Chapter 13 ….
Was it because he had recalled an old friend?
Vanilla’s expression darkened as he watched his son running far ahead of him.
Anyway, the thought of a child three years younger than Saffron suffering in bed for a whole week weighed on his mind, politics aside.
“I’m not exactly pleased that child has appeared in public either, but it’s a terrible thing to harbor ill will toward a little one.”
But then—why had Zeusia suddenly summoned her daughter to the imperial palace?
The very child she hadn’t even named, the one she had erased with her own hands.
Vanilla pondered for a moment, then shook his head.
Zeusia Kishtban acting on a whim was nothing new.
A woman overflowing with capriciousness and impossible to read—it was surprising enough that she had kept her blood relative in the annex for six years.
“I can hear the details directly when we meet. For now, confirming the child’s well-being takes priority.”
Brushing his hair back as if shaking off his thoughts, he stretched his long legs and quickly caught up to his son.
Saffron, noticing his father suddenly close behind, broke into a wide grin.
“Wow! Father, you’re so fast!”
Vanilla’s lips softened into a smile at that heart-melting grin, but it quickly drained from his face.
“Wait, Saffy! Watch where you’re—!”
But before he could grab him, Saffron collided with a passerby.
“Are you all right?”
The duke caught his son before he could fall, asking in concern.
“Mm, I think I’m okay.”
Relieved, Vanilla was just about to apologize to the person Saffron had bumped into when—
“Young master, how many times have I told you not to run in the palace halls?”
The owner of the cold voice had a face no less frosty.
Blue-tinged black hair, sharp black eyes.
Unlike the fair-haired Duke Lipchik, this tall, black-clad man was none other than—
“Gasp, M-Marquess Chest…”
Even at Saffron’s tearful expression, Marquess Monarda Chest did not so much as blink, continuing his stern lecture.
“Young master of the only ducal family of the Eastern Empire, running about without dignity, and colliding into me of all people? Inside the imperial palace, no less. Every one of your actions reflects upon House Lipchik’s reputation. Keep that firmly in mi—”
“Ha ha, Marquess! Saffy was simply excited from his rare palace visit. I’ll apologize on his behalf.”
Stepping quickly between his son and Monarda, Vanilla offered a genial smile to keep the lecture from dragging on.
“By the way, weren’t you at the border for the prisoner exchange negotiations? You’ve returned sooner than expected. Judging from your travel-stained uniform, it looks like you just arrived.”
At the very mention of “prisoner exchange,” the marquess’s face twisted—and by the time Vanilla finished speaking, it was thoroughly contorted.
“I did just arrive in the capital. But it’s not that the talks concluded early—we didn’t even begin.”
“What? How so…?”
“Because His Majesty didn’t come.”
Grinding his teeth, Monarda spat the words out.
“Where is Zeusia Kishtban right now?”
Vanilla blinked at the Emperor’s name being so brusquely spoken, then gently pointed out the impropriety.
“Mm… I know you were once comrades-in-arms with His Majesty, but to speak her name so freely—”
Saffron seized the chance, using his father as a shield to fire back about the scolding he’d just endured.
“See! I may run in the palace, but at least I don’t call His Majesty by name!”
Of course, as soon as Monarda’s eyes flicked his way, the boy ducked behind his father again.
“Haa… Zeusia Kishtban, Her Imperial Majesty. Better?”
“Yes!”
With another heavy sigh, Marquess Chest continued, weariness etched on his face.
“Anyway, what I want to know is—do you know where she is right now?”
Judging by his irritation, it was clear.
He hadn’t yet heard the news—having only just returned from the border—that Zeusia had brought into her chambers the daughter she had all but abandoned in an annex for six years.
“If I tell him directly, he might clutch his neck in shock…”
Concerned for the marquess’s fragile health, Vanilla decided to answer cautiously.
“Well, most likely… in her chambers.”
In that moment, Vanilla saw it.
The last thin thread of the marquess’s reason snap, clean and sharp.
“Chambers? Chambers? Did you say chambers?”
Clenching his fists, Monarda stormed off toward the Emperor’s quarters without a backward glance.
“W-wait, Marquess! I was just heading there myself—let’s go together!”
But the words fell on deaf ears.
Vanilla rushed after him, though burdened with carrying Saffron on one arm, while Monarda—descendant of a house renowned for producing sword masters—was far too swift.
Still, Vanilla called out to him several times.
Monarda only quickened his pace.
“Marquess, you’re the one who said running in the palace was forbidden!”
Saffron even attempted a second counterattack.
“I’m not running, I’m just walking fast.”
That excuse sounded oddly familiar.
“…Whether it’s Monarda or Saffron.”
Duke Vanilla finally caught up with him once Monarda reached Zeusia’s chambers.
“W-wait… at least… catch your breath…”
Panting, he grabbed the marquess’s shoulder.
“At least you didn’t rush in ahead of us. Glad to see you listened when I asked—”
“No, I only stopped because of a strange smell.”
“Smell? I don’t smell anything. What do you mean?”
“Like if I open this door, I’ll see something… unpleasant.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just a hunch.”
“Could you for once explain yourself in a way I can actually understand?”
But Monarda only narrowed his eyes at the door.
“Don’t tell me… Her Majesty has a man?”
“…Huh?”
Vanilla’s eyes widened in shock at the unexpected remark.
Monarda sniffed the air again, his brow furrowing.
“Younger man. Quite young, too.”
“Ah—Marquess, I think you’re misunderstanding. It’s not a man—”
“One of the Western Empire’s prisoners of war? Or just some stray she picked up during battle?”
“…My wife, my son, now even my comrade. Why does no one ever listen to what I say?”
A weary smile tugged at Vanilla’s lips.
But there was no time to dwell on it—he had to stop this misunderstanding, even if Monarda wasn’t ready to hear.
“Marquess, it’s not what you think. In there right now is—”
“So it really was because of a man, huh? Explains why she, a woman who lives to torment others, couldn’t even be bothered to show up for the prisoner negotiations.”
Grinding his teeth, Monarda could endure no longer. He threw the door wide open.
Vanilla shouted something like a strangled scream from behind, but Monarda had no time for that.
“Your Majesty! At such a crucial time, what on earth are you doing?!”
Bellowing, he marched into the chambers.
“I am entering!”
Though in truth, he had already barged in.
The order of his words was a bit backwards, but in his agitation he hardly noticed.
As expected, Zeusia was reclining languidly on her bed.
“She made me run all the way to the border, yet here she lies, lounging on her bed without even showing her face—”
And with a man, no less!
“Your Majesty!”
Raising his voice again, he strode toward the bed—
But the closer he came, the more something felt off.
“Wait… the one beside her is far too… small?”
