MFTR 77

Chapter 77

 The Grand Duke of Harzent is Her Fiancé…

Maybe it was because he had been the first to casually reveal his weakness to her.

She herself stubbornly refused to ever voice aloud—or even acknowledge—that people called her the “Seed of the Demon Beast.” Yet from the very first meeting, Cardin had laid bare his shameful secret: that he was the illegitimate son of the late Emperor.

From then on, he had constantly crossed the lines Anette had drawn.

In the end, he broke down the wall she had guarded so firmly in her heart, until she was brave enough to confess even the flaws she herself could barely admit.

“Come to think of it, I even told him I get scared when it’s too quiet, and that I hate being alone…”

But when she tried to cross his line, he pushed her away without mercy.

She felt hurt and resentful, and a petty defiance welled up inside her.

“If my appearance had really turned hideous, would he have asked me to be the first to look at his scarred face?”

Maybe she had been gravely mistaken all along, thinking he had bared his weakness to her.

“Ah, stop thinking.”

Anette suddenly jumped from her chair and patted her cheeks lightly with both hands.

Because she was downhearted, her thoughts only kept spiraling in a negative direction.

She shook her head hard to clear her mind and took a deep breath.

“I really should apologize.”

Yes, she had been hurt, and yes, she had felt a little wounded.

But those things seemed so trivial compared to how unbearable his absence was.

“I can’t let go of him now, no matter what.”

Pressing down on her trembling chest, Anette began to piece together what she would say to Cardin.

“I’ll pretend I don’t know about that room, just as you asked. No, I’ll act like I never knew, like I don’t care at all. I’ll respect your boundaries. I won’t be presumptuous… just treat me the way you used to again.”

Even if it made her sound pathetic, she didn’t care. What mattered was that she didn’t want to eat another lonely dinner by herself tonight.

More than anything… she wanted to see him.

She had just made up her mind to go to his office when it happened.

Bang! The library door burst open, and hurried footsteps approached.

She wondered if it was Larisa—but instead, an even more unexpected figure appeared.

“…Lady Hilda?”

“Madam!”

The head lady-in-waiting of House Harzent—strict and precise, steeped in etiquette—came rushing in, breathless.

That could only mean something serious had happened.

Anette’s heart plummeted, and the first image that flashed in her mind was of a demon beast’s glowing red eyes, just like her own.

“Could it be… a demon beast attack?”

Her mind always jumped to that fear first. She momentarily forgot that this was the fortress of the mighty Grand Duke of Harzent and his order of knights.

“They’ve come, Madam!”

Of course.

Anette bit her lip hard and clenched her fists.

But the next words out of Hilda’s mouth named a visitor far more terrifying than any demon beast.

“Someone from Heyworth has arrived. A royal knight, demanding to see you…!”

“……!”

At the gates of the Harzent ducal fortress, Zeon stood tall and expressionless under the wary gaze of the guards.

But his outward calm masked turmoil inside.

The Sword and Shield of the Alkhan Empire. A war hero.

The Emperor’s only brother, and his most cherished vassal.

Only now, standing before this overwhelming stronghold, did Zeon fully realize just who Anette’s fiancé was.

The weight of the Grand Duke’s identity struck him with a hollow despair. This man possessed rank, honor, and power far beyond Zeon’s reach… and most importantly, he had claimed her.

Though he knew the rumors—that the Grand Duke was a brutal slaughterer, mad for blood—were no blessing to Anette, Zeon found himself hoping they were true. That petty, shameful part of him wished it so.

“The master of this fortress… the Grand Duke of Harzent is her fiancé…”

The more he thought about it, the more absurd it seemed.

Nearly ten years by her side, and after being gone for only a few weeks, she had become another man’s betrothed?

Unbidden, memories of the first day he met her surfaced.

He had joined the Royal Knights out of rebellion against his father, Marquis Millard. He couldn’t bring himself to prepare for succession in a house that had given him nothing but scars.

He thought he’d never see her, the girl locked away in a secluded palace her whole life. When word spread that the princess had run out and begged the King to let her lead a demon-hunting expedition, he was certain she’d gone mad.

But then she appeared—awkwardly tugging at a knight’s uniform she was clearly wearing for the first time—entering the training grounds with a slightly gloomy air beyond her years, yet looking otherwise like any ordinary 14-year-old girl.

…Ordinary. A plain, pretty little girl.

Sixteen at the time, Zeon had been deeply shaken.

Until then, he had tried hard to ignore her existence.

Anyone with a taste for gossip knew: the late queen had been his father’s childhood sweetheart and suitor, while his own mother, the Marchioness, was the woman he had married for duty instead.

Zeon’s childhood had been unhappy. His father kept another woman in his heart, and his mother, despite her devotion, could not endure the day she realized it.

She had lived faithfully, hoping marriage and children would change her husband’s heart. But when she saw him weep uncontrollably at news of that other woman’s death, something inside her broke.

Her love for her son turned unstable—sometimes cold, sometimes overcompensating with apologies.

Too young, Zeon only felt sadness when she pushed him away, then relief when she hugged him again.

But in truth, she was terrified—terrified that her grief might drive her to harm the son she loved.

Eventually, sunk deep in depression, she left behind a letter her child couldn’t even read and took her own life.

That act wounded him far more deeply than any blow ever could.

Only later, once he could read, did he learn her words.

She wrote that she blamed no one—not the Marquis, not the late queen. That all her misery had come from her own foolish hopes. That he must live happily, bearing no resentment. That she was sorry.

At first he cried. But then cynicism took root.

He refused to follow her wishes. He hated the man who had stolen her away—his father.

Though officially recorded as death by illness, everyone knew the truth. The rift between Marquis Millard and his son was no secret.

Everyone knew—except Anette Heyworth.

She treated Zeon the same as she treated anyone else, never speaking of it.

And strangely, he was grateful for that.

Contrary to expectations that he would resent her, he never did.

Yes, her birth had followed the queen’s death. But it was his father’s fault—his father’s weakness—that had ruined his family.

When word of Anette reached the Marquis, for the first time, he confronted Zeon. He ordered him to quit the Royal Knights and return to the family, or transfer to the Imperial Guard.

Zeon realized then that his father’s deepest wound was still the late queen—and that he hated Anette.

So Zeon, out of spite, refused to leave the Royal Knights.

And for the next ten years, he remained by Anette’s side.

Not hating her. Not loving her. Believing she could never truly be close to him.

Until he realized the truth—that the most extraordinary thing about her was not her cursed birth or the rumors surrounding her, but simply herself.

Even then, he never let it show. He maintained the cold, proper demeanor of a subordinate to his superior.

Because to admit otherwise was too difficult. To admit that he had developed feelings he should never harbor.

He told himself it was pity.

When his father suggested he steal her away if he couldn’t give her up, he had laughed outright.

But maybe, even then, he had already known he couldn’t cut his feelings off. And that was why he denied them so desperately.

“Uh, Deputy Commander—no, Sir Millard.”

The tense voice snapped Zeon out of his reverie.

He turned his head to see Luke—dressed not in a knight’s uniform but plain clothes—fidgeting nervously under the guards’ eyes.