INWY~38

Chapter 38

“Ugh, what the hell are you!”

“Ugh, what the hell are you!”

Dante still didn’t answer. He simply clutched Noel’s collar with a brutal grip and glared down at him.

Inside the café, people were openly staring now, whispering among themselves.

That low buzz of gossip snapped Riena out of the daze that had frozen her in place. No. Please, no…!

Leaping to her feet, she lunged for Dante’s arm—the one holding Noel by the collar.

“W-Why are you doing this?! Let go of him, now!”

At her words, Dante’s golden eyes, which until now had been locked on Noel, swung toward her. The blade-like sharpness of his gaze sent Riena’s heart plummeting to the floor.

“Stay still. Don’t make me angrier.”

His voice was cold, laced with authority that pressed down like a weight.

But she couldn’t just stand there. Biting her lip, Riena forced herself to speak, her voice trembling.

“…You show up out of nowhere and pull this—what is wrong with you? Let go. Right now!”

“Ha. ‘Wrong with me’?”

A twitch flickered through Dante’s brow.

“You’ve clearly never seen what real wrong looks like.”

I can show you if you want. His lips curled into a harsh, mocking smile.

Riena couldn’t understand him at all. Noel, meanwhile, was beginning to wheeze, his breaths coming in small, choked sounds.

Then—hic—a strangled noise cut through the café. Riena whipped her head around. Noel’s face was red, his chest heaving.

What if he actually kills him? Panic wiped Riena’s mind blank. She couldn’t think at all—couldn’t even reason.

Smack!

A sharp crack split the suddenly hushed café like tearing paper. People who had been murmuring jumped and went silent. The air grew tense and heavy.

A burning sting spread across Riena’s palm. She blinked, startled back to herself. What did I just do…?

Her clearing vision showed her Dante’s face, his head turned half aside, a red mark blooming on his cheek.

Riena’s breath hitched. Shakily, she shifted her gaze.

At least Noel was free now—his face had regained its color. Even so, he stared at Dante and Riena with wide, shocked eyes.

Riena’s lips were dry and cracked. By the time she turned back, Dante had slowly moved his head, exhaling something like a laugh, low and mirthless.

He released Noel’s collar completely.

Finally freed, Noel coughed and straightened, then stormed out of the café, furious and humiliated. No wonder—being manhandled like that in front of so many people.

In the end, only Dante and Riena were left.

Dante brushed his fingers over his own cheek, as if in disbelief. A faint scratch from her nail had left a thin line across his skin.

His golden eyes, now faintly glinting with anger, locked on her.

Riena sucked in a breath. She had to say something, but the words stuck hard in her throat. She could hardly breathe.

Dante watched her for a moment, then spoke slowly.

“Looks like I interrupted something.”

His voice was bone-dry, stripped of all feeling, chilling enough to raise goosebumps.

“I didn’t realize… this is what you meant by ‘those little things.’”

His face was expressionless now—no twisted smile, no soft laugh—just a cold mask as he held her gaze.

Little things… What things?

“…Having tea together. Chatting lightly. Strolling through the shops. Eating lunch with someone…”

Riena’s eyes shook violently.

“…No! That’s not what this is. You’re misunderstanding—”

“Ah. Misunderstanding.”

He cut her off sharply, slicing through her rushed words. Riena froze, staring at him.

His golden eyes studied her face like a blade tracing a map.

“What misunderstanding?”

“…” She couldn’t answer. Thoughts collided wildly in her head until she felt dizzy.

Dante slid his hands into his pockets, tilting his posture lazily.

“What kind of misunderstanding would I even have—seeing you with some useless idiot like that?”

“…”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Riena. To me, he’s no different from you.”

His low voice landed against her ear like a blow.

“Go.”

Dante tilted his head, enunciating each word.

“Chase after him. Beg him. Do whatever you want.”

Thud. Thud.

Riena’s heart slowed as she stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Your punishment ends here. From now on, go live as ‘Lena.’”

***

The Winfield Ducal House often hosted luncheons. The heads of the kingdom’s major families and trusted royal officials would gather to discuss current issues and political matters—at least, that was the official purpose.

