YATED 05

~Chapter 5~

“Why?”

Gregory, the officially acknowledged son among the Emperor’s illegitimate children and currently the presumed first-in-line heir who had been granted the title of Crown Prince, had recently grown deeply dissatisfied with how affairs in the Imperial Palace were unfolding. His father, it seemed, was slowly slipping into madness.

“By Imperial decree.”

The servants and knights who guarded the Emperor with unwavering loyalty absolutely refused to let him pass beyond this door.

Only those explicitly permitted by the Emperor himself could enter through this door to meet him—and Gregory was not among them.

The Crown Prince, who dared not defy the Emperor, encountered Grand Duke Lusenford approaching from behind. He was one of only three individuals in the entire Empire entitled to such a title.

Unlike Gregory, the Grand Duke stood exceptionally tall, his build perfectly suited to the Imperial family’s distinctive sleeveless overcoats and capes—so much so that he needed no ornate shoulder epaulets or tassels to enhance his presence.

Most notably, the Grand Duke’s signature attire—draping a cape over only one shoulder, leaving the other broad, firm shoulder and muscular forearm fully exposed—accentuated his formidable masculinity even more strikingly.

Thus, Gregory always felt intimidated by the Grand Duke, who was seven years his senior.

“The Empire’s second sun has arrived first, I see.”

The Grand Duke offered a razor-sharp bow of etiquette. Precisely because of that, he was even harder to deal with.

All eight years the Emperor had spent desperately trying—by any means necessary—to produce an heir with the Empress had been due entirely to the existence of Pheon, whose talents were excessively brilliant. Despite the Emperor’s frantic efforts, the Empress had borne no children since Pheon.

“It’s been a while, Grand Duke.”

Unlike Pheon’s deep, resonant, and powerful voice, Gregory’s reply still sounded boyish, unable to shed the traces of adolescence. Internally, he flinched involuntarily.

“Yes, it has indeed been some time. I gather Your Highness has come to request an audience with His Majesty.”

“I’ve also come out of concern for Her Imperial Majesty the Empress’s condition.”

Gregory knew well that as Crown Prince, he ought to carry more dignity. He involuntarily recalled the Emperor’s piercing, scrutinizing gaze that meticulously assessed every detail.

Unconsciously, Gregory hunched his shoulders. Everything weighed heavily on him, and suddenly a surge of frustration and resentment rose up, nearly overwhelming him. He truly was doing his absolute best.

“Yes. Everyone is deeply worried.”

Pheon nodded. Despite his mother being in a comatose state, he appeared remarkably composed.

Just as the Emperor constantly compared Gregory unfavorably to Pheon, it seemed Pheon truly knew how to master his emotions. Gregory asked the much taller Pheon:

“Are you alright, Grand Duke?”

“Me, Your Highness?”

“I asked because you seem no different from usual.”

For Grand Duke Pheon, the Empress’s collapse was certainly sorrowful—but more than sorrow, he felt an overwhelming sense of liberation.

Perhaps this was even better. His mother’s life must have felt like hell; now, lost in unconsciousness, she might finally be freer.

Maybe even Pheon, worn down by the Emperor’s relentless torment, was losing his sanity. To survive this hell, everyone had to go slightly mad.

“For anyone, a mother’s collapse is a shocking event.”

The Grand Duke replied quietly. Their conversation naturally halted with the arrival of Duke Ostein.

“Please have some refreshments, Your Grace. Your Highness.”

The servant approached, offering refreshments. “Your Highness the Crown Prince” was conspicuously absent from his address.

Indeed. Only two individuals could enter through that door which even the Crown Prince could not pass: Duke Ostein and Grand Duke Lusenford.

One was the ruler of the Duchy of Ostein, recognized by the late Emperor and a member of the Imperial family; the other was a Grand Duke acknowledged by the current Emperor, whose prestige was immense. Though the Crown Prince shouldn’t be overshadowed by them, neither could he afford to ignore their status.

