Impossible. The girl already had a reputation for being erratic. Even at her best, Drisena would never have given her money — certainly not for something as frivolous as leisure.

Had she done so, perhaps Drisena would not have despised her quite so much. She might even have treated her kindly.

Now that Drisena oversaw the household affairs, such concerns no longer troubled her.

The funds allotted to her — and the portion of the estate’s budget that Martiana had never used — were considerable.

The problem was that even that was not enough.

Drisena longed for greater extravagance and more lavish pleasures than before.

So she turned to other means: Ramelata, her second daughter-in-law.

“That child gives me money in proportion to what I do for her.”

This time, she had done Ramelata a great favor.

She had driven Martiana away, just as Ramelata had wanted.

Judging by the outcome, the girl seemed thoroughly satisfied.

Drisena lifted her shoulders lightly.

However, what pleased her most was not the result itself, but the heavy purse of coins now sitting in front of her.