“These days the Grand Duke’s side has been far too quiet. Isn’t that suspicious?”

The host of this luncheon, Norman, casually steered the conversation.

Grand Duke Venachert. At the mention of his name, the relaxed chatter stilled and eyes turned toward the speaker.

“Well, he’s always buried in work. Probably running around meeting investors as usual.”

Ha-ha-ha! Laughter rippled among them. In this private, secretive setting—far from the solemn palace chambers—even the mighty Grand Duke Venachert became little more than fodder for jokes.

Then one of the high nobles spoke up.

“I heard he’s actually left the palace.”

“What? Grand Duke Venachert left Behern Palace?”

A Privy Council member blinked in surprise. He had attended that royal banquet a year ago.

“They say it’s been weeks already… though I only heard it from a relative who visited, so I can’t say for sure.”

“Hmm. If that’s true, it is odd. Grand Duke Venachert almost never leaves the palace. Chancellor, do you know anything?”

Though he already knew the truth, Norman shook his head innocently.

“If I did, I’d have no reason to hide it. After all, he’s our common enemy, isn’t he? Quiet means there’s a reason.”

Common enemy. The words dripped with Norman’s own resentment, subtly shifting the mood of the gathering.

“By the way, what became of that matter—the one about the Grand Duke’s title?”

“Right, that was a year ago already. Most of those present at that banquet agreed, if I recall…”

“Yes, they did. But then, of all times, there was the former Grand Duchess’s funeral. It postponed everything—conveniently so.”

Norman smiled thinly, eyes gleaming.

At that, the nobles began exchanging glances, a flicker of unease stirring among them.

Norman’s gaze swept the room. Aside from the Navy Minister off on an inspection and the Chief Justice absent for personal reasons, all the key nobles were here.

He chose his moment.

“Since His Highness the Crown Prince is too busy with acting state affairs, why not invite the Grand Duke to the next luncheon and settle the matter then?”

“Doing as Duke Winfield suggests would leave no room for rumors. I agree.”

“I agree as well.”

One by one, the nobles voiced their support.

“Excellent. If everyone is of the same mind, I’ll contact Behern Palace myself soon.”

With a victorious smile, Norman raised his wine glass high.

“Then, to our glorious Vermark Kingdom. Cheers.”

***

Creak.

Riena staggered into her home, gritting her teeth. Her legs kept threatening to give out, and if she didn’t force herself upright she felt she’d collapse.

Step by step, she made it to her bedroom and finally let herself drop onto the bed.

The mattress creaked under the impact. When the tremor stilled, she exhaled a long, shuddering breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

She felt hollow, as though something inside had broken. Her mind refused to think, even to process reality.

Riena slowly lifted her head from where it had sunk into the bedding.

The sun was just beginning to set. The sky had yet to deepen fully into red.

Lowering her gaze, she stared at her hand. Its skin had returned to its normal color, the earlier sting gone entirely.

There was no pain now… yet the hand didn’t feel like her own.

Or perhaps it was because the memory of striking the Grand Duke’s face still burned into a corner of her heart.

It had been madness. Something she would never have imagined herself doing, not even in fantasy.

Looks like I interrupted something.

His red-marked cheek, scratched faintly by her own nails, flashed in her mind.

She could picture it perfectly—the flush of his skin, the tiny beads of blood from that scratch—as though the moment had been carved into her memory.

Even as an adult, she had never once struck her wretched father’s face… yet she had slapped Dante Venachert.

Her eyes drifted to the jacket hanging by the mirror—his jacket.

Chase after him. Beg him. Do whatever you want.

His dry, cutting voice seemed to echo in her ears.

Riena let out a hollow laugh.

Your punishment ends here. From now on, go live as ‘Lena.’

The words she had once longed to hear.

Unfortunately, you won’t die. Once approval comes through, you’ll leave Behern forever.

The overlap between then and now was uncanny.

Covering her face with her hands, Riena swallowed a quiet sigh. Nausea churned in her stomach.