Leaving Gregory alone, the door closed firmly once again.

*

As the Empress, who was expected to awaken soon, remained unconscious, the nobles held their breath and watched the Imperial Palace closely, daring not to host loud parties or concerts.

Everyone prayed for the Empress’s swift recovery. Even though she was confined due to misconduct and rarely appeared at official events, the fact that the all-powerful Emperor himself tended to her demanded that they all keep their heads low.

Naturally, those privileged enough to enter the palace rushed to do so—but even that was not permitted.

The Emperor had already erupted in anger, declaring that apart from his half-brother waiting in Altein Palace, his daughter, and Grand Duke Lusenford, he needed no one else. Even the Crown Prince was anxiously submitting a formal audience request; those beneath him stood no chance.

Perhaps thanks to this, Grand Duke Lusenford—and Caella alongside her father—were allowed in and out of the palace freely.

Though the pretext was praying for Her Imperial Majesty the Empress’s recovery, the truth was that Caella could no longer bear to see her father alone with the Emperor, so she always accompanied him to the palace.

‘What a relief. Thanks to Her Imperial Majesty the Empress collapsing, His Imperial Majesty pays no attention to Father—truly fortunate.’

Perhaps she might live longer than the average lifespan of a Lusenford warhorse. Whether that was good or bad, she couldn’t tell. Just then, someone called out to her.

“Oh my, who do we have here? Isn’t this our young Duchess?”

The Lavalle mother and daughter approached. Duchess Maria Luisa Lavalle of Monde, known for her straightforward and warmhearted nature, was a close friend of the Empress and had often cared for Pheon during his childhood.

Because of that, Beatrice Lavalle had become Pheon’s first love and inseparable childhood friend. Whenever Caella visited the palace, Pheon was always with Beatrice.

Standing before Beatrice, hailed as the beauty of the century, Caella felt as though she had turned into some meaningless object in the corridor.

It was probably because she completely lost her presence whenever Pheon was around. Meanwhile, deep inside, her pride—burned to ashes long ago—rose again, blackened and bitter.

“Oh dear, you grow lovelier every time I see you. Long time no see.”

At moments like this, Caella was reminded once more that this was reality. The sharp sting of inferiority jolted her awake, proving this was no dream.

The bone-deep pain arose from her unrecognized status as a wife—her wounded pride, resentment, and a mixture of jealousy and inadequacy she couldn’t even distinguish.

There was no clearer signal than this sharp agony. How ironic. Perhaps God truly pitied her after all. Caella managed a smile befitting a twenty-one-year-old noblewoman.

“Yes. It’s been a while, Duchess Monde. Lady Lavalle.”

By now, Duchess Monde clearly stood with her shoulders raised proudly—her daughter had become the belle of high society.

After all, marrying her daughter into a good household offered hope to escape their dire financial straits, so desperate that they might have had to tear down their own manor and sell even the building materials.

Seeing Duchess Monde’s unusually bright, full-moon-like face alongside Beatrice Lavalle’s effortless, unadorned beauty, something dark and scalding flared once more in Caella’s chest.

“Hello, Caella.”

Beatrice’s oddly prickly tone—despite having known Caella since childhood—clearly revealed she still harbored resentment over the incident at Altein Palace. Caella, unwilling to even address her as “older sister,” stayed silent.

“How is Her Imperial Majesty? I haven’t been able to visit, you know. Is His Majesty very angry?”

Ignoring Duchess Monde’s coquettish tone, Caella drifted into thought.

No matter how many times she was reborn, the victors would always be Beatrice—docilely standing there, waiting for her uncouth, graceless mother to speak for her—and the Emperor.

“I’m not sure myself. I’ve never been inside.”

“What? You’re Imperial family and frequent Altein Palace—how could you not know?”

Yet even dying peacefully in the Kragnia Empire required effort.

