LPST 08

Chapter : 08

While obeying Windsor’s orders, Roman had never once believed they would win—or even survive to return.

Yet in the end, they rescued the merchant vessel from the pirates, destroyed more than half of the ten pirate ships, and tenaciously held out until their reinforcements arrived. The remaining pirates ultimately surrendered to the black fleet that had encircled them completely.

Roman remembered that day vividly. Standing amidst the thick, choking clouds of gunpowder smoke, Windsor had seemed like a demon.

Someone even claimed they actually saw horns sprouting from Windsor’s head that day, causing quite a stir. Roman couldn’t firmly deny it himself—he thought he might have seen those horns too.

In any case, that day’s events became legendary, recounted for a long time among both the navy and the pirates alike. It was also the day the nickname “Demon of the Black Fleet” was born.

Would someone ever appear who could shatter that icy mask of his?

Looking at Windsor—inhumanly handsome—Roman once again mulled over a question he’d asked himself many times before. No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn’t imagine Windsor ever losing his composure.

If such a thing ever happened, the other party would surely be His Majesty the King, wouldn’t it?

At present, the King was the most likely candidate. He had repeatedly tested Windsor’s patience, and it wouldn’t be long before Windsor truly exploded.

Roman hoped that when Windsor finally did explode, he himself would be there to witness it. After all, he couldn’t possibly miss such an entertaining spectacle.

“This is an invitation requesting your attendance at the royal banquet this weekend.”

“What’s my schedule like for the weekend?”

“There aren’t any particularly important engagements—just minor appointments, all easily adjustable.”

“Then make an unadjustable, important appointment for me.”

“Hmm.”

Roman responded with an ambiguous groan instead of words. He was subtly expressing his own opinion.

“Since arriving in the capital, you’ve already declined five of His Majesty the King’s invitations to banquets. There’s no plausible excuse left.”

“Then tell them I’m attending my own funeral.”

“….”

Roman, who had been standing there dumbfounded and speechless, frowned.

“As your loyal subordinate, I must advise you, my lord—you have no talent for jokes.”

Windsor’s eyebrows lifted slightly. It was unclear whether he meant to say it hadn’t been a joke at all, or that it simply didn’t matter.

Roman scratched his forehead and spoke carefully.

“His Majesty won’t overlook it this time. According to my sources, preparations for the custody trial are nearly complete. Of course, the judge will be someone from His Majesty’s side. Since His Majesty appoints the Chief Justice himself, arranging something like that would be as easy as eating cold porridge. Why not just bow once before this escalates further?”

“Once becomes twice, and twice becomes thrice. Roman Miller, recite the fourth article of the naval code of conduct.”

“Yes, sir! Never compromise with the enemy!”

Roman snapped his heels together and lifted his chin in reply, instantly transforming from an aide back into a raw recruit.

Only afterward did he think, “Ah, darn,” but old habits, deeply ingrained over years, reflexively surfaced before thought could catch up.

Roman scratched his forehead again and said,

“The enemy? So you mean His Majesty the King?”

“His Majesty won’t be satisfied with just once.”

“That’s true. Just look at Gallup—the ninth tutor—who tried to kidnap Master Benjamin. But what exactly is His Majesty thinking?”

“Who knows.”

Windsor tapped his thigh with his fingers, lost in thought. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed slightly. Even his slowly moving fingers had at some point stopped midair.

An indifferent voice slipped through Windsor’s teeth.

“He’s a greedy old man who, despite already having a grandson, refuses to pass the throne to his son. It’s impossible to discern why he covets Benjamin so much.”

Upon hearing that, Roman silently pictured the King’s face—and that of his son, who had remained Crown Prince for twenty years.

“Moreover, once Benjamin starts interacting with the King, the Crown Prince certainly won’t stay idle. He’ll stop at nothing to prevent the King’s favor from shifting toward Benjamin. Don’t forget that Benjamin is third in line for the throne. We must prepare for every possibility.”

“That does make sense. Could it be that His Majesty intends to use Master Benjamin as a shield—to divert the Crown Prince’s attention and solidify his own royal authority?”

Windsor didn’t answer. He wasn’t the kind of man to recklessly assert conclusions about uncertain matters.

Instead, he shifted his gaze toward Roman.

“Find a competent lawyer—one untouched by the royal influence.”

“So you need someone both capable and completely outside the royal sphere of influence. That’s difficult—very difficult.”

Roman sighed lightly, then gave a nod. He had no choice; his superior’s orders were absolute.

[This is the timeline separator]

William had served the Preston household as butler for many years, yet he was certain that he’d rarely, if ever, felt this flustered.

Upon entering the room, he hesitated to speak immediately. Even this seasoned butler couldn’t decide what to say first.

His wrinkled eyes slowly scanned the kaleidoscopic walls. “Hmm.” A deep groan escaped through his clenched teeth.

