Fernan tilted his head lazily, gazing at the emperor, then briefly glanced at the daughter of Viscount Cerevis.
At that moment, a flash of memory struck through his mind.
The Cerevis family. A house that had fallen out of favor in the capital’s political scene two generations ago due to misaligned connections.
However, although not prominent on the surface, the family was thriving vigorously underground, more than anyone else.
They were a clandestine supplier of drugs, discreetly favored by some of the dirtier nobles.
And they also ran illegal brothels on the outskirts of the capital.
Behind all of this was none other than Viscount Cerevis.
Fernan had learned this fact while investigating the origin of the aphrodisiac Marquis Elodie once tried to feed him through Julia.
Having finished his brief contemplation, Fernan quickly plastered a proper smile on his face.
“I am overwhelmed by how much care Your Majesty has shown for my nephew,” he said.
The emperor, surprised by the compliant response, widened his eyes momentarily before nodding in satisfaction.
“You are no different than my own son, so naturally, I must show concern.”
A fleeting trace of mockery passed through Fernan’s otherwise impeccable smile at these words, and he soon spoke in a meaningful tone.
“However, I was unaware that the Cerevis family was as close to Your Majesty as one of your arms.”
As he said this, his gaze briefly flickered towards the woman sitting demurely. She responded with a shy smile, as if harboring some form of expectation.
Fernan’s expression momentarily hardened, but he quickly turned his attention back to the emperor.
The emperor’s delighted face swiftly crumbled.
“So, does this mean that Your Majesty is behind the black market that Viscount Cerevis manages?” Fernan continued, his tone light yet full of intent.
As expected, the emperor was visibly shaken, his mouth slightly agape.
The emperor quickly attempted to regain his composure.
Fernan, leisurely watching this pathetic display, continued his speech.
“I’ve always been curious. How could a viscount, marginalized from politics, manage such a large-scale business? Now I see the answer.”
There was no way a viscount, cast out of political favor, could have extended his underground influence so covertly without backing.
Everything made sense if the emperor had been supporting and turning a blind eye to it.
“… I don’t understand what you are insinuating, Duke,” the emperor finally said, his voice stern, attempting to sound dignified.
Fernan straightened his head and responded as if regretful.
“Is that so? Then I shall make this matter public and reveal the true mastermind behind it.”
The emperor’s face noticeably stiffened. The daughter of Viscount Cerevis also lowered her gaze nervously, her face pale with anxiety.
Fernan, watching them one by one, stood up from his seat.
“If things continue this way, Your Majesty may end up suffering unnecessary misunderstandings because of your associates. I will send people to the estate right away and deliver the list of illegal trade names I have uncovered directly to the inspection department.”
“W-Wait!”
The emperor gripped the armrest of his throne anxiously and signaled to an attendant with a nod.
The attendant approached the woman who had been sitting like a stone statue, his gesture conveying an unspoken command to escort her out.
The woman, practically dragged out of the audience chamber, repeatedly glanced back with a worried expression.
The moment the door closed with a loud click, the emperor, unable to suppress his rage, raised his voice.
“Duke! How dare you act so impudently! To accuse me of such slander with baseless claims!”
“Slander…”
Fernan’s face, now completely devoid of any trace of a smile, turned cold as he fixed his gaze on the emperor.
“Your Majesty, I am merely one of those who wish for the peace of the Empire.”
“What do you mean by that?”
The emperor glared at him, his eyes burning with suspicion, as if he had just uncovered a seed of rebellion.
Fernan, unfazed by the emperor’s blatant hostility, continued calmly.
“Do you truly believe this is the last of your dishonor that I have kept hidden?”
He had not spent all this time appeasing the emperor’s whims without any plans of his own.
Despite his efforts to appear as a virtuous and benevolent ruler, the emperor was an old man with many dirty secrets. Fernan had plenty of evidence of those very faults in his possession.
All of it for a moment like this.
“So I suggest, for both our sakes, that you refrain from interfering with my marriage any further.”
“You… you…”
“I ask Your Majesty’s cooperation, so that I may continue to serve the Empire with loyalty.”
At the weight of every word that seemed to gnaw at the emperor, the old man pointed a trembling finger at Fernan, his body shaking in anger.
