The duke smiled with practiced ease, crossing his long legs before her with a lazy arrogance, as if to say he couldn’t help their length.
Now that Ella had given her blessing to Eric’s marriage, it seemed the man no longer saw the need to even pretend loyalty. His mask had slipped away completely.
“The royal prince has purged the barbarian villages that have long plagued the northern territories,” he said smoothly. “The cultivators and commonfolk of the North now sing endless praises to His Highness Prince Robert.”
Purged.
At that word, Kai—who had been standing quietly in the corner—turned deathly pale.
Ella’s own expression soured.
‘“Purge,” they say. In truth, he stormed into lands that have belonged to those clans since their ancestors settled them… and slaughtered every last soul.’
All for the sake of carving a single achievement into his legacy.
The tribes of the North had never intended to farm that harsh land. They lived off the old ways, never seeking conquest or harvest.
But now that the prince had “cleansed” the region, and new fields were being claimed, the cultivators of the land would likely cheer, believing that anything was better than the desolation they knew.
How stale. How dreadfully old-fashioned.
Ella ran a tired hand through her hair.
Her father… surely he must have known. Known the whole picture, every nuance.
And still—he clapped politely, shut his eyes to the blood spilled, and bowed to tradition, just because he hoped the prince might one day take the throne.
The desire to preserve the way things are—to live without change—can sometimes be more vicious than evil itself.
“Very well, then,” Ella said with a half-hearted wave of her hand. “Tonight, I shall raise a toast to the glorious North and its magnificent prince. Will that please you? Now be off.”
She rose from her seat.
The duke, however, offered one last remark:
“The royal prince may return sooner than expected. Perhaps just in time for the Assembly two moons hence.”
Ella froze mid-step.
She turned slowly and met the duke’s crimson gaze. Then, without a word, she reached for a cup of water resting on the tray Kai held—chilled with shards of ice—and lifted it with elegant control.
“What are you really trying to say?”
The duke’s lips curled, his voice as smooth as silk-draped steel.
“If the prince returns with even greater merit, it may affect Your Highness’s ventures with Lady Margaret. Securing a pure mana crystal mine, for example.”
Ella felt irritation prick at her skin. That smirk of his—it was clear now.
This wretched old fox knew she hadn’t finalized the contract for the mine yet.
“The House of Orléans can provide such a mine,” he said. “A place known as
Blue Oak
.”
Blue Oak.
Of course she knew. She herself had spoken of it to Eric not long ago.
Ella traced the rim of the cup, watching condensation bead on her fingers.
“You’re offering me that mine? Why?”
She placed the cup back onto the tray with a clear
clink
.
The duke ignored her question, his tone shifting to one of quiet warning.
“Even if Your Highness secures the line of succession now, it will all be for nothing should His Majesty pass. The nobles will never accept a queen on the throne. If you fail to win their hearts, your entire reign will be spent quelling rebellion after rebellion. You will drive this empire into ruin.”
“Of course,” she replied coolly. “That’s all nobles ever do. Cling to their dusty old traditions and use them as excuses to enthrone their favored prince.”
A wish remains a wish, no matter how often it is repeated.
“Tradition and custom are to be honored, Your Highness. Therefore, you should never have granted permission for your brother’s marriage when it interfered with your father’s own.”
His crimson eyes shimmered faintly.
Ella stared back.
And then, quite suddenly, she laughed—soft and breathless, like air escaping a cracked flute.
“…?”
The duke’s composed expression faltered ever so slightly.
“Oh, forgive me,” she said. “It’s just that… your words are so very polished. I almost forgot they were meaningless.”
“Your Highness…”
“Tradition, custom… it all sounds so noble. But really, it just means ‘let me keep doing things the way I like.’ Why should I respect that? I’d rather do everything
my
way.”
“…Your words are vulgar, Princess.”
The duke’s face contorted. Ella met his gaze head-on, unflinching.
Slowly, bit by bit, the duke smoothed the cracks in his expression. Then, in an instant, he returned to that familiar, courteous, refined smile and looked at Ella once more.
‘A cunning man.’
Ella buried her hostility deep within her heart, sealing it where he could not see.
“I was under the impression that the princess was fond of my son.”
“Fond of him. He may be your son, but he is my person. Unlike certain others, he upholds principle without being archaic.”
Ella recalled Eric’s crimson eyes—so like the duke’s. They, too, held both chill and fire.
‘But he’s different.’
In a crucial way.
“Then claim him. Make him truly yours. If you plan to break tradition and custom, you’ll need a clan like House Orléans behind you, don’t you think?”
“……?”
