Chapter 1: Consummation on the Night of the New Moon (7)

“……”

Recalling the events before arriving at the Council of State, Terian furrowed his brows.

From the start, the meeting had been full of fierce arguments, and now a short recess was underway—out of consideration for the emperor’s fragile health.

Sensing the meeting would drag on, the nobles scattered to the various salons prepared within the palace. Only Terian remained seated alone in the silent audience chamber, quietly simmering with anger.

‘What on earth is she planning to do this time?’

He wanted to confront her. But for now, he was bound to the palace, forced to participate in the unplanned council at the emperor’s whim.

He hadn’t been eager about his mother’s suggestion to have tea together that afternoon. But when the butler had rushed in with both the emperor’s summons and news that Larie had collapsed, the situation had become impossible to ignore.

He boarded the carriage, uncertain what tricks the emperor might pull if he left the meeting. But on the way to the palace, the back of his head throbbed with unease.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the news that Larie had collapsed.

It wasn’t until he had finally resolved to leave the council behind and return that news came from the estate—

Larie had swallowed poison.

‘Why in the world?’

It was a feeling too filthy for words.

In her mother’s letter, it was briefly written that it was similar to what had happened a year ago, but that wasn’t an adequate explanation. The idea that she had done it just to get his attention was clearly a lie.

He wanted to look her in the eye and confirm her true feelings. He wanted to fiercely question her as to why, of all things, she had chosen to swallow poison.

Why did he feel like he was losing his mind at the thought of that small body losing consciousness, even if just briefly?

He had considered leaving the palace multiple times but barely managed to hold onto his reason. The emperor, who had gathered the ministers for an “urgent matter,” continued to ask nothing but pointless questions.

Judging by how persistently he tried to hinder the new railway project, he must’ve colluded with the Tromperie’s again. But what could it be this time?

“Sigh…”

Terian, who had been organizing his thoughts without pause, suddenly felt a wave of fatigue and leaned back deeply into his chair. His handsome brow slightly furrowed.

Damn coal briquettes, damn Tromperie.

Coal briquettes had been an important resource even before the war. But during the long war, their importance grew even more. With wartime emphasis on efficiency, reliance on coal briquettes—small in volume but high in energy—continued to rise.

On top of that, Rakstrin, located in the northern part of the continent, was battered by harsh winters year after year. The Tromperie barony, which had secretly leaked information during the war, did not miss this cruel opportunity.

They mobilized their trade firms and supplied machinery needed across the empire at low prices—all powered by coal briquettes.

By the time people came to their senses after the war, it was too late. Every household had become dependent on coal to survive the winter.

The enemy kingdom Shupetania, where large-scale coal production was based, hadn’t stopped its attacks after all.

They were building railroads to transport alternatives like lumber and coal, but it only barely maintained the status quo. To break through this, they needed to increase the number of operating trains—ironically, the emperor’s obstruction was growing more severe.

On top of that, even his true hidden objective was being held back.

“Your Grace the Grand Duke.”

While he had his eyes closed, trying to collect his thoughts, someone’s presence approached. Terian turned his head with a cold expression at the voice that made his skin crawl.

“I wonder if my daughter is doing well.”

With a face completely unlike Larie’s, Baron Tromperie wore a crooked smile.

The moment he saw that repulsive face, Terian felt as though ice-cold blood was coursing through his veins. The contrast was all the more stark because he had just been thinking about Larie.

Of all people, she had to be this man’s blood.

Baron Tromperie’s paternal affection was excessive to the point of being abnormal. Despite leeching off the empire’s lifeblood, he still regarded his daughter as precious—only making people more enraged.

He didn’t hesitate to inquire after his married daughter’s well-being in such an accusatory tone. He even made unofficial visits to the Grand Duke’s estate at least once a week just to see Larie.

His borderline obsessive behavior often stirred whispers among the people. They wondered if Larie, who seemed to depend so heavily on her family, might be suffering abuse within the Grand Duke’s residence.

Since the union of the two families through marriage, Avnir had been plagued by all sorts of rumors—suspiciously frequent ones.

“Baron Tromperie.”

