Chapter 33
Step, step.
Dante walked through the grand palace corridor with his usual composed and resonant stride.
The hallway was adorned with opulent decorations—gold, sculptures, and all manner of extravagance.
Eventually, he stopped in front of a large door, richly carved and gilded.
His low voice broke the silence.
“Announce me.”
The guard posted at the door gave Dante a respectful nod, then knocked carefully on the door to the inner chamber.
Moments later, the doors opened.
Dante entered the office and gave a small nod toward the man lounging on the sofa—Crown Prince Leicht.
“As I mentioned, I’ve come in person, Your Highness.”
“You’ve arrived, Brother. Please, sit. Bring the tea.”
Leicht gestured casually as he spoke.
The moment Dante took a seat, maids approached and carefully set down two cups of freshly brewed tea before the Crown Prince and the Duke.
Dante quietly observed the scene.
Then, suddenly, he let out a soft chuckle.
Reichert frowned, confused by the unexpected reaction.
He asked, brow furrowed,
“Why are you laughing?”
“At what?”
Dante returned his gaze, expressionless, as if nothing had happened.
Reichert tilted his head, looking slightly baffled. …Did I imagine it?
He was sure Dante had just laughed.
Ignoring Reichert’s puzzled expression, Dante wasted no time once the maids had left the room.
“Why did you visit the Behern Palace?”
“…Most people would start with a proper greeting first, Brother.”
“Well. Not sure you, of all people, are in a position to talk about etiquette—especially when you barge into someone’s palace without notice, while the owner is away.”
Reichert bit back a curse as the Duke spoke with no attempt to soften his tone.
Still, he maintained a calm expression and gave a slow nod.
“I happened to be passing nearby and stopped in to pay my respects. I had no time to send word in advance. Naturally, I didn’t know you were away.”
What a load of crap.
Dante raised an eyebrow at the blatant lie.
He wasn’t foolish enough to misunderstand the significance of Reichert sitting around the palace for hours, waiting.
With a deliberate smile tugging at the corner of his lips, Dante lifted his teacup.
“I do hope coming all this way proves worthwhile.”
“It will. That, I’m sure of.”
Reichert’s expression hardened, his voice firm.
“The royal council and noble houses are still buzzing. The biggest source of complaints is your title, and how it was granted. Brother, it’s been a year since the Grand Duchess’s funeral. I can’t stall for you any longer… it’s time to make a decision.”
Dante tapped his fingers on his knee, listening in silence.
He didn’t doubt the claim—there had indeed been endless noise when the conditions tied to his title had collapsed.
The vultures had circled immediately.
A year had been bought—barely—thanks to the King’s protection and the spectacle of the Grand Duchess’s funeral.
That alone had silenced the court, for a time.
Of course, the palace’s support had been a matter of self-preservation.
As for the funeral, that had been his own shield—an image carefully crafted with the help of Behern’s defenders.
Despite the scandal of a marriage annulment, Dante had hosted a grand funeral in his own palace for a woman he had once loved.
A tragic accident, a grieving Duke, and a public narrative of undying devotion.
The press had run with it.
The people wept.
That had bought him time.
Dante raised a brow again.
And now… that time was nearly up.
He had stretched it longer than most thought possible, but even so—it was ending sooner than he’d hoped.
“So I’m supposed to personally deal with every fool wasting their breath about me for the past year?”
“…You’d be wise to refrain from such insults. I trust you haven’t forgotten that I’m not particularly fond of you, Brother.”
“Oh? If our Crown Prince plans to go running to tattle, I suppose I could try to restrain myself. After all, it’s hard for children to control their impulses. I understand.”
Dante sipped his tea as if nothing had happened.
Through the rising steam, he could see the Crown Prince trembling with barely contained rage.
Amusing—but irrelevant.
He set the cup down with a gentle clink, his eyes sharpening as he spoke again.
“So… either accept the revised conditions, or surrender the title. That’s what this is about?”
“At this point, it’s the best option. And frankly, accepting the terms would benefit you more than anyone.”
“Me? Or you? Because if word got out that the royal family handed off a key business to a man without a title… that wouldn’t look very good, would it?”
Reichert clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth.
“This isn’t for me—it’s for the royal family! And it was His Majesty who entrusted that business to you. I’m simply respecting his decision.”
“Oh, you’re wrapping your incompetence in a pretty ribbon, how touching.”
“Brother!”
Reichert could hold his tongue no longer.
He raised his voice, fury flashing in his blue eyes.
If not for the King’s favoritism, he wouldn’t be forced to bow to this lowborn wretch—let alone call him Brother.
How dare he.
Speaking like that to the Crown Prince of the realm!
But Dante didn’t flinch.
Shouting, threats, pressure—it meant nothing to him.
Not when his opponent was this man.
“Wait.”
“…What do you mean, wait?”
“Your life’s on the line too. So hold out as long as you can.”
Dante slid his half-drunk teacup toward Reichert.
Rising slowly from his seat, he added in a quiet, deliberate tone:
“This fall. Until then.”
***
During slow afternoons, the florist would sometimes visit the café.
When she did, Riena and Sharon would gather with her for tea and chatter—a little ritual of their own.
“Rena, the coffee you make is always the best. There’s just something about the aroma!”
“Thank you.”
Riena smiled softly at the compliment.
“Hehe, right? But get this—just the other day, someone made her remake his coffee three times!”
“Huh? Who?”
“Sharon.”
Riena cast a sidelong glance as she softly called her name.
But once a story is out, there’s no taking it back.
The florist was already looking between them, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Realizing too late what she’d done, Sharon shrank a little under their gazes.
Riena sighed.
“It wasn’t anything. The customer just… didn’t like how I made it, I suppose.”
“Whaaat? But three times? That’s just being a jerk! Was it a man?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm… then maybe he wasn’t being a jerk. Maybe he’s interested in you, Reina?”
“What?”
Riena blinked in disbelief as the florist leaned in, voice playful.
“No, listen, I mean it! I’ve been around—forty years now—and let me tell you, men and women are different! No matter their age, men always seem to flirt by being annoying.”
“Ugh, that’s just insane.”
“That’s not what it was.”
Riena answered firmly, her tone leaving no room for debate.
“Well, don’t shut me down so fast! Come on, three times? If it just tasted bad, he could’ve left it. But he didn’t. I think he was trying to flirt! You’re pretty, you’re elegant, you’re not married—he was probably making a move!”
“Gross. That makes it worse.”
Sharon waved her hands, face twisting with distaste.
“Rena doesn’t need creeps like that. She needs someone gentle and thoughtful!”
“I mean… he wasn’t exactly scum…”
“I don’t care! And you, ma’am, are always trying to turn everything into a romance! …Though, if that guy showed up just because there aren’t any other men around…”
Sharon turned to Riena, expression bright.
“Rena! Do you want a boyfriend? If you’re open to it, I’ll find someone kind and sweet just for you!”
“Huh? Uh… but doesn’t she already have someone?”
“What? Who?”
“You know… right, Rena?”
Talking about romance—when the person in question had no such thoughts—was exhausting.
Riena sighed quietly as the conversation spiraled.
She liked these two.
They were good people.
And most of the time, their company was enjoyable.
But not always.
Sometimes… it was just a little too much.
She looked at them quietly, then stood up slowly.
“Well… anyway, you two enjoy chatting a bit longer. I need to check on the cookies in
