Chapter 77
The Person You Least Want to Meet
Thirty minutes earlier, Ruan had gone to see Harmon after reading the report from Cassel about the rebels.
“I hear the trial is set for a week from now,” Ruan said.
“It will be held behind closed doors,” Harmon replied, his expression heavy as he sipped his tea.
Behind closed doors…
“Then the verdict is already decided, isn’t it?”
Harmon gave no answer, only silence.
“So His Majesty intends to be uncompromising. That must not have been an easy decision.”
“It seems His Majesty was shocked that his own brother shows no remorse whatsoever for his actions.”
“It would be stranger if the prince did repent,” Ruan said evenly. “But even if we set him aside, there is still Lord Kymon. He has been stripped of his titles and committed open treason, and yet there remain many nobles who support him. Executing him will not be easy.”
“I know,” Harmon murmured. “And the Empress herself… apart from standing by her brother, she hasn’t committed any great wrong.”
“The Empress will be deposed, then confined to the Spire for the rest of her life, never to leave. As for the prince and Lord Kymon, the law of the Empire leaves no room for mercy. They brought knights into the Imperial Palace and even raised blades to His Majesty’s throat. Execution is the only fitting judgment.”
“Do you truly think they must be executed?” Harmon asked quietly.
Ruan’s expression hardened. He had no patience for Harmon’s wavering.
“Your Highness, this was rebellion. There is no mercy for traitors.”
Ruan’s voice was firm, and Harman could not hide his troubled heart. At last he nodded slowly.
“You’re right. They stormed the palace with swords drawn. The law of the Empire must be carried out.”
“Then I’ll report to His Majesty that this is how the matter will proceed. With that, I’ll take my leave.”
“What? Already? You’ve been here less than ten minutes.”
“Your Highness, I am on leave. In truth, I didn’t need to come at all. Please notify me when the date of the execution is set. Before the prince is put to death, there is something I must settle with him.”
With a bow, Ruan left the Crown Prince’s palace.
…
“Master?”
“What is all this? Where’s my wife?”
Ruan’s carriage had halted near the market district. He spotted Clea and Charles burdened with bundles of goods, and strode toward them. Charles greeted him quickly.
“My lady is at the dessert shop just over there.”
“I’ll escort her myself. You two return home ahead of us.”
“Yes, master.”
Smiling, Clea and Charles agreed. Ruan quickened his pace, eager to see Marican, and made straight for the dessert shop.
But as he neared, he froze. Through the window, he saw his wife speaking to the guards, explaining something while a man lay groaning on the floor. The guard captain loomed toward her, his stance threatening.
What is this?
Ruan pushed the door open, his eyes cold.
“I’m curious,” he said softly, his voice like a blade, “what kind of fool dares to lay a hand on the Duchess of Canoluf.”
“D-Duke!”
Captain Max paled, stammering at the sight of him.
Ruan’s gaze shifted to the man on the floor. “Tell me—who was it that dared to touch my wife?”
W-wife?
Max felt ice crawl up his spine.
Not long ago, the Duke—thought dead—had returned, shaking the entire Empire as he scoured the capital for his missing duchess. Everyone remembered the uproar. The gossip sheets had been filled with her portrait. And now, here she stood.
So she really has returned…
Max looked at Marican, and his throat went dry.
“That… the Duchess?” the shopkeeper stammered, still bewildered.
Max’s glare cut toward him, full of blame, before he turned back to Marican and bowed deeply.
“Duchess… forgive me. There seems to have been a terrible misunderstanding.”
What?
Marican seethed inwardly. Moments ago, he had ignored her entirely, siding with the shopkeeper without hesitation. Now, at the Duke’s appearance, he groveled like a whipped dog.
“Just now you called it an ‘understanding’?” Her voice was sharp. “You refused to hear a word from me, believed only this shopkeeper, and now, the instant my husband enters, your tone changes? How can someone like you serve as captain of the guard? If the Crown Prince himself had come through that door and taken the shopkeeper’s side, would you have dragged me away without question?”
“N-never, my lady! You’re mistaken—please believe me,” Max stammered, sweat beading on his forehead.
Ruan stepped closer to Marican and took her hand gently.
“Are you unharmed, my love?”
The touch steadied her anger, if only a little.
“Yes… but why are you here? Where are Clea and Charles?”
“I sent them back to the manor. They had too much to carry.”
“But… weren’t you at the palace?”
“I finished sooner than expected. I thought I might join you for shopping.”
The shopkeeper, realizing at last who stood before him, collapsed to his knees, bowing until his forehead touched the floor.
“D-Duchess, forgive me! I had no idea… I beg your pardon!”