While Fernan had never been particularly subservient to the royal family, he had at least never openly defied the emperor’s will.
This had led the emperor to suspect Fernan’s true intentions countless times, yet always assume that in the end, things would flow according to his own desires.
But this time was different. Fernan now looked like a man with nothing left to lose.
It was as if, should the need arise, he wouldn’t hesitate to commit treason.
The emperor’s lips quivered uncontrollably, unable to mask his expression.
If Fernan truly had nothing left to lose, then the emperor had much more to fear.
With those thoughts lingering, Fernan left the imperial audience chamber without a hitch.
Even after the storm had passed, his face remained expressionless, just as it had been before.
The only thought in his mind was how much he wanted to escape from this palace.
The palace held memories of his childhood, as he had lived there until he was about fifteen.
But since there had never been any good memories, there was no reason for him to feel any nostalgia.
After his father’s death in an accident, Fernan had become an eyesore in the palace.
His uncle, who had suddenly ascended to the position of crown prince due to the death of his older brother, was anxious about his nephew, fearing that the boy might someday take his place.
As a result, every time there was a grand event in the royal family, Fernan found himself in an increasingly awkward position. The emperor went to great lengths to ensure that his nephew stayed far from any position of influence.
Occasionally, during royal banquets, the emperor would place young Fernan in the center of the hall and subject him to subtle but oppressive pressure.
Fernan’s mother, unable to bear seeing her son in such situations, would take him to a small, secluded room before each banquet.
‘If you stay here, no one can hurt you.’
Perhaps that was why, over time, it became a habit for him to retreat to that small room during banquets.
Even after his mother died when he was around ten, he continued to go there.
That shabby, deserted room, where no one else ever came, became the most comfortable place for him.
Even on the night before going to war, he locked himself in that room, trying to fathom his future.
Far away in the banquet hall, a grand celebration was being held, wishing for the safe return of the imperial army.
Despite knowing full well that he had been sent to war to die, the ceremony went on without fail.
As Fernan recalled that day, his steps came to a sudden halt.
Something small, a memory he had long shoved into a corner, abruptly surfaced in his mind.
That day, in that small room, he had met someone.
…A child, to be precise. His golden eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on the memory.
No one ever entered that shabby room except for him, but that day, someone had appeared.
The sharp sound of the door closing had been followed by the quiet sobbing that filled the room. The memory became more vivid.
The pitiful sound of the sobbing had shattered Fernan’s dark musings about his impending death.
So he had approached the child, who seemed to be about thirteen years old.
Perhaps it was because the sight of the child crying alone had overlapped with his own childhood.
And so, in an uncharacteristic move, he had extended his hand and stayed with the child until the tears stopped.
Before leaving, he had told the child his name.
Fernan, now standing completely still, felt his eyes begin to waver.
A memory he had never once recalled in his entire life was now coming to life in his mind, taking shape — the image of that child.
The large, tear-filled eyes. The wavy light-brown hair. The way the child had glanced up at him, gripping his hand tightly.
‘Could you… tell me your name?’
The child’s voice had trembled as the question was asked. And then his own voice had followed.
‘Fernan.’
‘…’
‘If we ever meet again, I’ll hear your name then.’
And now, after all these years, the girl had indeed kept that promise.
‘…My name is Julia.’
‘Do you remember me? We met a long time ago…’
On the day their engagement was arranged, Julia had asked if he remembered her, referring to that very day.
So… that’s what it was.
Fernan pressed a hand to his forehead, as if unsure what expression he should wear.
Julia had remembered him from the beginning.
To him, it was merely a trivial memory buried deep in his mind, one he had never thought of again.
Yet to her, that memory had been so precious that she couldn’t even bring herself to say anything harsh to the man who had caused her so much pain.
Like
a fool, he had failed to realize that when Julia looked at him, she wasn’t seeing the cold, heartless man he had become.
She was seeing the same boy who had comforted her that day.
In retrospect, it was painfully obvious how much weight that memory must have carried for her.
And so, Fernan clenched his jaw as if trying to erase this realization from his mind.
Suddenly, the suffocating weight of emotions surged in his chest like a wave.
—
