Kieron arrived at the Peyton estate, his thoughts still in disarray.

Having sent notice ahead of time, he passed through the main gate without trouble and made his way straight to the Marquis’s office in the Imperial Palace wing.

Even after agonizing over the matter the entire way there, he still had no idea how to begin speaking to Marquis Peyton.

The Marquis was a busy man.

Kieron couldn’t afford to waste his time, nor could he prolong the conversation with unnecessary questions or hesitation.

All he could do was present the situation plainly and judge the Marquis’s reaction.

He was still trying to sort through the mess in his mind when the door opened and Marquis Peyton stepped inside.

“Thank you for coming all the way here.”

“I know you’re a busy man.”

“Thank you for understanding. Then… may I speak frankly from the start?”

As expected, the Marquis looked as though he had carved this meeting out of an impossibly tight schedule.

He let out a faint breath, suggesting that he had hurried to get there, and fixed his gaze on Kieron, silently urging him to speak.

“Go ahead.”

But what was he supposed to say? Kieron knew only too well how difficult it was to spare even a moment when responsibilities were piling up. Now, he had to inform this man that his daughter had been injured.

Even Kieron, who did not particularly like the Marquis, felt an unwelcome sense of discomfort tighten his chest.

He drew in a slow, steadying breath and began.

“To put aside all complications… your daughter was hurt.”

“…You mean Ariadne was injured?”

The Marquis’s expression changed instantly. For a man renowned for his brilliance as a foreign minister and his ability to control his facial expressions, this shift was shockingly unguarded.

This reaction alone was enough to overturn every assessment Kieron had ever heard about the Marquis.

Worry flooded the Marquis’s features or perhaps it was closer to fear. It was the unmistakable expression of a parent terrified for their child.

Trying to keep his own voice steady, Kieron nodded and continued.

“A sealed envelope filled with blades was found tucked between the pages of the morning paper she reads every day. We normally screen all mail thoroughly, but because it was hidden inside the newspaper, it seems to have slipped past inspection.”

Even as he spoke, his words felt like excuses, as though he were desperately trying to justify how their cherished daughter had been hurt under his roof.

The miserable feeling twisted in his chest, but he forced it aside and kept his gaze on the Marquis, who sat rigidly with a tense expression on his face.

“We’re still investigating, but I believe there’s someone behind it. We checked every servant, yet nothing came up.”

The servant responsible for sorting the mail was the most likely suspect, yet also the least plausible. He was one of Ariadn’s most loyal supporters.

He had previously experienced her tremendous kindness when his child fell gravely ill while she was managing internal affairs.

Upon hearing this, Ariadne had personally arranged treatment at a top clinic and paid for it herself.

“I owe the madam a debt I can never repay. Why would I ever do something like that!”

The servant insisted, trembling with outrage. He said that his son was now healthy enough to play with his friends and intelligent enough to prepare for the academy. He declared that he would personally hunt down the culprit.

The other servants who handled the mail reacted in the same way.

“Most of them have received kindness from the madam, which is making the investigation even more difficult. Still, we’ll find—”

“How is my daughter?”

Just as Kieron had been explaining — not quite excuses, but close — Marquis Peyton asked quietly. He had expected the man to demand to know why the culprit hadn’t been found yet.

Instead, the question took him by surprise.

At that moment, Kieron remembered why Derrick had urged him to see the madam before coming here.

‘So this is why he said to check her condition first.’

“Her poison tests are clear, but the physician advised her to rest the entire day just in case. Before I left, she showed no alarming symptoms. She was… reading.”

Even though he gave the prepared answer, Kieron still couldn’t understand why the Marquis cared more about his daughter’s condition than about the person who had attacked her.

The people Kieron had grown up around—people he once called family—would have asked, ‘So who’s behind it? How could you not have found out yet?’ They would have pressed for blood.

However, the Marquis of Peyton, displaying an uncharacteristic calmness, had asked only about his daughter.

When Kieron had finished explaining that she was showing no concerning signs, the Marquis studied his face, which was now noticeably more composed. He looked at Kieron with something close to curiosity.

‘Has Ariadne lived her whole life among people like this?’
‘Is that why he set those conditions?’

Kieron suddenly recalled the Marquis’s expression on the day he had insisted — almost demanded — that Kieron marry his daughter.

It had been an unreasonable and infuriating proposal, but one that he had no choice but to accept.

For the Marquis, however, it had been of the utmost importance.

“Then I’m relieved. If you need me to, I can send the Peyton physician. He’s treated her since childhood, so he’d understand her condition quickly.”