Ella’s expression broke down entirely.
What the hell is this lunatic saying? Her face said it all.
‘He was just rambling about tradition and custom like a zealot……’
The duke spoke again.
“Cast out Imeline and take my son for yourself. Then not just House Blueoak, but my entire lineage will stand behind the princess. If you and I join hands, that sly Grand Duke of the North is nothing. Those barbaric northern beasts—sweeping them aside will be a trivial matter.”
Kai, who was holding a tray, wobbled at the words.
Ella quietly reached out and steadied him by the arm. Then, with a hollow laugh, she looked back at the duke.
‘……Mad bastard……’
As if
he
weren’t sly.
What the duke was saying was this:
If Ella betrays his son, he will betray Robert. They would forge an alliance—through mutual betrayal.
✵
✵
✵
“In just a few days, you’ll be performing as the lead at the palace banquet! And this is the state of your dancing?! What are we supposed to doooo?!”
The steward shouted, glaring at me as if I’d trampled on Eric’s feet a dozen times—which I had.
He looked genuinely distressed.
‘But I’m suffering too! I’m suffering here!’
Our training ground was the vast ballroom of the duke’s manor, one entire wall lined with mirrors. Watching my flailing—no, my so-called dancing—in that massive reflection, even I felt my confidence plummeting straight into the abyss.
I looked at Eric with a dejected pout. He gave a soft chuckle at my expression.
“Don’t laugh…”
“How can I not? When else would I get to see you sulking like this?”
“……Tch……”
“At this rate, you’ll be cursing at me any second.”
Eric turned his head away, struggling not to laugh.
“Oh, do you
like
being cursed at…?”
Not that I mind cursing.
“No distractions! Begin!”
The steward barked.
I pouted in protest.
Sure, I
had
vowed to take the steward’s lessons seriously after that harrowing experience in the salon last time, but…!
Some things just don’t improve with effort alone!
But the steward paid my sorrows no mind and began counting the rhythm.
“Three, two, one! Three, two, one!”
His claps cracked through the air like gunfire.
Cold sweat trickled down my temple. Even though I was focusing with all the clarity of someone attempting to enter a state of deep meditative intent, my body still refused to heed my command. I knew—
I knew
—I had to move my right foot, and yet, my left foot shot out instead.
“Ugh…!”
The moment I stepped on Eric’s foot
again
, he leaned in and whispered into my ear.
“Don’t make it obvious when you misstep.”
“…?”
Eric gently lifted the foot I’d trampled, then seized me by the waist and raised me into the air with practiced ease. In one fluid motion, he spun me mid-air and placed me down several paces away from where we had been.
“…!”
The steward’s eyes widened with astonishment.
“Milady… did you just execute the aerial footwork successfully?”
Huh?
Wait—no, I don’t think that was
me
…
I turned to look at Eric, who quickly avoided my gaze.
Panicking slightly, I blurted out to the steward,
“Y-Yes! That’s right! I-I totally nailed the aerial footwork technique!”
I raised both arms high, striking a triumphant pose as if to say
ta-da!
And just like that, both Nina and the steward erupted into applause—not the hurried, obligatory kind, but a genuine round of impressed claps.
“Wow, you were truly amazing, milady! Like a crane in flight!”
“At this rate, you’ll surely avoid public disgrace at the grand dance ceremony! Education truly works wonders, doesn’t it?”
That’s… not quite it…
I gave an awkward smile and looked at Eric again. He had an amused expression on his face, as though telling me to just enjoy the moment.
Well, whatever! To the Void with it all!
“Didn’t I tell you? I’m clearly blessed by the Dao of Dance! Kneel in awe!”
I threw my arms wide with overdone flair. Nina ran to me and hugged me tightly. She even let out a squeal about how adorable I was, and I hugged her back, dying a little from embarrassment…
But then the steward’s next words turned my smile stiff.
“With this progress, the Duke will surely be pleased!”
…
Valdek Orléans.
Right. That man—who seems hellbent on devouring me whole the moment he gets the chance—is now living under the same roof as I am.
The steward, oblivious to my dread, looked toward the front gates like a loyal dog awaiting his master.
“I wonder when His Grace will return from the Princess’s palace…”
Watching the steward, I sighed and whispered to Eric.
“Did my mother… still have the ledger?”
Eric shook his head.
“She gave no answer. Philip and Helena seem to be staying quietly at the estate… and the witch hasn’t made any moves either.”
I shuddered, recalling the witch’s bone-chilling expression.
“…She didn’t lose the stolen ledger, right? Surely not…”
Even the thought made goosebumps ripple down my arms.
Chapter 80