Chapter 96
The hero of the recent war, Captain Henry Bailey, and the man who always drew every gaze—Dante Venachert, Duke of Behern.
People whispered when they saw the two most talked-about figures standing together in conversation.
It was rare enough for their status or positions to ever overlap, let alone stand face-to-face like this.
So it was only natural that soldiers, nobles, and members of the royal family all turned their attention toward them.
Some even openly looked disappointed that they couldn’t hear what was being said.
From afar, the two made a decent picture. Dante even maintained his usual gentlemanly smile as he looked at Henry.
“No matter that I’m not your superior, you should at least try to manage your expression, don’t you think?”
Henry stared at him. Dante’s low voice rang oddly clear even in the noisy banquet hall.
“My apologies if I’ve offended you.”
What an apologetic face, Dante scoffed inwardly. Despite his words, Henry’s gaze remained insolent.
Dante tilted his head slightly, suppressing his irritation. The smile never left his lips.
“At the very least, try to match the atmosphere a little, Captain Bailey.”
“…What atmosphere do you mean—”
“Relax your face. Smile.”
The warmth that had lingered on Dante’s expression moments ago vanished without warning.
“You’re a soldier, so I understand you’re not used to social gatherings. But if you keep looking like your face is rotting, don’t you think that’ll be a problem?”
Only then did Henry seem to notice the crowd’s interest.
Many—no, nearly everyone—was sneaking glances at them, whispering behind their hands.
Henry glanced around and then looked back at Dante.
The Duke raised a brow as if to say, See?
He had greeted Henry long enough.
Dante clicked his tongue softly.
This was a banquet full of watchful eyes anyway, and he had no intention of holding Henry for long.
A mere soldier—once he dug, the truth would come out eventually.
In fact, he didn’t even need to dirty his own hands.
And it wasn’t as though he had any solid proof—only suspicion.
But with the nature of this matter, if he pushed too hard, the boy might get frightened and hide behind Riena, or they might coordinate their stories.
That, Dante could not allow.
Still, he had no intention of letting the situation slide.
Dante gave a short laugh.
“There are quite a few things I want to ask you, but for now, I suppose I’ll leave it for next time—”
Suddenly, Dante’s words cut off. His expression—always relaxed like a predator—cracked in an instant.
His gaze dropped lower, not to Henry’s face but to something hanging far below.
The silver chain that hadn’t been noticeable against the white uniform caught the chandelier light at last.
“…Where did you get that?”
His voice was completely different from everything he had said before.
Henry froze and instinctively looked down. The silver chain of the pocket watch glinted beneath the chandelier.
Riena’s gift.
He swallowed dryly.
He wasn’t foolish enough to misunderstand what Dante’s reaction meant.
The Duke was acting as though he already knew it had something to do with Riena.
And if that was the case, how Dante learned it didn’t matter.
The moment he saw it, the Duke must have already pieced the situation together.
Henry understood instinctively—Dante Venachert was not someone he could deceive with a casual lie.
So when Dante’s voice demanded an answer, Henry spoke the truth almost involuntarily.
“It was a gift.”
“From whom.”
He asked even though he already knew.
The realization made Henry’s stomach twist with irritation.
He didn’t care. Until he found out she was alive, he wasn’t even interested. In fact, he was the one who must have wished she’d vanish.
And now he asks why?
Henry clenched his fist, then slowly loosened it.
“Before I came to Arbern. From Rena.”
“Ah. Rena.”
That ridiculous nickname again.
Dante spoke it, and a vein bulged in his jaw.
Before coming here. Dante bit the inside of his cheek.
The timing matched far too well.
Something surged violently inside him.
Henry calling her by name—her nickname—so familiarly didn’t even matter anymore.
Her maid’s words echoed in his mind: ‘I don’t know who it’s for, but she must’ve agonized over it for a long time.’
Riena hadn’t bought it for herself.
Dante’s sharp gaze fixed on the way Henry had fastened the chain—too high, awkwardly.
A chain hung higher than normal meant only one thing:
Someone who had never fastened a pocket-watch chain before had done it for him.
And that someone was not Henry.
No soldier would fail to attach a chain properly.
A bitter curse rose to Dante’s tongue.
His icy gaze seemed ready to rip the silver chain off Henry’s chest.
The tense atmosphere spread through the banquet hall.
The Duke, who had been smiling all evening, now wore a frozen expression. And the war hero standing before him looked visibly stiff.
Anyone could tell this wasn’t the Duke politely complimenting a soldier on behalf of the royal family.
Normally Dante would have sensed the room and lifted the corners of his mouth, pretending nothing had happened.
But tonight—
He let out a short, humorless exhale and raised his gaze.
“I suppose you’ve recovered completely. Isn’t that right?”
Henry blinked, confused.
He had no idea what the Duke meant.
Before he could piece it together, Dante continued.
“You can move freely now.”
“…If you have something to say, just say it.”
Dante’s head tilted lazily.
An insolent posture, but the Duke no longer cared.
“I heard you intend to spend your life as a soldier. If you resign now, I could help you transfer to a comfortable post.”
“That sounds like Your Grace believes you can decide my place of service.”
“I’d prefer if you answered me.”
In other words—stay away from her.
It was both a warning and a threat.
Henry stared straight into those blazing golden eyes—the eyes that looked ready to kill him—then answered firmly.
“No.”
***
According to the attendant… they looked close enough to be taken for lovers.’
The letters stamped on the crumpled paper stabbed into Dante’s vision.
“Hah.”
A laugh escaped him.
It was absurd.
Truly, unbelievably absurd.
Were they both making a fool of him?
His stomach churned. Dante swallowed hard against the nausea clawing up his throat.
He’d already felt this way the moment he’d seen that silver chain on that arrogant bastard’s uniform.
‘Has the telegram arrived?’
Ah, the telegram…’
‘Where is the daily telegram from Florian?’
‘Y-yes! Right before Your Grace arrived—it’s on your desk.’
And now that he’d read today’s report on Riena’s activities, the heat surged again—burning, then freezing, then burning once more.
He hated the feeling.
In the year she had spent away from him—lying, running, disappearing—Dante had purposely never asked what she’d done.
He could imagine well enough.
And he had been willing to accept anything she wanted to hide.
If she had met someone during that time—if she concealed it—he would have let himself be fooled.
That’s why, when he asked how she knew Henry, he pretended not to notice her evasive gaze.
Because in the end, Riena Bronte was under his control now.
But now—now she’d slipped from his grasp again and enjoyed a secret meeting behind his back.
The telegram crumpled violently in his hand.
His fingers trembled from how tightly he clenched it.
Dante let out a shallow breath.
He had thought she was secured under his control.
But Riena Bronte mocked him once again, slipping out of his reach.
And if so, there were only two things left for him to do.
Tighten his grip on her even further—
or remove her from his sight entirely.
And if he had to choose—
His answer would be the same as always.
The moment he read the telegram at the townhouse, Dante grabbed a pen.
His handwriting was sharp and clean as he wrote the order he’d already planned:
A request to investigate Henry Bailey thoroughly.
Two copies, just the same.
One would go to Sergeant Evans Reims.
The other, to Callis.
After handing them to his attendant, Dante left the townhouse.
Now, the train bound for the final stop pulled out of Arvern Station.