Jacqueline, in contrast, appeared more composed. Or rather, it would be more accurate to say that she alone remained calm among them all.

Turning her head, she saw Benjamin staring sullenly at the floor. His lips were tightly pressed together, and his fists trembled.

Yet even in this state, the boy sat with his back perfectly straight. It seemed the heir of House Preston wasn’t allowed to fully indulge in his gloom, even at moments like this.

“Benjamin.”

Jacqueline called the boy’s name in a gentle voice. Benjamin slowly lifted his head. He hesitated, glancing at her cautiously, then carefully parted his lips.

“Will Miss Somerset be leaving us starting today?”

“Hmm…”

After a brief pretense of pondering, Jacqueline looked back at the boy. Her eyes sparkled playfully.

“Who knows.”

“….”

“Would you be sad if I left?”

The boy said nothing. A short silence followed.

Just as William was about to speak, Jacqueline broke into a sweet laugh—Benjamin had given a faint, barely visible nod.

Jacqueline wanted nothing more than to pull the boy into a tight embrace, but she barely managed to suppress her urge. The distance between them wasn’t hers alone to dictate.

Clenching her trembling fingers, she whispered softly,

“I don’t know much about Lord Preston yet, but he seemed quite rational and sensible. If I explain everything clearly, I’m sure he’ll understand. So Benjamin, why don’t you go wash your face while I talk with Lord Preston? There’s even paint in your hair! Afterward, how about we share some cookies?”

“…Yes.”

Benjamin, covered head to toe in paint, sheepishly wiped his cheek, leaving a long blue streak across his face.

Watching this, William let out a strained “Ugh.”

“Well then, I’ll see you later, Benjamin.”

With that, Jacqueline left the room. Benjamin stared after her retreating figure, his eyes filled with worry—would he really get to see her again?

She returned to her room, changed clothes immediately, and precisely thirty minutes later, knocked on the study door.

“We’ve been expecting you, Miss Somerset.”

Instead of Windsor, a man with a gentle demeanor opened the door. Recognizing him as the man who had stood behind Windsor earlier, Jacqueline offered a dignified, aloof nod.

Elegant manners. Gracious bearing. Refined pride.

The man, who had been studying her with curious eyes, stepped back a pace from the doorway.

“Please, come in.”

“Thank you.”

Jacqueline lifted her chin slightly and entered the room. The door closed quietly behind her.

A soft whisper reached her ears: “Stay strong.” She turned around in surprise, but no one was there.

“….”

Only Windsor and Jacqueline remained in the study.

Windsor rose from his seat and walked toward the sofa. Jacqueline waited until he arrived, then sat down with refined grace.

A heavy silence settled between them. Neither spoke first. Though the tension weighed heavily on her shoulders, Jacqueline endured it skillfully.

“Miss Somerset.”

Windsor finally called her name. His voice was dry and devoid of inflection, yet carried considerable resonance.

Jacqueline smiled faintly and looked at him, her hands resting neatly on her thighs.

“Please speak, Lord Preston.”

Windsor’s gaze grew complex. Her demeanor and speech were the very embodiment of a well-bred young noblewoman—and she was a graduate of Bristol Girls’ Boarding School, no less.

Countless private schools existed in the kingdom. Wealthy merchants and landowners, eager to mimic aristocracy, sent their young children to boarding schools. Those who realized the profitability of this trend established schools haphazardly.

Among them all, however, Bristol Girls’ Boarding School stood unquestionably among the very best—perhaps even the finest when considering history and tradition.

Though no longer as strict as in the past, its origins as a convent meant it remained far more conservative than other institutions.

It was a school still closed to the middle class, reserved exclusively for noble daughters—and Jacqueline had graduated with outstanding marks.

Jacqueline Somerset.

He had judged her capable of becoming an excellent tutor for Benjamin—not only imparting knowledge, but naturally instilling in him the etiquette and grace bred into her bones.

That was something Preston could never provide.

He could fight the royal court for Benjamin’s sake and hire the finest tutors, but he couldn’t teach his young nephew the manners and decorum expected of a noble.

Windsor himself had been raised by an opera singer, living a life entirely disconnected from House Preston, and thus had never had the chance to internalize what every noble ought to know.

Of course, he had no intention of letting anyone discover this truth. Hence, he never danced with ladies at banquets nor drank at social gatherings.

Rumors of his arrogance spread, but he paid them little mind. Protecting House Preston completely mattered above all else to him.

Yet he wanted Benjamin to be raised better than anyone else. That was both his duty and his repayment to Jeffrey Preston.

And now, this perfect young lady before him—Jacqueline—possessed precisely the grace and knowledge he lacked. The problem was—

“Do you have any explanation, Miss Somerset, for the scene I just witnessed?”

“An explanation?”