Chapter 11.8

At that moment, Miland had shown his face to the delegation and coldly turned away. He ignored the delegation’s gasps at his ever-younger appearance, and the tearful, flustered look on Gallion’s face behind him.

‘This is tiresome.’

He’d thought he wouldn’t have to do this anymore now that the previous Emperor was gone, but it was all because of that Emperor’s advisor. His soft-hearted daughter had asked him after seeing Gallion come crying for days, and he’d agreed immediately.

“Sigh… I’m showing too much.”

He’d tried hard to hide his only weakness—his love for his daughter—but lately, it was getting harder.

Whenever she looked up at him with big, pink eyes and called him “Father,” he forgot she was an adult and wanted to hug her like when she was little. These days, she ate well and snacked often, her cheeks a little plumper, just as cute as when she puffed her cheeks with candy as a child.

‘There’s not much time left.’

Miland shook his head sharply, trying to steady himself. Nearly seven years of deliberately keeping his distance for her protection were about to come to nothing.

It was during the time when Miland had left for the south, leaving home. Back then, his loyalty to the country outweighed his love for his family, and the safety of his people came first. While Miland was triumphantly defeating enemies, those jealous of his achievements targeted the Duchess, costing her life. His daughter barely survived, and when he heard the news, he screamed.

He vowed then to put his daughter above all else. That’s why he rejected the Crown Prince and other Emperors, focusing solely on his family.

‘Once she’s married, I’ll be able to handle things properly.’

He headed for the Imperial Palace, determined not to let those who once threatened his daughter have their way. Miland passed the entrance to the banquet hall, where beautiful piano and violin music played, and walked down the corridor.

A man he’d seen earlier at the meeting place handed him a note. As expected, he worked at the Imperial Palace and was close to the Emperor—the Chief Attendant. Miland followed the note’s instructions, climbed the stairs, and opened the door to the second floor of the banquet hall.

“You’re here early, Duke.”

Jacob, in the guise of an old man, was sitting on the throne in the Imperial Box, usually used by the Emperor.

“You’re quite bold.”

Jacob sat arrogantly, taking up the whole space and crossing one leg over the other as if it were his own seat. His crooked expression was as arrogant as if he really were the Emperor.

“Well, soon it’ll be his seat, won’t it? Heh heh.”

“So why did you call me today?”

Miland’s voice was irritated, tired of being called whenever Jacob felt like it. But Jacob had seen Miland like this plenty of times, so he let it go. Sitting here, he felt magnanimous.

“The operation is tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

Miland, rarely surprised, widened his eyes. It was something that should have been more than half a year away.

“Why are you so shocked? Didn’t I tell you? There’s no time to waste.”

Jacob chuckled mockingly.

“I was sure it was next year…”

“He decided to move it up.”

“The Second Prince? Did he deliberately leave me out?”

Miland had already heard from Count Bruiser that sometimes meetings were held secretly without him, but this was the first he’d heard it was set for tomorrow. Jacob arrogantly lifted his chin.

“I’m telling you now, aren’t I? Heh.”

“……So you’re not going to tell me how you’re going to pull this off. I need to see the Second Prince. It’s too tight to mobilize the Knight Order by tomorrow.”

“You’ll be able to meet him tomorrow. Just arrange the Knight Order, and all you need to do is use your abilities.”

Miland furrowed his brows deeply and glared at Jacob. It was as good as telling him to take the lead in tomorrow’s events.

“……You’re not planning to put everyone attending the banquet in danger tomorrow, are you?”

“Don’t worry. The Second Prince’s only target is that lowly Emperor.”

Jacob, looking down at the clueless, laughing nobles below the balcony, smirked and narrowed his eyes. They said he was a cousin, and even his eyes looked just like the Second Prince’s.

“Oh, by the way, I saw Lady Syria earlier, and she looked very healthy. She looked so well I thought she was a different person.”

“I told you not to approach my daughter…….”

Miland was now on the verge of losing his temper. It was because Jacob had broken the promise never to show his face to Syria.

“Don’t be so angry. I just exchanged a few words of greeting. And if you’re thinking of hiding Lady Syria and not bringing her tomorrow, give up.”

“Why does my daughter have to be here?”

Just as he thought, Miland had planned to keep Syria from coming at all, and he frowned as he asked again. He couldn’t quite figure out what their intentions were.