Just look at him now, see how wretched he looks.

Kieron observed him quietly for a moment, then shook his head.

“No need. The duchy’s physician is competent. He’s staying on the same floor as the madam and will come running the moment anything happens.”

Even though he was known as a cold, unshakeable statesman, he was still a father.

Seeing the Marquis let out a genuine, trembling breath of relief, Kieron finally understood why Ariadne had grown up so sheltered.

It wasn’t just the Marquis — her entire family must have treated her as though she were made of glass, as if she would crack at the slightest touch or crumble if anyone held her too firmly.

It was no wonder she had become someone who couldn’t even recognize danger when she saw it.

For a brief moment, an image flashed through his mind of Ariadne with her face flushed with anger and her voice raised as she declared that she would return to Peyton and that no one had the right to stop her.

That temper was undoubtedly the result of a lifetime of excessive coddling.

As that thought faded, another struck him so suddenly and sharply that he froze where he stood.

‘If I have children one day, I’m never raising them like that.’

Children.

‘Children? Me?’

There were rules he could never break.

In exchange for accepting all the support offered by House Peyton, he had sworn never to lay a hand on Ariadne until she willingly turned towards him and looked at him with affection.

Not until she came to him of her own accord and looked at him with affection.

Until then, having a child together was absolutely out of the question.

He lifted a hand to his mouth and rubbed it lightly; the corner of his lips curled into a faint, bitter smile.

It would likely never happen anyway.

The woman who was supposed to uphold that agreement seemed to forget about it constantly, running around causing trouble and behaving as though the contract had never existed.

The more he saw her like that, the more his feelings drained away.

Kieron knew it.

For him to feel anything for a woman like her was impossible.

Glancing at the marquis, who was sitting in despair, he was certain of that.

If this was how he looked while his daughter was still alive and well, what would he have become if she had been injured or killed?

Was this what parents were always like?

He had never seen a parent who showed genuine attachment to their child.

The Marquis’s reaction unsettled him so much that he began to rise from his seat.

He had said everything that needed to be said.

Only one simple declaration remained: what he planned to do next.

“Then I’ll be going. If we find another lead, I’ll contact you immediately.”

“Please wait, Your Grace.”

Just as he rose, Marquis Peyton stood up as well and stopped him, his expression unusually desperate.
With uncharacteristic clumsiness, he fumbled inside his coat and held something out.

“I would give it to her myself, but if someone is behind this, approaching her might only provoke them further.”

‘If you give this to her, she will understand.’

What he handed over was a necklace with a small vial attached.

“And how am I supposed to know what this is?”

Spite bubbled up from nowhere.

Kieron was startled by the sharpness of his own voice, though he thought he had concealed it.

However, Marquis Peyton was not someone who would miss such a subtle change.

“…Do you truly think I would give something harmful to my own child?”

The marquis stared at him, displeasure plain on his face.

“It’s not something I can speak of here. Just give it to her. She’ll know.”

So in other words, shut your mouth and deliver it.

Kieron looked down at the necklace, then nodded.

“Very well.”

“Yes. Thank you for coming all this way.”

They were a father and daughter who understood each other without needing words.

Kieron watched the Marquis lower his head, before turning and walking away. There were too many things about the Marquis that he could not understand, so he left without saying goodbye.

***

“Father gave me this?”

Even after he returned to the duchy, the feeling in his chest remained uneasy.

Just as the Marquis had predicted, Ariadne’s eyes widened the moment she saw the necklace.

She was lying in bed reading when he arrived, but the moment she recognized the necklace, she dropped her book and sat bolt upright.

So the Marquis had been right.

Between father and daughter, there was something that required no explanation.

And that fact—

“…He said you’d know what it was once I gave it to you.”

“Yes, I do. But this is something meant for Father…”

Ariadne looked stunned, as though she had just been given something of extraordinary value. She had never displayed this kind of reaction to anything he had given her before.

Yet for this — just a simple necklace containing a tiny vial — she looked as though she had received something priceless.

Kieron pushed down the strange feeling stirring inside him again and placed the necklace in her hand.

“Then you can use it. The marquis didn’t tell me what it was, so you can judge how to handle it.”

Judging by her reaction, she had no intention of explaining herself.

He turned to leave.

This was the bond between a parent and a child.

A trust and closeness that he had never imagined for himself.

It was a relationship that made something deep in his chest creak — irritating, foreign, and unwelcome.

He wanted to look away from it as quickly as possible.