Chapter 11.7

“Long time no see, Lady Dronia.”

“Yes, hello. Um…”

“I am Viscount Gilbert.”

“Ah… Yes, hello, Viscount.”

Syria gave a gentle, bright smile to the elderly gentleman who walked straight up to her. She didn’t recognize his face, so she couldn’t call his name, but thankfully, he introduced himself first.

“I’ve heard about you from the Duke, but it’s good to see you so well. Ha ha.”

“…I’m well?”

“Ha ha… Perhaps this old man misspoke.”

He looked troubled, but somehow it felt like he had said it on purpose.

“How do you know my father?”

She asked, sensing a peculiar familiarity in his words.

“I’m currently running a business with the Duke. I met you once before.”

“Ah… Is that so?”

Naturally, she had no memory of the heroine’s past relationships, so she didn’t know.

“Could you repeat what you said earlier?”

“What do you mean? Ah… I’m not sure what I should say.”

Looking troubled, the Viscount stroked the tip of his beard with his finger.

“If it’s about me, I should know. Was I sick before?”

“You suddenly fell ill, and the Duke was greatly worried.”

Sick? Syria couldn’t recall any mention in the novel of the heroine having childhood illnesses or being bedridden.

“When was this?”

“That was just a few months ago.”

‘A few months?’

“Do you remember anything?”

The old man asked with a worried look, but his question made her feel odd.

‘Was it right before I arrived? Or after? Could it be when I came here?’

She had never thought about how she ended up in this place.

As she sat blankly, continuing her thoughts, she saw the navy blue eyes of a nobleman observing her. Eyes as vivid and lively as those of a young man. The old man’s voice matched his neat attire, but for a moment, Syria felt a strange sense of incongruity. As if he was deliberately pretending to be old.

Syria, who had grown up in her grandmother’s care, had met many elderly grandmothers and grandfathers. Even though this was a different world, their faces always showed traces of emotion and life. Not just aged by time, but faces that reflected the lives they had lived.

It’s often said that you can glimpse a person’s life by looking at an aged face, even if not every joy and sorrow, you could feel their experience. But on the old man’s face before her now, Syria couldn’t read anything.

And the lower body line that had briefly shown through his freshly pressed thin evening suit earlier was definitely odd. Just from this, she could understand the strangely mismatched atmosphere she felt from him.

‘Still… No way… He definitely looks like a grandfather.’

But no matter how closely she looked, the deep wrinkles between his brows and the creases that appeared when he smiled were definitely those of an elderly man.

‘Well, maybe he just exercised a lot.’

Syria couldn’t tell the old man’s true identity, but she cut off her thoughts, deciding he might be a hidden expert.

“I don’t really know.”

“Is that so? But really, I never thought you’d recover so well. It’s like a miracle.”

Viscount Gilbert laughed heartily, whether from joy or amusement.

“Was I in such bad shape? Even the maids never said anything.”

If something so miraculous had happened, surely Melanie or Firenze would have mentioned it, but Syria had never heard such a story.

“The Duke must have kept it hidden, so you might not have known.”

“My father hid it?”

“If you’re curious, you should ask the Duke.”

Noticing her growing curiosity, the Viscount smiled kindly and deflected to Duke Dronia. He clearly had no intention of saying more. His dark navy eyes shone especially brightly.

* * *

‘I collapsed? When?’

Syria had never fainted since arriving in this world, so it must have happened before she came. But even in the novel, there was no mention of the heroine collapsing. In fact, she was described as having a surprisingly tenacious personality, never succumbing to illness despite her frail appearance.

‘The original Syria’s not the type to say she’s sick, so maybe that’s why!’

Even so, she felt something nagging at her. Like dust clinging to her, it was an uncomfortable feeling.

‘Did I really collapse around the time I came?’

Feeling frustrated, she left the banquet hall to ask Firenze about it.

Firenze had come to the Imperial Palace for her protection, but Syria had told him to wait in the corridor, worried he might get involved with someone and blush. It was also a consideration for him, who had been standing all day without a chance to sit. There was a wide bench outside in the corridor where he could rest, much better than inside.

As soon as she opened the door and stepped out, she saw him leaning against the opposite wall.

“Firenze, have you really been standing and waiting all this time?”

“Yes. Are you leaving?”

“Why… You must be tired, I told you to sit and rest.”

“I’m not tired at all.”

Just as he said, Firenze had limitless stamina. Whenever they started making love, he lasted quite a while. Even after last night’s passionate energy, Firenze’s skin was glowing and his eyes sparkled with vitality.

‘I’m so worn out compared to him…’

They say women become prettier when in love, but all Syria was doing these days was s*x, so she felt more drained and aged by the day. Admiring his handsome face again, Syria clapped her hands and got to the point.

“Sir Firenze! Did I ever collapse a few months ago?”

“You, My Lady?”

Firenze blinked as if hearing this for the first time. Unlike when she’d asked about Duke Dronia before, he didn’t try to delay his answer—he genuinely didn’t know.

“Yeah. Just now, a man named Viscount Gilbert said it was good that I recovered.”

“Viscount Gilbert… That’s the first I’ve heard.”

“The first? He said he runs a business with my father.”

Could there really be someone Firenze, the Duke’s right hand, didn’t know? Syria asked, tilting her head, and Firenze’s brows furrowed.

“I’ve never heard of him. Did he really say he works with the Duke?”

“Yeah. He acted really familiar.”

There were always nobles trying to get close to Duke Dronia. He didn’t involve himself much with imperial affairs, but the Dronia Duchy was a very attractive house. Syria had seen many nobles approach Miland with just such intentions.

But Viscount Gilbert didn’t just act familiar—he spoke as if he knew Miland very well.

“I don’t know every business the Duke is involved in, but I’ve never heard that name.”

Firenze also found it strange, stroking his chin thoughtfully. If even the closest knight didn’t know, asking the maids would get the same answer. She considered asking the advisor, but it would probably be just as fruitless.

‘Should I ask the Duke about this too?’

“And what about Father?”

“He’s probably finished by now.”

Duke Dronia never attended Imperial Palace work or noble meetings. He lived almost like a recluse. But there was one official event he always attended—the Foundation Festival, meeting delegations from neighboring countries.

The Duke had once defended the southern border, defeating enemy forces from invading countries. Because of this, he became a symbol of victory, and it was an imperial order since the previous Emperor for him to show his face when delegations visited. His presence was a warning—if they invaded again, there would be consequences.

‘Showing his ageless, vigorous face must be very effective.’

By appearing just once a year, the Duke gained the privilege of skipping regular noble meetings at the palace. Now that the Emperor had changed, she thought he wouldn’t need to attend anymore, but recently, Gallion had begged at the door until it was worn out, so Syria had asked him to go.

“Since his face-showing job is done, let’s go there.”

“Face-showing job?”

“Hehe. It’s a thing.”

Syria smiled, imagining the Duke standing stiff and stone-faced.