Knowing her daughter had been expelled from Altein Palace, Duchess Monde deliberately spoke with a sharp jab. Though Caella hadn’t been the one to expel her, she was the convenient target for the Duchess’s ill feelings.

“His Imperial Majesty himself tends to Her Imperial Majesty.”

“Oh dear, I heard His Imperial Majesty dotes on you so much, I thought you’d know something.”

This was typical noble sarcasm. Having endured it so often, Caella didn’t even feel it worth responding to.

In the past, she’d argued back vigorously—but in the end, she always ended up looking pitiful.

Without strong familial backing and with a husband who refused to acknowledge her, a woman was always this wretched. Childhood affection held no weight in marriage. Pheon himself had been the first to discard those memories and feelings.

“Even as Imperial family, sometimes all one can do is sit quietly. We’re no different from you, are we?”

Caella refused to answer the Duchess’s stubborn, insistent remark—desperate to diminish her and force agreement that they were equals.

Since people always said her face looked cold if she didn’t smile, merely staring would be enough for Duchess Monde to understand exactly what she was thinking.

She didn’t even want to win anymore. She knew Beatrice had Pheon; let them figure things out between themselves—or rather, she lacked even the energy to speak.

“Caella. His Imperial Majesty requests your presence. Let’s go.”

A strong, clear voice roused the listless young duchess.

“Oh my, our Ph—”

Color returned to Duchess Monde’s face—but her greeting, which would have been several degrees more effusive than what she’d offered Caella, was abruptly cut short.

“Good day to both of you.”

Pheon dismissed Duchess Monde and Beatrice with a single, indifferent nod, his eyes fixed solely on Caella.

“Let’s go.”

He even extended his hand naturally, as though a gentleman escorting a lady.

‘What’s going on?’

Pheon, who always brightened at the sight of Beatrice, had completely ignored her, offering only a perfunctory “both of you” greeting. Caella stared at him, thoroughly bewildered.

But as he stretched his hand further, signaling her to take it, she had no choice but to place her left hand atop his.

“Then, Duchess, we’ll take our leave.”

Caella bowed to Duchess Monde and quickly turned away. Probably just protocol—he must be cautious in formal settings. She shouldn’t overthink it. She moved to walk away—or tried to.

“You’d do well to be more careful within the palace, Duchess. His Imperial Majesty’s eyes and ears are everywhere.”

Caella involuntarily froze at Pheon’s low voice. He stood firmly in place, staring directly at Duchess Monde as he spoke.

“I worry someone who truly understands the difference between a duchess and a ducal daughter might overhear. If you’ll excuse us.”

Pheon fully enclosed Caella’s hand in his and gently tugged. Still utterly confused, Caella followed reluctantly—after all, they needed to escape the fallout of that bombshell immediately.

Just now, Pheon had clearly emphasized the difference between the Duchy of Ostein and the Duchy of Monde—on behalf of his mother, who had once cared for him.

His message, wrapped in perfect politeness and respect: “How dare a mere duchess behave so presumptuously toward the Duchess of Ostein.”

By tomorrow—or even this afternoon—the news would spread across the capital city of Krain.

In the palace, gathered with nobles anxious over the Empress’s critical condition, Grand Duke Lusenford had just made a tremendous statement. Already, Caella could feel sharp, burning gazes piercing her back and the back of her head.

“I’m sorry, Caella. She took her frustration over the Altein Palace incident out on you. It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

Once they’d walked far enough to ensure privacy, Pheon apologized first.

“No, it’s alright.”

Caella’s mouth reflexively produced the polite, ceremonial modesty expected of her.

“We both don’t seem alright, though.”

Pheon offered a bitter smile but didn’t let go of Caella’s hand.

“I’m sorry. I’ll make sure you never hear such words again.”

“It really is fine…”

“It’s not fine. If anyone should hear those words, it’s me—not you. And claiming nobles and Imperial family are the same crossed a line.”

Usually, Pheon’s cold, aloof nature was directed at her—but this time, it was aimed at Duchess Monde. Yet Caella, familiar with that coldness, instinctively hunched her shoulders slightly.

