At the same time.

Marquis’s daughter Reina Melanian and First Prince Carlos faced each other at a distance neither too far nor too close.

Carlos sat on the sofa, rolling a wine glass in one hand.

He didn’t even invite Reina, who stood before him, to sit down.

Reina quietly waited for him to speak first.

Finally, Carlos narrowed his eyes and asked.

“So is that information reliable?”

“Yes, I guarantee it.”

A strange, eerie gleam appeared in Reina’s eyes, one that had never been there before.

Like the eyes of a snake savoring the sight of prey before it.

“The Second Prince definitely attended the Imperial Academy starting in Imperial Year 143.”

“…So he disguised himself as an inconspicuous low-ranking noble, wore thick horn-rimmed glasses that no one would bother with to hide those distinctive violet eyes of his.”

The Second Prince chuckled repeatedly, seemingly finding this fact highly amusing.

He gripped the wine bottle by its neck and poured all the remaining liquor into his glass. The red alcohol swirled inside the glass, threatening to overflow.

“I need to find out who attended the Academy with the Second Prince that year, and investigate all their whereabouts.”

Then the man threw the wine into his mouth all at once.

Watching his Adam’s apple bob greedily as he swallowed, Reina spoke like she’d been waiting for this moment.

“I’ve already prepared everything.”

“Prepared? Already?”

Thud.

The sound of the First Prince setting his wine glass down on the table was grating to the ears.

Carlos narrowed his eyes and looked at Reina, seemingly asking if that was really true.

Suspicion and distrust.

Even facing all those emotions, Reina steadfastly continued.

“I found one interesting person in that year’s list of graduates.”

* * *

“Ha…”

After Daphne left, Astaire stood alone on the terrace holding his wine glass.

He roughly ran his hand through his well-groomed hair, pushing it back.

With his right hand, the one not holding the glass, he repeatedly clenched and unclenched his fist.

The sensation from that moment still lingered vividly at his fingertips.

The moment her soft lips touched his fingertips. The feeling of brushing against and wrapping around the tender flesh inside her mouth.

If it hadn’t been for the location, he might have embraced his wife right then and there.

The more he thought about that atmosphere, that air, that sensation, the more unbearably thirsty he became.

“Hoo.”

Astaire lifted his head and let out a short sigh.

Come to think of it, it was strange.

There was no reason for him to hesitate, was there?

Daphne was still his wife. And she still had debts he’d placed on her.

It meant he could handle her however he wanted, whenever he wanted.

If he said he wanted to hold her, she was in a position where she had to come running to him and let herself be held.

That was definitely the case…

So why did one corner of his heart feel so uncomfortable?

At first, he thought it was simple l*st. If that were the case, he figured holding her would solve it.

There was no problem with that anyway.

So he tried to do just that.

But he couldn’t understand why one corner of his heart felt so stuffy, why his breath caught in his throat.

Her distorted expression kept coming to mind since earlier.

The moment he thought she was rejecting him, rage surged through him.

Especially.

It was worst when she brought up that d*mn divorce talk again.

Astaire remained on the terrace for quite a while.

At least until someone called for him.

“Duke Seyfried.”

A large inverted triangular shadow twisted across the floor.

When Astaire turned around and looked at him with an exceptionally cold gaze, the servant’s body flinched.

“The First Prince is looking for you.”

“…I’ll be right there.”

Still holding the wine glass he’d barely touched, Astaire finally left the terrace.

* * *

The air in the room was sticky.

The thick cigar smoke stung his eyes, and the perfume worn by the women the First Prince had brought gave him a headache.

Astaire had to make an effort not to grimace.

So outwardly, the man’s face was ice itself, completely motionless. Unlike the First Prince, who sprawled on the sofa with women on either side, Astaire sat upright with his back straight, no one beside him.

Watching Astaire like this, the First Prince spoke in a displeased tone.

“Enjoy yourself, Duke.”

“How could I show such a relaxed appearance before Your Highness the First Prince?”

“Why say such things between us? Are we ordinary acquaintances?”

Certainly not.

However, Astaire maintained his silence instead of answering.

Even he questioned whether the First Prince was truly suitable as the next emperor.

Nevertheless, the reason Astaire supported the First Prince as the next emperor candidate.

It was because of the previous Duke’s will.

The previous Duke Seyfried, whose life had been saved by the First Prince’s mother, the Empress, had sworn his entire life to support the First Prince becoming emperor.

He’d even written in his prepared will: “The next Duke Seyfried shall spare no support in making the First Prince the next emperor.”

That d*mn clause.

That one brief clause that came with receiving the ducal title was causing all of this.

“Why did you call for me?”

Astaire asked quietly. He coldly pushed away a hostess who was subtly trying to put her arm around his shoulders.

The heavily made-up hostess, looking embarrassed, quickly attached herself to the First Prince instead.

