Chapter 11
Ayla could not bear to watch any longer.
If Byron said one more word of nonsense, she felt she might jump in and strangle him on the spot.
Fortunatelyâor unfortunatelyâByron staggered over to his bed and collapsed onto it. He was so drunk that it was almost impressive he had managed to find the bed on his own.
She remained hidden for quite a while, watching to make sure he had truly fallen asleep. He did not move even once. He looked less like a sleeping man and more like a corpse.
Now all she had to do was sneak into his room.
The only problem was that the distance from the tree to the window was a little too far.
If she jumped with all her strength, she could probably catch the windowsill. But that would expose her too much, and it would make far too much noise.
There has to be another way…
She looked around.
Just then, the moon emerged from behind the clouds again, and in its light she noticed a carved stone relief attached to the outer wall of the building.
She couldn’t tell what it depicted, but if she could step on that carving, getting into the room would be much safer.
Should I try it?
Byron was sleeping like the dead, and no guards were nearby.
Having made up her mind, Ayla pushed off the thick tree branch with all her strength toward the wall.
The first step was a success.
She grabbed onto the wall safely and carefully stretched one foot toward the windowsill.
Got it.
Tap. Tap.
The landing made two faint sounds, but Byron, dead asleep from drinking, didn’t wake.
Keeping herself pressed against the wall, she glanced outside.
The guards in the distance hadn’t noticed anything either.
Having successfully entered the room, Ayla headed straight for Byron’s desk.
It was where the letters she had always wanted to read were kept.
After making sure Byron was still asleep, she picked up an elegant letter sealed with red wax.
Fortunately, it had already been opened.
I have given your proposal careful thought.
I, too, wish to hunt the young lion that acts as it pleases.
However, I believe you know as well as I do that hunting a lion protected by a great white wolf is no easy task.
Besides, you once failed when you tried to hunt the old lion before.
Therefore, I will pretend I never heard your proposal.
What does this mean…?
Hunting lions?
Byron was about as far removed from hunting as anyone could be.
He hated physical labor and spent nearly all his time indoors.
His pale skin, untouched by sunlight, proved as much.
So why was he talking about hunting?
It didn’t take much thought to realize the letter wasn’t talking about literal hunting.
The other letters were much the same.
They all spoke of hunting lions or wolves.
Each one had different handwriting and different seals, meaning they had come from different people.
I wish there were another clue…
After checking once more that Byron was still asleep, she carefully returned the letters to their original place.
Then she noticed something else on the desk.
A reply written by Byron himself.
Perhaps it hadn’t been sealed yet.
Or perhaps he had rewritten it because he wasn’t satisfied with the first draft.
Whatever the reason, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for her.
Swallowing nervously, Ayla picked up Byron’s reply.
I know very well what concerns you.
That arrogant wolf protecting the lion frightens you, doesn’t it?
But do not worry.
I have raised an excellent hunting dog.
My loyal hunting dog will soon eliminate that white wolf.
So join forces with me, and together we shall hunt the lion.
P.S. It seems you have forgotten.
I still possess proof that you once worked together with me.
Ayla’s expression darkened as she lowered the letter.
She fell deep into thought.
The hunting dog Byron raised…
Does he mean me?
He did keep dogs.
But they certainly weren’t hunting dogs.
They were tiny, adorable little pets.
It has to be me.
She herself had often compared herself to Byron’s hunting dog.
If the hunting dog referred to her…
Then the great white wolf in the letter had to be her fatherâ
Rodrik Elren Weisshafen.
Cold sweat broke out across her back.
Was assassinating the head of House Weisshafenâthe family known as the Empire’s Shieldâmerely one step in a much larger plot to kill someone else?
She still couldn’t identify who the young lion referred to.
But whoever it was had to hold a position even higher than a duke.
…Just who is this man?
Her face turned pale as she stared at Byron’s sleeping back.
Who exactly was Byron?
What kind of terrifying conspiracy was he planning?
A chill ran down her spine.
Only when she realized too much time had passed did she hurriedly leave the room.
She had to return to the attic before anyone noticed.
* * *
Back in the attic, Ayla lay awake thinking about the strange letters she had read.
Who exactly was the young lion?
Or perhaps it wasn’t a person at all.
She assumed the great white wolf referred to Rodrik.
But perhaps it represented not Rodrik himself, but House Weisshafen as a whole.
If that were true, then the lion might also symbolize a noble house or some organization.
If only I had paid more attention during my lessons.
Running both hands through her silky silver hair, Ayla let out a frustrated sigh.
During the two years she had lived as the duke’s daughter, Rodrik had gradually begun preparing her to become his heir after she completed her basic etiquette education.
He had taught her the history of the Pelles Empire and House Weisshafen…
The Empire’s current political situation…
And the major noble families.
Unfortunately, back then, Ayla had been completely distracted by Byron’s plan, knowing it would soon be carried out.
She believed she would never truly become the Weisshafen heir, so she had only half-listened to the lessons.
She racked her brain for a long time, searching her memories.
In the end, she fell asleep without discovering even the slightest clue about the identity of the young lion.
* * *
“My lord.”
After drinking until late into the night, Byron had only just fallen asleep when an unwelcome voice woke him.
His face immediately twisted into a deep frown.
Everyone in the hideout knew how much he hated being awakened before he got up on his own.
“…My lord. You need to wake up.”
It was Cloudâ
Byron’s most loyal shadow.
Cloud would never wake him unless it was something truly important.
Knowing that, Byron reluctantly sat up in bed.
The sky outside was still dim.
The sun had only recently risen.
“Isn’t this the time that girl should be training? Why are you here instead of supervising her?”
Still irritated from having his sleep interrupted, Byron spoke sharply.
For most people, the day was just beginning.
But for Byron, it was still the middle of the night.
“I know this is disrespectful, but urgent news has arrived, so I had no choice but to wake you. I apologize.”
Ignoring Byron’s irritation, Cloud quickly got to the point.
Urgent news?
What kind of news could possibly make Cloud risk angering him like this?
“What happened?”
This had better be worth it.
Thinking that, Byron grabbed the glass of water beside his bed.
His throat was dry from last night’s heavy drinking.
“Lady Hailing has fallen seriously ill.”
Hailingâ
Ayla’s middle nameâ
had originally been Ophelia’s family name.
After marrying into House Weisshafen and becoming the Duchess, it had remained only as her middle name.
However, in front of Byron, who was still hopelessly obsessed with Ophelia, calling her “the Duchess” was forbidden.
Nor could his subordinates casually address someone of her status by her first name.
So they referred to her simply as Lady Hailing.
Cough! Cough!
Byron choked on his water.
He coughed violently, unable to believe what he had just heard.
“W-What did you say? Explain it to me.”
Normally, Byron was calm and composed.
But when it came to Ophelia…
He never could be.
She was the only person who could make him worry…
The only one who could make him lose his composure.
“It’s information that came urgently from our contact inside the ducal household. We don’t know the details yet, but it appears her condition is very serious. They say she suddenly collapsed… and has yet to regain consciousness.”
As Cloud continued his report, Byron’s face grew paler and paler.