‘We never should have married.’

She realized once more: they could have remained on friendly terms only if they hadn’t married. Before their marriage, this man had been kind to her.

If nothing else, this time, she absolutely must not marry him—never again. Since her father was still alive, there was no need for her to marry anytime soon.

The Emperor would be too preoccupied using Beatrice as a hostage to manipulate Pheon.

Caella considered it fortunate that she wouldn’t have to witness her husband losing his mind over another woman again. This time, the possibility of a peaceful death had slightly increased for her.

But the moment they entered the antechamber outside the Empress’s chamber to meet the Emperor, his words as he received their greetings shattered her hopes completely.

“You two look wonderfully matched entering together like that.”

Duke Ostein, already inside, merely smiled faintly at his half-brother’s remark.

“Hearing such words, Your Majesty must be ready to arrange marriages for your children.”

Though Pheon casually deflected the comment, Caella felt cold sweat trickle down her back—a chilling draft swept eerily over her nape. She quickly withdrew her hand from Pheon’s.

“He’s already twenty-eight. His mother lies collapsed over there—who else but me is left to arrange his marriage?”

In Pheon’s view, the Emperor barked rather well—unnecessarily well, in fact. Who would willingly offer their daughter to Grand Duke Lusenford, whom the Emperor clearly despised? Only someone like Duchess Monde, desperate for access to the North’s wealth, would dare step forward.

Thus, Caella—left utterly unprotected after her father’s death—was pushed into marrying him. Precisely because she had no one and nothing, even mild threats were enough to control her completely.

“It’s most important that Her Imperial Majesty regains consciousness. As for me, I’ll remain the same no matter how much older I grow.”

For the unfortunate duchess, Grand Duke Lusenford had been the only lifeline she could grasp back then—and even that rope was rotten.

Pheon couldn’t bear to look at Caella standing silently beside him, so he deliberately turned his gaze away, feigning indifference.

He was used to forcibly avoiding her—he’d done it so often in his past life. If he looked, his eyes would linger, his heart would follow, and above all, the sharp-eyed Emperor would instantly see that she was his weakness. He couldn’t look.

“What do you mean ‘the same’? Wait until you’re my age—every day brings change. Isn’t that right, Adeo?”

When Adeo nodded, Pheon added another indifferent remark.

“Your Majesty tends to Her Imperial Majesty personally—that’s why. Still, for the sake of the Empire, you must remain in good health.”

Though inwardly cursing for the Emperor to die quickly, outwardly offering blessings for longevity had become second nature to him. Duke Ostein readily agreed.

“You’re absolutely right, Your Highness.”

“I heard you haven’t been sleeping well, so I brought some tea to help. Please drink a cup an hour before bed, Your Majesty.”

Yet despite himself, his eyes still drifted toward the small, polite voice, the respectful posture, and the careful way she set down the basket containing the tea.

He ought to gouge out those eyes—now clear after the brainwashing had lifted. No—without eyes, he’d chase her by sound; if deaf, he’d grope for her in the air with his hands. Pheon silently berated himself again for his sins.

He had starved her to death. Starved a noble young duchess to death. He didn’t even deserve to look at her.

“Thank you, Caella. No one else cares for me with such delicacy but you, my niece.”

How absurd. Caella scoffed inwardly. After always despising Duke Ostein as a bastard, he now called her “niece”? Then again, she herself had little right to speak, groveling to appease the Emperor and avoid a miserable end.

“Given the timing, a prince from Kerujan is coming. The visit was already scheduled, so it can’t be canceled. Thus, Caella, I’d like you to prepare the banquet to welcome him.”

Pheon remembered the prince’s arrival from Kerujan. He recalled it only because that very prince had also been considered a potential husband for the Duchess of Ostein—narrowly losing out to him in the final selection.

From across the sea, another suitor for Caella’s hand was on his way.