The die had already been cast.

As Kieron stepped out after his meeting with Sylvia, this thought remained with him.

Princess Sylvia, who had long been believed to have no interest in the throne, had finally revealed her intention to pursue it.

For now, the news was only being whispered about in hidden corners, but it wouldn’t remain concealed for long.

Unless he planned to isolate himself entirely, like the Duke of El, he would eventually be forced to choose a side.

If he had to make a choice, siding with Sylvia — who could at least be reasoned with — was far more practical than supporting Loralei.

If he was going to do it anyway, he might as well secure something in return, even if that did seem selfish.

Reflecting on his conversation with Sylvia, he headed towards the place where Herald would be waiting.

“Exclude Young Lord Derayan from the groomsmen? What kind of request is that?”

“That one thing is all I want.”

“No, Your Grace, why not ask her to suppress the Council instead? Wasn’t the Council the biggest headache for you right now?”

“I can handle that with my own power. But the groomsmen… I can’t change them on my own.”

Sylvia stared at him, unable to believe what she had just heard. She even found herself murmuring, “Is this really the Ambrose Duke I know?”

But it was true. He had no right to change the lineup of the groomsmen. As Sylvia herself had pointed out, he had no right to force Ariadne to change her mind. Hadn’t he been told time and again that her choices were hers alone?

The only option was therefore to focus on what he could change.

Nevertheless, Sylvia still did not give him an answer. Her reasoning was straightforward: Jade Derayan was on the groom’s side, meaning the final decision was not hers to make.

“I’ll discuss it and let you know. And please, could you tell your duchess what you’re thinking? That alone would make things so much better.”

With a faint mischievous tone, she urged him to tell Ariadne about this no matter what.

‘Why would I do that?’

The thought came to him immediately, but seeing the princess looking at him with genuine curiosity made him feel even less inclined to say anything.

So he simply said he would wait for her answer and left.

“Your Grace. Was the conversation fruitful?”

As he walked down the corridor, Herald approached him from the opposite side. He handed over the paper he was holding and shifted his pace to match his master’s.

“There’s been a message from the marquis. He says he has time shortly.”

“Is that so?”

Kieron unfolded the sheet. A short line was written there. He would be free around lunchtime—if it was convenient, he suggested discussing matters over a meal.

“When did this arrive?”

“Just a little before Your Grace stepped out.”

As soon as he heard that Kieron was at the palace, the Marquis reached out to him. It was no wonder the meeting had been arranged so abruptly.

Kieron folded the paper and started walking again.

If the meeting was scheduled for lunchtime, they would need to leave immediately, as the distance between the princess’s quarters and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in the main palace was quite considerable.

“Let’s go.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

As he quickened his pace, Kieron hoped that his conversation with the marquis would go as smoothly as the one he had just had with Sylvia.

***

“I did not expect Your Grace to come all the way here in person.”

“Does it matter who goes? If time allows, one simply goes.”

The marquis was always busy, wasn’t he? The light remark seemed to please Marquis Peyton; he gave a faint smile, took a sip of water, and met Kieron’s eyes.

“Shall we get straight to the point? As you know, I don’t have much time.”

He had said he was only free during lunch. Which meant, at best, they had an hour.

Kieron nodded.

“Before we begin, I’d prefer if only a few people remained.”

The Marquis followed his gaze as he looked around.

Court attendants moved briskly to set the table.

After a moment’s thought, the Marquis ordered them all out.

Herald followed them out, and once the door had closed, only the two of them remained in the room.

Marquis Peyton spoke first.

“What is it you wish to say?”

“Rather than something to say, there’s something I want to ask.”

He answered calmly as he picked up his cutlery.

Even now, he hesitated, unsure whether to ask the question.

Depending on how you looked at it, it could make him seem pathetic.

Alternatively, the Marquis might think it absurd to expect an answer.

But Kieron had decided that he needed to know.

It was essential in determining his path.

“Do you remember telling me not to do anything that could make the marriage possible unless I developed genuine feelings for my wife?”

The Marquis froze mid-slice. He clearly hadn’t expected the question to be asked so directly. Seeing the flicker of surprise on his face, Kieron almost laughed.

When he had first heard those words himself, they had been so humiliating that he could barely keep his expression under control.

