Chapter 97
In the early dawn, bathed in a soft blue light, Dante stepped off the train at Florian Station.
“…You’ve come, sir.”
Callis, his expression stiff and formal, greeted him. Dante Venachert had arrived two days earlier than planned—not for good news, but boiling with anger from head to toe.
Callis cautiously observed Dante, still tense from the telegram he had received just hours earlier.
“It’s about Bailey.”
But Dante’s gaze was unnervingly calm. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a chilling neutrality.
Callis swallowed hard before replying.
“When I received the telegram, it was too late to personally visit the residents… However, I sent our aides ahead, so we should have detailed information by noon at the latest.”
“And Riena?”
“…She’s at home.”
Instead of answering, Dante slowly narrowed his bloodshot eyes. His face was rough, as if he hadn’t slept a wink, causing Callis to hesitate.
“…Sir, if I may, shouldn’t you rest a little first? You came straight here right after yesterday’s banquet…”
“Never mind. Bring me the details as soon as you have them.”
Dante’s cold dismissal cut through Callis’ concern. He rummaged through his jacket pocket, only to find his cigar case missing—surely dropped in the rush, perhaps when leaping onto the train from Arbern.
Dante muttered a curse under his breath. He was reaching his limit.
***
Leaning lazily against the car, Dante flicked through the papers, letting out a small, bitter laugh.
As expected, the first reports had come from Florian’s residents. From the unremarkable details of a mundane household to testimonies of a woman appearing in town a year ago—everything was recorded in painstaking detail.
Dante exhaled a long stream of white cigar smoke as he read.
Several cigars had already been crushed beneath his feet.
The papers fluttered as he flipped through them.
The most absurd testimony came from the innkeeper:
They had stayed in the same room for days, so it was assumed they were engaged… And this nonsense was echoed by subsequent testimonies from other residents.
After reading all the local statements, Dante checked the slightly delayed telegram from Evan Reims. As a police officer with access to others’ records, he had sent Dante the personal information of Henry Bailey: enlistment date, first posting, promotions, and general connections within the military.
Once Dante finished reading the last line of the second telegram, he let out another bitter laugh. Removing the cigar from his mouth, he used it to burn the papers.
Blackened holes appeared where the flame touched, and the charred fragments drifted down, landing among the crushed cigars.
Reflecting quietly on the information before him, Dante’s eyes sharpened.
It seemed almost certain that Riena was more than just acquainted with Henry Bailey—they were at least lovers.
As Dante placed another cigar in his mouth and lit it, a door opened behind him.
Small footsteps brushed against his ears.
Beyond the shadow cast near the doorway, the person he had been thinking of slowly revealed herself.
“…Your Highness? What brings you here… and, more importantly, when did you arrive?”
Dante’s head turned slowly. It had been eight days since he last saw Riena Bronte.
Riena, much smaller than Dante, tilted her head slightly as she looked up at him.
In the bright moonlight, her clear, fair face was fully visible.
Dante leaned lazily against the car, exhaling smoke.
Perhaps puzzled by his silence, Riena tilted her head and spoke again.
“You said it would take about ten days. Did your plans end early? Then why are you… in front of our house?”
“Riena.”
Her words died in her throat.
Dante’s voice, low and calm like smoke curling through the air, uttered her name.
He lingered for a moment, exhaling the last of his smoke, then spoke slowly.
“Why. Such a pity you couldn’t enjoy your little rendezvous longer?”
“…Excuse me?”
A rendezvous? Riena blinked.
She couldn’t make sense of the words from this sudden appearance.
But Dante’s expression remained indifferent, his cold gaze scanning her.
“Since when?”
“What are you talking about? Since when…?”
“Henry Bailey.”
At the mention of the name, Riena’s shoulders twitched slightly. Her wide eyes flickered.
Seeing her clear reaction, Dante let out a small, bitter laugh.
“Answer me honestly. No use lying, Riena.”
“….”
“I see everything, damn it.”
Riena bit her lip as a shiver ran through her body. Dante’s eyes were chillingly calm, piercing, and aware of all. She felt her body grow cold from head to toe.
How much did he know? Where had he heard it all? Stumbling back, her mind raced, unable to catch up.
“Don’t worry. If your effort’s sincere, I’m willing to let it slide.”
Dante flicked the cigar from his fingers.
“So… answer me properly. At length.”
Faced with Dante’s insistence, Riena pressed her lips even tighter together.
She still didn’t understand the situation, but one thing was clear: he was under a grave misunderstanding. She had no idea how or from whom he had heard what he believed to be true.
Yet she couldn’t speak. Any misstep could trigger a storm.
“Riena.”
As her silence lengthened, Dante urged again.
“Is it so hard to simply answer? Or are my questions too difficult?”
“…It’s a misunderstanding… Your Highness, you’re mistaken. I—”
“Ah. Misunderstanding. I wondered when you’d finally say it.”
Riena, instinctively, blurted the word ‘misunderstanding.’ Dante gave a small, knowing smile.
“I’ve heard that before. Now, tell me something else. You say you haven’t known him long, that it was about to be over, or that it’s already over… But none of that is believable.”
Dante’s golden eyes fixed on her, watching her reactions to every word.
“Did you plan to divorce me, find another man, and laughably start a new household? Or were you seeing Henry Bailey even before the divorce?”
With every word, Dante’s golden gaze deepened, burning brighter.
“Do you want me to expose everything, step by step? Or would it be better to tell me yourself? I can promise that’s the wiser choice.”
He raised the corner of his lips smoothly, not as an interrogation, but as if gently advising.
Yet with each word, Riena’s face grew paler. Though she tried to appear calm, she could feel the anger accumulating in his voice.
Beneath it all was a terrifying misunderstanding about her and Henry.
Dante spoke as if the events were already true, and Riena swallowed hard.
The misunderstanding had grown beyond control, without her realizing it.
Under the moonlight, his golden eyes glimmered sharply. Riena’s lips trembled.
Taking a deep breath, she finally spoke.
“…I don’t know who you heard it from, or what rumors you’ve heard… but it’s not true. Really, it’s not true.”
“Rumors?”
Dante let out a faint, scattering laugh.
“Of course not.”
Even after saying this much, she still didn’t seem to understand. Dante tilted his head slightly.
“The ticket clerk remembered the Bermark Navy Lieutenant carefully bringing his pregnant wife back to his hometown. A kind husband, pleading in place of his wife who had lost her ID.”
Riena’s heart sank. Her fingertips were now so cold they were numb.
She couldn’t bring herself to deny the story Dante referenced. Her trembling eyes seemed to acknowledge the truth, twisting her insides.
“How much do you know? You’re not testing how far my patience can go, are you?”
“….”
“If you don’t want to see me lose control, hurry up.”
Dante whispered as if joking, closing his eyes lazily with a smile.