Suddenly, Terian recalled Larie’s strange behavior in the forest the previous night. Then, her poisoning, followed now by this baron conveniently inquiring after her condition.

So the Tromperie’s were plotting something again.

The fury that had surged upon hearing of her collapse was now replaced by a chilling calm. With his eyes darkening further, Terian stood up from his seat—towering over the shorter baron.

“I heard you visited just a few days ago. Your interest seems… excessive.”

“She is, after all, the child I cherish most.”

As the Baron responded with sly nonchalance, Terian felt a fresh wave of disgust rise within him.

The betrayal that had cost his father’s life, the threats he had faced after inheriting the Grand Duke’s title at a young age—everything traced back to the information this man had leaked.

Terian had been on the verge of snapping back—asking if the baron had fed poison to his beloved daughter out of too much affection—but he suddenly paused.

Something about the baron’s behavior didn’t quite align with the man’s usual excessive doting over Larie. Even the assumption that he knew what was happening inside the Grand Duke’s estate was offensive in itself.

Terian slowly let his gaze sweep across the chamber. More ears were listening now than before.

Lately, there had been an unusual number of rumors swirling around the Grand Duchy. Terian’s intelligence network had recently confirmed that the gossip was suspiciously coordinated—deliberate, even.

It occurred to him that perhaps this entire encounter was meant to provoke him into saying something—maybe even that the baron wasn’t aware of Larie’s recent actions at all.

Then… had Larie truly taken the poison on her own?

Was life by his side so unbearable?

That sudden thought filled him with a depthless ache. He shook off the spiraling speculation. He needed to confirm things for himself first.

“The Emperor approaches. All ministers, rise,” came a steward’s voice from down the corridor.

“I’ll see you again during the session,” the baron said with a glint of greed in his eyes.

Terian didn’t reply.

He simply lowered his gaze slightly as the Emperor entered the throne hall, watching him in silence.

Though their eyes did not meet, Terian could clearly feel the Emperor’s seething resentment.

He had ignored that baseless hatred for years. There was no reason to reciprocate it—it served no purpose.

“Be seated, all of you.”

The Emperor’s voice, laced with steel, had grown coarser by the day.

Though the ministers worried about his health, the Emperor paid them no heed—continuing, night after night, to visit a different concubine.

The fact that the Emperor was growing increasingly desperate over not having an heir was no secret among the core of the empire’s ruling class, including Terian. Though he had been on the throne for a long time, the Emperor remained childless. Rumors had long circulated in hushed tones that he might be incapable of producing an heir at all.

While others could only speculate, Terian knew the truth. He had obtained the royal physician’s medical records—evidence that the Emperor was indeed unable to sire children.

Traditionally, the bloodline of the Laxtreen, said to be blessed by the lake, had never encountered such issues. Thus, the general consensus among the physicians was that the Emperor’s case was a genetic anomaly, a mutation in his generation.

It was around the time of that diagnosis that a humiliating peace treaty had been signed. One misfortune after another drove the Emperor into an increasingly unstable mental state.

And that was when it began—the Emperor’s hatred toward Terian, the next in line for the throne.

“It was absurd from the beginning to try maintaining iron roads across such a vast plain! How can anyone expect to guard such a wide area?”

One of the ministers—known to be backed by Baron Tromperie—resumed the futile debate that had started earlier. This time, a count seated beside Terian responded.

“We’ve maintained it for years without issue. What are you talking about? Please stop with these groundless claims.”

Feeling a surge of fatigue, Terian turned to glance at the Emperor, whose pallid complexion was even gloomier than usual.

The Emperor avoided looking in Terian’s direction, unnaturally so—his chest still brimming with seething hatred.

The ministers’ voices faded into the background, like distant music playing behind Terian’s reflections.

“Isn’t it a lie that there have been no issues? Trains departing from the South have already been attacked twice.”

“One of those attacks was repelled completely.”

“Which means the other one resulted in significant damage, doesn’t it?”

Terian couldn’t understand that hatred. If anything, he was the one who had the right to bear a grudge.

It was, after all, the Emperor himself who had let slip the information that led to the death of the former Grand Duke of Avnir—Terian’s father—on the battlefield.