He never imagined that one day he would see that same discomfort on the Marquis’s face. Not humiliation, perhaps, but genuine surprise.

“I remember. That was the condition I set for Your Grace when I proposed the marriage.”

Composed once more, the marquis answered evenly.

“And is what you want to ask related to that?”

“Something like that.”

Kieron was sure he had startled the Marquis. Yet not only did the Marquis reply without hesitation, he also turned the question back on Kieron.

It felt strangely like being examined. He was the one who had come to ask a question, yet somehow he was the one being questioned.

Maintaining the Marquis’s steady gaze, Kieron asked again.

“Is that sentiment still unchanged?”

“Until the day I see my child truly happy, it probably will be.”

Ariadne’s father answered.

Just as when he first approached Kieron with the marriage proposal, the Marquis wore a fatherly expression. But there was something he knew — and something he didn’t.

Due to his own changing feelings and the condition, Ariadne was now being treated differently by the Council of Elders.

After a brief pause, Kieron finally spoke.

“Of course, it’s my own incompetence, but…Do you know how your daughter is being treated by the family right now?”

At these words, the Marquis stopped eating. Until then, he had continued to eat whenever the conversation lulled, but now he put down his cutlery.

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. The Council is using the fact that we have no child as an excuse to demand I cast her out.”

The Marquis’s face hardened sharply.

Had he never imagined that things would escalate to this level? Or had he simply never expected his son-in-law to be so weak?

Either way, the result was the same.

A faintly self-mocking expression crossed Kieron’s face.

“It seems my ability ends there. I did make it clear I have no intention of divorcing or remarrying, but they’ll probably start insisting again before long.”

As he continued, Kieron watched the marquis’s expression closely. But the marquis kept his gaze trained on his plate, his thoughts unreadable.

“And besides… I think my feelings have started to shift a little.”

His voice lowered, almost quiet enough to be swallowed up by the room.

Truth be told, it was the main reason he had decided to meet the Marquis and the Princess today. No matter how loudly the Council protested, they could never discard Peyton’s beloved daughter so easily.

Even if they tried to pressure her, Jay — the quick-witted maid at her side — would stop them, and she would handle things well.

However, the most important thing was to address the obstacle in his own heart — his condition — and the reality they were now facing.

“So, Your Grace is asking me to withdraw that condition?”

The Marquis finally spoke. His expression remained unchanged and his gaze remained fixed. Yet Kieron sensed a subtle shift.

“I doubt anything else has driven a deeper wedge between us than that condition.”

It was hard for him to be honest about his own feelings while trying to understand someone else’s. It had taken him a long time to admit those emotions to himself.

Deciding to confess them to Marquis Peyton was not easy either. But he had to do it. For himself, for her, and for whatever lay ahead.

Kieron watched the Marquis sit in silence, enduring the painful quiet stretching between them.

‘Endure’ was the only fitting word. He was enduring this moment. He was laying bare his humiliating truths to another man, delving into his emotions and forcing himself to voice them.

He fought the urge to stand up and leave the room, instead forcing himself through that long, suffocating pause.

Only after some time — after he had repeatedly clenched and unclenched his fists — did the Marquis finally speak.

“If that child wishes it, then it is fine.”

“‘Wishes it’?”

“If that child—Ariadne—has chosen to accept Your Grace, then I am saying it is fine. Such matters should be settled between husband and wife. You don’t need to come to this old man for permission.”

The Marquis spoke calmly, which was completely at odds with the rigid, stone-cold face he had worn earlier.

Kieron found himself wondering whether he had misheard or misjudged the man entirely.

When he set the condition, the Marquis had glared at him as though he would kill him if he refused — and now, by withdrawing it, he looked so gentle?

“…Then, I didn’t need to ask you in the first place?”

“Even so, Your Grace, I am grateful that you did. I feel much more at ease now. I believe you when you say there is no falsehood in your words.”

He resumed eating as though nothing had happened.

He had set the condition and now claimed it didn’t matter if it was removed.

Kieron felt even more confused and dizzy than he had last night, when he’d nearly torn his hair out in the gardener’s hut.

“No falsehood… certainly not.”

“Then there is no problem. Please, eat.”

The marquis’s voice was serene, completely oblivious to the man sitting across from him, drowning in turmoil.