Seeing this scene, the First Prince laughed heartily in his drunken state.

“You didn’t call me here to show me this.”

“Of course not.”

The First Prince said, swirling his wine glass.

“Did you know the Second Prince attended the Imperial Academy while hiding his identity?”

“…”

He knew.

After receiving intelligence that the Second Prince was returning from the battlefield, he’d mobilized all available personnel to collect every piece of information about the Second Prince, including his whereabouts.

One of those things.

The Second Prince’s Academy attendance record.

He’d attended using an alias, changing both his status and appearance, but still, when the tail is long, it gets stepped on.

“Looking at your expression, Duke, there’s nothing more to ask.”

The First Prince smiled languidly.

“Then do you know something else?”

“What do you mean?”

“For example—”

He curved his eyes excessively and smiled, stroking his chin with his finger.

“The fact that Duchess Seyfried attended the Academy at the same time as the Second Prince?”

Astaire deliberately didn’t answer.

Of course, he’d known all along.

That the Second Prince had attended the Academy during the same period as his wife.

“I want to keep attending the Academy.”

That’s why when Daphne said that, Astaire didn’t particularly stop her. He only told her to do as she pleased.

He’d definitely seen it then.

While others might mock the Second Prince with his thick horn-rimmed glasses, calling him ridiculous, Astaire alone had clearly seen his true appearance beyond those glasses.

Eyes tinged with violet.

That mysterious color possessed only by members of the imperial family.

“…”

When Astaire stared intently at the Second Prince, he too seemed to sense something, flinching and quickly averting his gaze.

He still remembered that moment.

Astaire opened his eyes properly again and looked at the First Prince, thinking of the past.

“So here’s what I’m thinking—why don’t we use the Duchess?”

“…Use her? What do you mean by that?”

“Just hear me out to the end, Duke. Calm down.”

Seeing Astaire’s eyes flicker, the First Prince patted his shoulder, telling him to calm down.

Even for an action toward his vassal, it was behavior disrespectful enough between person and person to cause displeasure.

But that wasn’t why Astaire was shaken.

Using his wife—what was this about?

“My wife knows nothing.”

“Then wouldn’t it be fine to teach her from now on?”

The First Prince played innocent.

Astaire quietly clenched his fist.

At first, it was true he’d used Daphne as an informant in high society.

But lately, he’d been feeling doubtful about whether that initial choice was right.

Did he really want to drag his wife into this muddy political power struggle?

Maybe in the past, but at least not now.

He no longer wanted Daphne involved in his affairs.

“Well, I suppose it’s unreasonable to persuade you, Duke.”

At the firm refusal, the First Prince continued sarcastically.

“After all, what kind of person are you? Someone who cherishes his wife above all else. I made an unnecessary suggestion.”

Someone who cherishes his wife above all else.

The moment he heard those words, it felt like waves crashed inside Astaire’s heart.

Even he couldn’t explain what that feeling was.

The Duke scoffed inwardly.

He wasn’t cherishing Daphne. He was merely saving a useful doll for a greater use.

“You may leave now.”

Contrary to expectations, the First Prince readily told him to go.

Astaire quietly stood up and didn’t take his eyes off the First Prince until the moment he left through the door. Except for the moment he bowed.

Creak—the sound of the door hinge coincided with the cigarette smoke in the room growing even thicker.

Gray smoke hung over the blue eyes tinged with the violet characteristic of royalty. Like the eyes of a predator before its prey.

The First Prince curved his eyes like a snake and smiled. He ran his tongue over his dry lips and smiled.

“You there.”

“Yes.”

Though he didn’t even call a name, his subordinate faithfully appeared from the shadows before the First Prince and bowed.

The First Prince drank wine straight from the bottle, then muttered with his tongue loosened by alcohol.

“There’s someone who needs to be monitored.”

“Yes, I’ll do my utmost with whoever it is.”

“You’d better.”

And the moment the subordinate heard the name of the surveillance target that came from the First Prince’s mouth, his eyes widened enormously.

“…B-but!”

“Are you defying my words right now?”

“Not at all!”

“You may leave.”

“Yes.”

The door sounded once more.

After the subordinate who’d received his orders left, the First Prince, now alone, kissed the woman clinging to his arm deeply.

Heh heh heh—drunken, murky laughter echoed through the room.

* * *

The entire time Astaire walked from the First Prince’s dark private lounge to the bright ballroom, his head was complicated.

The being that now filled his head completely was his small wife.

His wife, small and fragile like a bird.

A being who might break a leg and die if handled wrong.

“Germo.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The second son of a count family who was also a long-time vassal of House Seyfried, Germo, who’d accompanied him to this ball, popped out like he’d been waiting.

“Strengthen security around the Duchess for the time being.”

“Pardon? Yes.”