105.

As Erika entered, all eyes from the maids immediately darted toward her.

For the past few months, the hottest topic in McFoy Castle had been the head’s heavenly-looking husband. But lately, Erika Seymour had eclipsed even him in the castle’s gossip mill.

When it was revealed that she had been in a nine-year relationship with Harry Forn, McFoy’s most handsome knight, and that their marriage had recently been approved, the news sent shockwaves throughout the household.

Despite their curiosity, the maids swiftly began to leave as soon as Erika stepped in with her silver tray. Serving a master with a knack for uncovering information required restraint and sharp instincts, including knowing when to bow out.

Still, even as they exited en masse, the maids couldn’t resist sneaking glances at Erika. Their lingering stares made her scowl openly, a rare breach of her usual composure. It was clear that she was nearing her limit with all the attention.

I watched the scene unfold with idle amusement. It was far more entertaining when it wasn’t about me.

Erika exchanged a brief nod with Lady Seymour before stepping forward and presenting the silver tray to me. Even without examining the spotless white envelope, I could tell who it was from.

“A letter from the head of the Diazi family,” she said.

I had anticipated it—Nicholas Diazi sending an update on Nyx. It was about time.

Never in my life did I think I’d receive regular correspondence from Nicholas Diazi, let alone that I would come to await his letters so eagerly. Life, it seemed, always found ways to surprise me.

Taking a quiet breath to steady myself, I opened the letter. Each update about Nyx had a way of unsettling me, no matter how prepared I thought I was.

“What is this?”

But the tension dissipated almost immediately. There was hardly anything to read.

<No progress.>

That was it.

Flipping the paper over, I looked at it sideways, then vertically, but no matter how I turned it, those were the only words written.

The consistent lack of progress was already disheartening, but Nicholas’s letters were growing shorter with each update. This one felt more like a cipher than a message.

“That ungrateful brat,” I muttered.

I knew full well that Nicholas found corresponding with me a nuisance. I hadn’t expected him to lay everything out for me.

That’s why I had prepared a backup plan: Chloe.

Picking up the next letter, I opened the covert missive that always accompanied Nicholas’s updates. Chloe, a high priestess from the remote Eastern Hugo Temple, had sent her report.

Chloe wasn’t originally from the East. She was a Western priestess whose admission into Hugo Temple, an exclusive sanctuary for women priests, had been secured through my intervention.

Not all identity changes at the temple involved infants. Chloe had been the first person I’d helped wash her identity through the temple system.

Thankfully, Chloe had settled well into her position. In fact, she had later facilitated the placement of the infant daughter born to Petra Landry into the same temple with ease.

When Nyx was moved to Baghdad, the High Priest secretly gathered high-ranking priests from across the continent. Chloe, now a notable figure in the East, had been among them.

Though not a trained informant, Chloe’s proximity to the High Priest allowed her to witness and overhear a great deal. She began compiling everything she learned into detailed letters, which she sent to me alongside Nicholas’s terse updates.

Her latest report, as usual, was extensive. It spanned over three pages of personal observations and notes about Nyx. Yet, in essence, it boiled down to the same conclusion as Nicholas’s letter: no progress.

Reading her letter made Nicholas’s brief report seem preferable, even admirable in its conciseness.

Still, one piece of news from Chloe’s letter caught my attention: High Priest Hailot had temporarily left Baghdad to prepare for the Crown Prince’s coming-of-age ceremony.

“The Crown Prince’s coming-of-age ceremony, huh. That fool will be heading to Baghdad soon,” I murmured, placing the letter back on the tray.

Erika, having finished reading the letter herself, spoke cautiously.

“Wouldn’t it be wise to take precautions?”

“While I doubt the Emperor is being negligent, he might be underestimating the situation. It wouldn’t hurt to give him a little scare. The Crown Prince needs to understand just how foolish he can be. Summon Kano.”

Erika tilted her head slightly. “Kano? He’s still on leave, my lord. You approved it.”

“You mean he’s not in the castle?”

“He hasn’t returned from Ikiyo Island yet.”

The unexpected answer caught me off guard, though I didn’t let it show.

“In that case, let’s call on Lady Stang. I have a plan. Quietly summon her when there’s an opening.”

I had assumed, without question, that Kano would be here in McFoy for my birthday. After all, as one of my most trusted vassals, he usually remained close around this time.

I had all but forgotten the argument we had last time. Perhaps because I had been so preoccupied with Norma, or perhaps because fights with Kano followed the same predictable pattern: a dramatic blow-up followed by an unspoken reconciliation.

