Chapter 30

 

Since that day, the Grand Duke has taken every meal with me.

When I first arrived here, it wasn’t like this, so there must have been some change of heart.

The butler came in person and relayed the order that I was to dine with him.

Trembling, I made my way to the table… but thankfully, he said nothing.

‘Wasn’t he going to throw me out?’

Even now, my heart turns cold remembering the way his piercing gaze had cut through me.

The fury in his eyes when he said I’d seen him as no better than those bastards—it was filled with disgust.

He had been that angry… and yet, he didn’t cast me out.

Or… maybe it’s a postponement.

He had told me to come back with another way to satisfy him.

So this was a kind of reprieve—a slow, agonizing one.

Every day became a quiet punishment, sitting in the same drawing room at the same time, eating meals together in silence.

Such a simple act, and yet every repetition made the discomfort grow heavier.

Even after finishing his meal, he wouldn’t leave.

He would just sit there, watching me until I finished every last bite.

He once said he liked people who ate well—and he meant it, it seemed.

It felt like I was a child being tested, and so I did my best to finish my food every day like completing a homework assignment.

Some days, I even wondered if the Grand Duke enjoyed watching me squirm.

Everyone in the world called him a saint—who would believe he had such a cruel little pastime?

The idea that I might be the only one who saw that side of him was lonely. Crushing.

Still, I knew the truth.

Even if someone else knew my full story, the Grand Duke would remain the saint—and I would remain the criminal.

He had saved me, after all. My false confession, my empty “I love you”—he let me stay despite all of it.

That alone made him good, and me the one at fault.

A part of me resented him for it. For not falling for the lie. For not being swayed by my desperate, clumsy seduction.

And so the days went on, me forcing down food, bite by bite, while the silence settled around us.

And from time to time, his cold voice would slip in through the cracks.

“I knew my reputation wasn’t great, but I’m still disappointed. I guess in your eyes, I’m the same kind of trash as they were.”

Trash.

Those people, who grew wealthier every day under the sun while I withered in a dark cellar—they were always seen as the virtuous ones.

I was always the runaway with a bounty on her head. And they? The kind, grieving parents looking for their lost daughter.

But the Grand Duke called them trash.

That simple, careless insult—one that should’ve meant nothing—pierced something deep inside me.

Wasn’t he supposed to be above all this?

A royal by blood, living his noble life, slicing his steak in peace. A man who could have anything he wanted.

Even the blood of someone like me, if he so chose.

Then why—why had he spoken that word, with such contempt in his eyes, as if he stood on my side?

Why was I still here?

When my so-called adoptive parents came to claim me, he could’ve handed me over easily—yet he cast them out.

Again today, he sat at the table, sunlight falling gently on him.

Behind him stood John, the loyal head chef, and the knights who swore their lives to him.

A single beam of sunlight touched the center of my chest, and it ached.

What am I hoping for?

I shook my head, trying to snap myself out of it.

To him, this was just routine. A bit of curiosity. Entertainment.

Rescuing me was likely just an impulse.

Which meant I had to make myself useful.

Before Viscount Langston came looking again.

* * *

Over the past few days, the woman had emptied her plate completely.

Today was no different.

At first, it felt like a ridiculous thing to do—even to him.

No matter how strongly Count Jayden had insisted, it was still absurd for a superior to monitor their subordinate’s meals this closely.

And yet, he knew—if he didn’t watch her, she likely wouldn’t even finish a single plate.

In that sense, this was a marked improvement.

Her waist, which looked fragile enough to snap, finally seemed like it wouldn’t. That was satisfying in its own right.

But the one who’d initiated all this—Jayden himself—was now the picture of disapproval.

“If you keep staring at her like that, I’m amazed she’s not suffering indigestion.”

“You’re the one who told me to watch her.”

“Well, yes, but I meant a gentle gaze, not this…”

Jayden’s eyes drooped like a scolded puppy, then narrowed sharply like a cat’s when they met Kallain’s.

“I didn’t mean the kind of deathly cold stare you’d expect on a battlefield.”

“When did I ever do that?”

“Every day. She looks like she’s one breath away from going pale. If she’s not sick yet, it’s a miracle.”

Kallain only gave a soft, amused huff. Jayden, realizing the conversation was over, returned to his seat after finishing his report.

As always, he worried about his lord—but this wasn’t the first time.

Sighing, the count resumed his tasks: reviewing movements in nearby territories, compiling notable intel, and sorting through correspondence.

Kallain, meanwhile, was reviewing and signing the documents Jayden had organized and brought over.

Jayden was always slower than Kallain.

Where Kallain worked with lazy-looking movements and half-lidded eyes that somehow missed nothing, Jayden was meticulous and slow—carefully checking each line.

Neither approach was necessarily better. Just different styles.

And combined, their opposite strengths always produced results that were fast and flawless.

They had already built several neat stacks of signed documents when Kallain’s hand suddenly stopped.

His eyes had locked on the window, and he didn’t move for a long while.

