ILTDAMH|CHAPTER 86

Chapter 86

Risha’s Identity (1)

“What are you implying! Do you take me for some greedy snake like Kymon, grasping after power that isn’t his?”

“I’ve already heard the rumors, Brother. That the Repaid branch nobles have moved into the capital, using our family’s name to open shops and line their pockets. There was even trouble with the Duchess last time. She let it pass because she is kind—but imagine if it had been the Duke. Do you think the man would have let them live? At best, he would have killed them quietly. At worst, if such a scandal spread, have you not thought about how it would shake Harmon’s position?”

“Your Highness, are we really to believe that a mere duke could dare act against our family?”

“Brother! Listen carefully. The Duke you call ‘mere’—Ruan Canoluf—if not for him, Harmon would have been long dead. He saved my son’s life, placed him on the throne as Crown Prince, and secured his footing. I owe him gratitude. And don’t forget—His Majesty is watching the Repaid family closely after the fall of the Crafts. If word of our family’s tyranny spreads again, I will not hesitate to cast the Repaid family aside.”

“Sister… please, even in jest, do not speak so.”

“Have you ever known me to jest about such things? If discarding this family means saving my son’s life, I will cast you aside without a moment’s hesitation. So mind yourself well—don’t force me into such a decision.”

Fione’s sharp, unyielding expression left Dominic shaken.

He had thought she would be delighted at the thought of becoming Empress. But her words made one thing clear: if he pushed too far, not only would he fail to rise higher—he might drag the entire family to ruin.

Fione, usually gentle to a fault, was terrifying when she hardened her will. And now, Dominic’s head swirled with unease.

***

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

“Haa… I give up.”

Harmon dropped his wooden sword with a groan, sinking to the ground.

Patricia strode over, her voice icy.

“Your Highness, throwing down your sword in the middle of training is the same as handing your life to your enemy. Pick it up.”

Normally she was gentle and mild, but with a blade in hand, the Crown Princess became a merciless instructor.

Harmon, pulling his best pitiful face, whimpered, “Patricia, perhaps I simply have no talent for the sword. Shouldn’t I stop before wasting any more time?”

Patricia’s lips thinned. She had heard such excuses countless times before—her young pupils back in Allomande, little girls aged seven to ten, had always tried to escape training with the same whines. Yet she had forged every one of them into fine knights.

She pressed the wooden blade to Harmon’s throat.

“There is no such thing as ‘talent’ in swordsmanship. Yes, men like Duke Canoluf or Marquis Heinev were born with gifts, but even they became masters only through relentless training. You’ve barely studied a few days and already speak of giving up? Then what will you do when hardships greater than this come? What if you must protect me? Or this empire? Or even yourself? Will you simply hand over your life so easily?”

“…Isn’t that a bit much? I was only frustrated because my skills aren’t improving.” Harmon pouted.

“I warned you from the start. The moment you pick up a sword, you never let it go carelessly. To do so is to surrender your life. Your problem isn’t lack of talent—it’s lack of practice. I was said to have been born with a sword in hand, yet even I trained without fail every day since childhood. When I was in my teens, I practiced more than ten hours a day. And you—training only an hour or two—dare to complain? Such an excuse wouldn’t fool a child. Enough whining. Pick up your sword.”

Ten hours a day?! Surely she doesn’t expect me to…

But Patricia was serious.

“From today, we’ll test this. Three hours a day, every day, for a month. Then we’ll see the result. Now—begin.”

“P–Patricia!”

Grinding his teeth, Harmon raised his sword again and faced her.

***

By the time she returned to the Crown Princess’s palace, three hours had passed. Patricia found Ruan waiting for her.

“Duke? What brings you here?”

“You endure longer than I expected.”

“…What do you mean?”

“The Crown Princess, of course. You know as well as I that the Crown Prince was not made for combat.”

He had glimpsed Harmon earlier, utterly beaten down by Patricia’s training.

Patricia calmly sipped her tea. “Bodies can change. But what about you, Duke? What business brings you here?”

“You’ve been playing an… interesting game.”

“…?”

“Becoming sworn sisters with my wife. What is your intention?”

Patricia arched a brow. “My, you found out sooner than I thought. Did you see me at the cookie shop that day?”

“Cookie shop? Were you there as well?”

Patricia stiffened. So he didn’t see me after all? But I remember clearly—we locked eyes when I left that day.

“Then how did you know?”

“Because my wife showed me the pendant you gave her. She said she had gained a new sister. But that pendant bore the royal crest of Allomande. No one else in this empire could give such a thing but you.”

Ruan set the pendant on the table.

Patricia’s eyes narrowed. So Mer showed him after all…

“That pendant,” Ruan said coldly, “marks its bearer as part of Allomande’s royal family. Are you truly trying to make my wife into a princess?”

The pendant was no ordinary trinket. In Allomande, there were three such pendants:

Prince Raphael’s, engraved with a hawk bearing a sword.

Prince Montana’s, once bearing a hawk with a bow—until his death in the rebellion.

And Patricia’s—engraved with a hawk holding a black rose.

It marked one as royal, equal to a prince or princess, free to walk the palace as they pleased.

Patricia looked at the pendant thoughtfully. “Tch. I told Mer never to take it off. And she gave it to her husband already? That girl is too honest for her own good.”

“Your Highness,” Ruan warned, “whatever your reasons, do not involve my wife in politics.”

Patricia’s lips curved. “I have no such intention. I simply… like her.”

“Like her? Why her, of all people?”

Patricia studied him. Ruan Canoluf—the empire’s sword, the man once called its grim reaper.

She had met him three years ago during a royal delegation. For a brief moment, she had been struck by his beauty—but his heart was colder than ice. She had quickly let go of any girlish admiration, thinking him incapable of love.

And then came the rumor: cursed with only six months left to live. Patricia had not doubted it. Allomande was infamous for its poisons and curses, and this seemed no different.

But when Ruan’s wife disappeared, the man shattered. She had seen him stumble into the palace, face broken with grief, no longer the same person at all.

What sort of woman could transform him so completely?

Was she a breathtaking beauty? A temptress with irresistible charm? Patricia had wondered—until she finally met her, by chance, at a small cookie shop in the city.

She had gone there in disguise, only to witness the owner mistreating an employee named Elena. Patricia had stepped in, intending to help quietly—until the owner escalated and called the guards. Just as she considered revealing her identity, another woman stepped forward: Marican.

Patricia had been stunned when Ruan burst in moments later. The plain, gentle woman who had defended her was his wife.

This is the Duchess he was searching for? This ordinary woman?

Patricia had left disappointed, unable to understand. But curiosity gnawed at her, and when she returned to the palace, she ordered her attendant and knight, Lara, to investigate Marican in secret.