“It’s to prevent you from having any other thoughts beforehand, Duke. Besides, you know very well that His Highness could still use force whether the young lady is in front of him or not, don’t you?”

It was a warning not to try anything reckless. Jacob’s eyes narrowed so much they looked almost sly against Miland’s now thoroughly grim face.

“Don’t worry. As long as you don’t try anything, the generous Prince will let it go.”

“I’ll say it again: if you pull another trick like that, I won’t let it slide this time.”

“Oh my, so scary. Even when I tell you not to worry, you’re like this.”

Jacob hunched his shoulders, pretending to be scared, as if Miland might go wild if he lost his daughter again.

‘Well, once this is over, we won’t need the Duke anyway…….’

If he could sweep away the Duke and his daughter all at once, it would be even more satisfying. Jacob hid his scheming smile behind his wrinkled chin.

* * *

Thuddd!

The sound of dark blackout curtains being pulled woke Syria from her sleep. Last night, after the banquet, she had returned home with the Duke, but she hadn’t been able to ask him the questions she was curious about because of the frightening expression he wore, one she had never seen before.

Even though her eyes were still closed, the bright light that pierced her eyelids made Syria’s brow furrow instinctively.

“It’s a refreshing morning, My Lady. Please get up quickly.”

Melanie, who had come into the room, said this while throwing open the window to greet the morning. Her voice, a tone higher than usual, chirped like a bird singing at full volume from early in the morning. On the small side table, a basin of steaming water was ready.

“Hng…. I don’t want to get up…. Oh, right, you said you were sick, but are you okay now?”

Syria, wedged between her blankets, rolled onto her side and asked. Since Melanie had taken a day off for her poor condition, Syria hadn’t seen her face all day yesterday.

With eyes barely open, she saw Melanie’s brown curly hair tied up in a high ponytail, her makeup neat and even, her face lively and her expression bright—just her usual self.

“Yes, My Lady…. Actually, I wasn’t even sick in the first place.”

“What…? You were faking it?”

The unexpected confession made Syria’s voice jump in disbelief. Even for a close attendant maid, claiming illness was not something her kind master would simply overlook. At the ducal residence, if a servant had personal business and just told the Chief Attendant or Head Maid the truth, they would be granted leave quite generously.

‘I thought she was really sick, so I sent fruit and medicine separately…….’

Before going to the palace yesterday, Syria had asked the maids to take good care of Melanie, but apparently it was all unnecessary. Startled by Syria’s loud voice, Melanie hesitated and quickly covered her face with both hands.

“It’s not that… It wasn’t a fake illness, sniff, my… my heart was hurting.”

Suddenly, she started to cry, and Syria sat up abruptly in bed. Melanie sobbed as if holding something back, but there was a strange gap between her fingers as she covered her face.

Catching sight of Melanie’s rolling eyes inside that gap, Syria was dumbfounded. Whenever Melanie was slow-witted but worried about being scolded, she always schemed like this.

“Put your hands down.”

“Hicc. Life is just so hard for me. Sob sob.”

“Alright, let’s talk face to face.”

“Sob sob…. I’ve been serving you for……”

“……Stop!”

“Yes.”

As soon as she lowered her hands, her large eyes, clear of any redness, were revealed. No tears at all. Her eyes sparkled in the morning sunlight.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Syria pointed at the washbasin. Melanie quickly approached and wiped Syria’s face with a soft, dry towel, watching her carefully. But as soon as she realized Syria didn’t intend to scold her, she started speaking slyly.

“The medicine and food you sent yesterday, I ate them all very well.”

“Good. Well done. You know, eating well is what keeps you looking good.”

“……My Lady, I don’t really understand what you mean, but it’s a little scary.”

“Yeah. I said it to scare you.”

The towel paused on Syria’s face, and she let out a small laugh. Melanie, in response, made a face as if she was about to cry again, her brows furrowing.

“Not falling for it.”

“It’s not like that…. I was really upset, that’s all.”

“What were you so upset about?”

Syria put aside the towel pressing on her face, curious about what could trouble a maid with such a flowery, simple mindset.

‘Now that I think about it, they were fighting outside that day, weren’t they?’

She hadn’t heard what happened, but it was obvious it was about that day.