Outside, the woman could be seen darting around in the training grounds.

Even after all that chaos… she was still going back there.

Whenever their eyes met, she reacted like she’d seen the devil himself—and yet, there she was again.

Did she not realize he could see her from the training grounds?
Or did she want to pretend she didn’t?

Maybe Jayden was right—maybe she was obsessed with what was under the knights’ uniforms.

Still, even so… wasn’t this getting absurd?

“And what exactly are you looking at so intently?”

Jayden had crept closer at some point, his gaze naturally following Kallain’s.

Outside the window, in the middle of the training field, stood a woman in strikingly white clothes—completely out of place, and impossible to miss.

* * *

“Netir, reporting.”

With a calm greeting, Netir cautiously extended his hand.

After days of searching for him, Sylvia was finally able to meet him the moment she arrived.

They had said the monster hunting grounds were treacherous, and indeed, Netir looked like half the man he used to be.

* * *

The sound of hurried footsteps and a knock echoed down the corridor.

At Kallain’s nod, Jayden opened the door.

It was none other than Vikel who appeared in the doorway.

“What is it?”

Despite sensing a subtle change in Kallain’s expression, Vikel delivered his report with his usual dry tone.

“His Majesty is en route to the Detroit Territory.”

A deep line formed on Kallain’s brow—one far heavier than anything seen before when facing Vikel.

So he’s finally coming. That damned brother of his.

It was earlier than expected.

The things you hope will arrive late always show up early—just to throw your insides into chaos.

Like a misfortune handpicked by the gods.

But the emperor was the only man alive in this empire whom Kallain could not outright refuse.

The emperor’s visit to Detroit was a massive event.

The Imperial Family and the Grand Duke of Detroit were like two suns floating above the empire—each brilliant, each dominant.

They were opposing powers who could kill each other at any moment, yet maintained a tenuous balance only because Detroit’s influence had grown strong enough to rival the throne.

Since then, the two had never once set foot in each other’s domain.

It had become an unspoken rule.

And yet now, the emperor himself was coming to Detroit.

The entire Detroit Order mobilized with military precision, adopting a near wartime posture.

“Is it war?”
“It feels ominous. I heard from one of the gate guards this morning—His Majesty’s bringing the entire Central Imperial Army with him.”
“Why now, when there’s been no provocation?”
“They must be sick of seeing Detroit rise in power.”

While speculation ran rampant, the knights of Detroit moved as one.

From the elite soldiers to the outer perimeter guards, not a single one wasted a step.

Even those on leave returned swiftly, making the Grand Duke’s castle more crowded and chaotic than ever before.

At the center of it all, Sylvia stood with a face gone pale as she replayed what she’d just heard.

‘The emperor’s coming?’

The murmur around her only confirmed what she feared.

Her face turned ghostly white.

She looked as if she’d melt into the scattered snow, indistinguishable from the landscape.

Netir quickly stepped forward and waved a hand in front of her face.

“Are you alright?”
“Ah… yes.”

The slight delay in her response betrayed just how far from ‘alright’ she really was.

“Do you know… why His Majesty is coming?”

Her voice trembled with every word.

“No clue. But I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
“…”
“We’ll be protecting this place.”

But her face, already white, turned nearly translucent. She didn’t seem to hear him at all.

Netir tried again and again to reassure her, but she only nodded stiffly, repeating “Yes” like a broken machine, unable to comprehend anything further.

Even after Netir returned to his post under the captain’s orders, Sylvia couldn’t bring herself to move.

It wasn’t until the gatekeeper’s booming voice rang out that she finally stumbled into motion, like she was fleeing.

“His Majesty, arriving!”

Creeaak—

With a sound that sent chills through the air, the towering gate opened, and blinding light poured in.

As the gate closed behind them, shadows stretched over the courtyard, and from the brightness emerged an imposing force of soldiers.

They instantly took up position, facing the Detroit Order in a tense standoff.

And at the center of it all, the Emperor of the Empire—Periord Lutpherion—appeared in no particular hurry.

Seated atop a white horse, his posture regal, his eyes scanned the surroundings with an air of cold detachment.

His gaze alone could cut a man down—such was the overwhelming aura that cloaked him.

If Kallain was ice, then this man was fire. The opposing energies between them couldn’t have been clearer.

A faint smirk tugged at Periord’s lips as if he found all of this—perhaps Detroit itself—amusing.

Or perhaps he was mocking it all.

His expression felt less like condescension and more like outright contempt—not only toward the Grand Duke’s manor, but its master as well.

His eyes searched as if looking for something—or someone—but only settled when Count Jayden appeared.

Even as he was escorted inside, his eyes scanned every part of the estate, as though committing every detail to memory.

Finally, he was shown into a gilded drawing room.

There sat the Grand Duke, poised at the center.

Periord scoffed.

‘Arrogant bastard.’

Sending his old man servant to receive an emperor—without even standing to greet him himself?

No other lord in the empire would dare show him such disrespect.

No one, except Kallain Detroit.