“You should be begging her,” Marican said coldly, turning to where Elena stood—only to find the other woman gone.
“Ah, she left as soon as the Duke entered,” the shopkeeper stammered. “She said there was no need for her to stay, but she would thank you properly if she saw you again.”
“I hardly did anything worth thanking,” Marican murmured.
Ruan’s eyes narrowed as he regarded the groveling man. “Wife, what should be done with him?”
Marican hesitated. The shopkeeper had boasted only moments ago that he was kin to Marquis Repaid—the Empress’s family, tied to the Crown Prince himself. To strike him down here could cause trouble.
Better to ask Elena’s opinion.
“Elena, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Marican turned to her. “What do you think should be done with him?”
“M-me?”
“If you wish, I can have him charged with exploitation and handed over to the guard. He’s been buying your cookies for pennies and selling them for a fortune. But… if it were me, I’d choose something more practical.”
“I agree,” Elena said after a moment. “Rather than punishing him, I’d prefer to be paid fairly for my cookies. I mean to keep selling them, after all.”
The shopkeeper seized his chance, scrambling upright. He clasped her hands with desperate eagerness.
“Elena, I was wrong. Truly wrong. From now on, I’ll pay you three pein—no, six pein each! That way you’ll have profit after expenses. Will that do?”
“Six pein? Really? You won’t go back on your word once they leave?”
“Of course not. They’ll be witnesses. Isn’t that so, Duchess?”
Marican’s lips curved into a faint smile.
“Why not put it in writing?”
Both Elena and the shopkeeper blinked.
“In… writing?”
“Yes. A contract, specifying the price and the term. What do you say?”
The shopkeeper faltered. “You mean… right now?”
“Do you refuse?”
“N-no, of course not, Duke, Duchess—only, I’ve nothing prepared—”
“That’s no concern,” Ruan said. He signaled, and the coachman hurried inside.
“Bring pen and paper.”
“Yes, master.”
Moments later, the supplies were laid before them.
“Then let us draft it,” Ruan said.
Cornered, the shopkeeper sat and began to write.
“For the remaining term of our agreement, the price of cookies shall be raised from two pein to six. At the contract’s end, extension will be by mutual consent. During this period, the price shall not be lowered. Violation will require payment of half the profits thus far earned from cookie sales to Elena. Does this suffice?”
Elena read it carefully, then nodded. The shopkeeper, grimacing, did the same.
“Good. Sign it,” Ruan commanded.
They both signed.
“One more thing,” Marican said. “Here—add a witness section. Ruan, and you as well, Captain Max, will sign.”
“M-me?” Max blanched.
Marican’s gaze sharpened. “Otherwise, what assurance do we have this won’t be dismissed as void the moment we leave? With the Duke and the captain of the guard as witnesses, no one can deny it. Surely a man tied to House Repaid would not stoop to such petty dishonor… would he?”
“O-of course not, my lady!” the shopkeeper cried, bowing again.
Reluctantly, both Ruan and Max signed as witnesses.
“There. Keep your copies,” Marican said. Then she turned to Elena. “If he dares go back on this, come straight to the Duke’s manor. Understood?”
“Yes, my lady. Thank you.”
“Though it seems we can’t buy your cookies today,” Marican added with regret.
Elena frowned. “But… when did this happen?”
She peered into her basket and gasped. The cookies were gone, replaced by a pouch stuffed with coins—three hundred pein in all.
“That other woman must have left it,” the shopkeeper muttered.
Why? Why would anyone go this far for me?
Elena’s thoughts whirled.
Born an orphan, she had never known anyone to take her side. No matter what happened, people always suspected her first. Even when she was proven innocent, no one ever apologized.
When she was adopted from the orphanage, she had dared to hope she might live like a noble’s daughter. But the noble who took her in tried to defile her, and she fled. Since then, she had trusted no noble, leaning only on the information guild where she trained in swordplay and skills, surviving by grit and coin.
Later, she dreamed of opening a cookie shop with Kat, whom she loved like a younger sister. She baked as a test, and the sweets became popular. Yet when she asked for fair payment, the shopkeeper sneered and exploited her. She had wanted to strike him down, but restrained herself—knowing the law would never favor a nameless orphan.
And yet now… strangers had defended her. One even ate cookies off the floor, then left behind a fortune. The Duchess of Canoluf herself had stood at her side.
Why? Why do they care? Nobles are always selfish, two-faced, grasping for their own advantage. So why are you different? You’re the Duchess—next in power only to the Imperial family itself. You gain nothing by helping me. So why… why are you all standing up for me?
Elena could not comprehend it.