This time, however, it seemed Kano was taking things differently.

After Erika left the room, I turned back to the mirror. The reflection showed a woman furrowing her brow in mild frustration.

‘Why did I take it for granted that he’d be here? Have I grown so accustomed to his presence that it feels natural for him to always be at my side?’

Kano often sulked, and when he did, he made sure everyone knew it. But his redeeming trait was that he always resolved his own grievances in no time.

Still, I’d be lying if I said the prolonged silence between us didn’t bother me. It reminded me of the times I had fought with my late brother-in-law, Ayno, only to realize later that I was at fault.

Perhaps this unease stemmed from the knowledge that, regardless of Kano’s temper or rudeness, I had ignored his emotions for far too long.

‘I’ll have to settle this cleanly.’

Lady Seymour’s voice broke through my thoughts.

“My lord, it’s time to tend to your hair.”

Right. Lady Seymour was still here. Straightening my posture reflexively, I replied, “Of course. Please do.”

Her voice always snapped me out of my distractions. It must have been a conditioned response from my youth, back when she would scold me if I didn’t pay attention.

Lady Seymour had personally tended to my hair until I was fifteen. Even now, her hands remained unmatched in precision and care.

Somehow, it had become an unspoken tradition: every year on my birthday, Lady Seymour would braid my hair.

I found myself looking forward to it more than I cared to admit, awaiting the familiar touch of her hands.

But her next words caught me off guard once again.

“Today, someone else will be assisting with your hair.”

“What do you mean by that?”

The mention of “someone else” caught me completely off guard. My head whipped around to face Lady Seymour, only to be greeted by an unfamiliar expression on her face—a soft, amused smile that sent a chill running down my spine. I had never seen her look quite so… pleased.

Without answering my question, Lady Seymour clapped her hands gracefully, drawing attention from everyone in the room.

“What are you all standing around for? Bring him in; he’s been waiting long enough.”

She addressed the maids who had, at some point, lined up neatly by the door.

Even as my mind raced, I couldn’t ignore the obvious. There weren’t many people Lady Seymour would speak to so deferentially within McFoy Castle.

‘Who’s supposed to do my hair?’

The answer flashed in my mind, and I froze. My body tensed instinctively, the mere thought of him making my muscles stiffen.

It was already too late. I didn’t even have time to bark an order to stop whoever was about to enter. The door creaked open, unbidden, revealing the silhouette of a man I had only parted with earlier that morning.

“…”

As if rehearsed, a heavy silence settled over the room.

Whenever Norma appeared, it was as if the entire space instinctively paused to take him in. The man radiated a glow, his mere presence demanding attention. Silence had become a routine reaction.

Still, no matter how accustomed I thought I was to Norma’s presence, his face never failed to catch me off guard.

Today, in honor of the birthday banquet, he had put in more effort than usual. And it showed.

Draped in a long, flowing crimson tunic that matched my own dress, Norma looked every bit the dazzling consort of the McFoy head. Despite having worn coordinating outfits with him before, the sight still sent heat rising to my face.

Ridiculously, the thought struck me that he looked like a gift wrapped in red silk. Considering it was my birthday, I couldn’t even call it an entirely inappropriate notion.

At that moment, our eyes met.

I had noticed over time that Norma always swept his hair back for banquets, revealing just enough of his forehead to highlight his sharp golden eyes. Today was no exception.

His gaze landed on me, and as always, his lips curved into a radiant, mischievous smile. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners made it seem like he was trying to seduce me on purpose.

And just like that, I found myself staring, my mouth slowly falling open.

It wasn’t something I could control. Norma’s deliberate movements and magnetic presence left me defenseless.

My unusually long observations weren’t without reason. Ever since I’d started to truly notice him, it was as if my senses had been heightened. Every little thing about him felt magnified, each detail more striking than the last.

Norma wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary, yet his presence alone seemed to scream, ‘My love, here I am!’

“Today, Lord Norma will be assisting with your hair, my lord,” Lady Seymour announced with a firm finality that left no room for argument.

Norma, already making his way toward me, was impossible to ignore. Every step he took brought him closer, and his habit of blushing whenever our eyes met hadn’t changed.

‘This is madness.’

How had I ever denied this? The man might as well have tattooed ‘I love you’ across his forehead. His devotion was evident in every gesture.

All the concerns and frustrations that had plagued me moments earlier evaporated. My mind was too consumed by the stunning, overwhelming presence of the man in front of me.

Once again, Aisa McFoy, head of the illustrious McFoy family, was inching ever closer to becoming the most foolish ruler alive.