Episode 7
“Marriage? Are you telling me this isn’t a dream right now?”
The Grand Duke shook his head solemnly.
“No, it is not.”
“Then what is it?”
The Emperor’s eyes flashed sharply.
“Did you reveal your identity to her? Since when have you known her? When did you start dating?”
“We have known each other for some time. I registered the marriage under my status as Dylan, a commoner. I plan to reveal my true identity soon.”
A trace of unease flickered across his usually expressionless face, then vanished in an instant.
He’ll reveal his status soon…
That meant he was taking this seriously.
“And what does this woman do?”
“She serves in the same knightly order. She is a woman, somewhat small in stature, with a faint mole beneath her eye that’s barely visible because of her glasses—”
Was my younger brother always the type to remember details like that?
The water the Emperor had spat out earlier dripped steadily onto the floor.
His gaze lost focus, wavering blankly.
“My boy, listen carefully.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I believe I may be suffering from early-onset dementia. I’ve already forgotten what I just heard. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
A statement made before the Emperor could never be retracted.
Yet at this moment, the Emperor blamed his own memory—offering him a way out, telling him to take back his words immediately.
But Dylan nodded stubbornly and replied with unwavering sincerity.
“Yes. I am married. To a colleague, and therefore—”
The Emperor was about to lecture him.
Do you not realize the mission you’ve been entrusted with?
Do you intend to make that woman the future Grand Duchess?
Can you decide on a Grand Duchess so hastily?
But just as he was about to speak—
The Emperor witnessed something he had never seen before.
A blush spread across Dylan’s rigid, stone-like face.
A gentle rose hue colored his cheeks.
The Emperor’s shoulders began to tremble violently.
It was the expression of someone who had just encountered a monster from a dystopian nightmare.
“What is this? A dream? Why won’t I wake up? This is strange, Master.”
At that moment, the Emperor’s mentor spoke quietly.
“Did I not say earlier… that people sometimes act out of character? Perhaps this marriage… is His Grace’s moment.”
But the Emperor didn’t hear him.
What kind of woman could make Dylan wear such an expression?
It was a faint smile he had never seen before.
Dylan had never once smiled like that in his entire life.
The late Emperor had despised Dylan.
He had cursed him as a blemish upon his own perfect life—someone admired by all.
For over a decade, he had imprisoned Dylan in a small house outside the palace, bound by black magic.
Then, intending to send him to his death, the late Emperor dispatched him to war.
By the time the current Emperor uncovered the truth, it was already too late.
Dylan had grown into a cold, indifferent young man, perfectly molded by the curse of the Duke of Castile.
He believed his place in the world existed only as long as he was useful, becoming obsessively upright and rigid.
Which meant—
That marriage was likely the only exception in Dylan’s life.
The Emperor grew curious.
Just who was the woman capable of doing that to him?
“Did you marry her because you love her? In other words—are you devoted to her?”
At those words, Dylan’s vivid red eyes trembled like a ship battered by rough seas.
“There is another reason.”
At that moment, the Emperor’s eyes gleamed with interest.
“Oh? Another reason? What is it?”
Several dozen minutes passed.
After Dylan and Duke Savoy had both departed,
the Emperor remained alone in his office, replaying the earlier conversation.
‘It is not love, but a common feeling.’
‘Really? Then what exactly is this ‘common feeling’ called?’
Dylan was inexperienced with emotions.
He had never even practiced giving names to them.
As expected, he couldn’t answer such a simple question.
The Emperor gave him time to think, maintaining silence.
Dylan lowered his lashes honestly, lost in thought.
‘Perhaps… admiration.’
Dylan had always been indifferent, even his likes and dislikes unclear.
And yet he had acquired a new emotion—admiration.
It was undeniably a breakthrough.
But the Emperor wasn’t satisfied.
‘Is it truly admiration? What exactly is admiration?’
‘…’
It seemed Dylan himself didn’t quite understand what admiration meant.
Seeing his brother grow quiet, the Emperor pressed on.
‘Then, Dylan—why do you admire the woman who is now your wife? There must be a reason.’
At that moment, the Emperor realized how ridiculous he looked, fussing over someone else’s romance.
But curiosity always triumphed over reason.
‘I cannot tell you that… yet.’
Growing impatient, the Emperor interrogated him with a heated gaze.
But the taciturn Dylan remained silent.
‘So you married without even knowing what your feelings truly were? You—the one who’s always lived by the book?’
Dylan seemed to be feeling something, however faint.
‘I’ll need to investigate this myself.’
The Emperor’s gaze sank.
In truth, Dylan’s “admiration” worried him.
Within the Imperial Knight Order lurked terrorist factions seeking to overthrow the Empire.
At worst, the person Dylan had fallen for could be one of them.
She could’ve used black magic. Love potions exist, after all.
As his brother, wasn’t it only proper to thoroughly examine his counterpart?
The Emperor clenched his fist.
To be honest—
He was curious who the woman was that had drawn a smile from his taciturn brother.
…No.
Absolutely not curiosity.
This was purely to confirm whether she was a terrorist or not.
Everything was for his brother’s safety.
How should I go about confirming this?
The corners of the Emperor’s lips curled upward in an instant.
At the same time, Ishael was meeting her family.
Unlike Dylan’s meeting, this one was entirely involuntary.
Madam Martha had summoned Ishael to a coffeehouse outside the palace.
“Oh ho ho, perhaps it’s because we’re near the Imperial Palace—the air feels so nice! Don’t you think so, my dear?”
Madam Martha’s frivolous voice echoed through the café.
I smiled sweetly at her.
“It really does. Why did you call me?”
There was only one reason she smiled at me like that.
“My precious child, your mother has something to say.”
In the past, those words alone would’ve made me give her my liver and gallbladder.
But not anymore.
Just looking at the greed dripping from her eyes ruined my appetite.
“What is it?”
Money, obviously.
“Give me some money.”
As expected.
Time to lay out a mat.
“It’s not enough for Soldica’s debutante dress.”
I nodded.
“Mmm… give me a little time. Payday’s late.”
“Oh? Is that so?”
Her gaze sharpened.
I smiled brightly and held out a small document.
“Of course I’ll give you the money. I’m Ishael, after all.”
No, I won’t.
“Oh? Then what is this document?”
“It’s something good.”
“Hm?”
“Could you sign here?”
I waved the small sheet of paper.
It was filled with ancient script.
For a moment, Madam Martha’s lips twisted.
“Ho ho… what is that?”
“You’re so clever, Mother. You can read ancient script, can’t you? You know what it is, right?”
I coaxed her gently, smiling.
She rolled her eyes and stammered.
“O-of course! Naturally I know!”
Pretending again, huh?
The Empire used two languages.
One was the common imperial tongue.
The other was ancient imperial script.
Unfortunately, Madam Martha was illiterate in ancient script.
After over a decade as a fallen noble—and with her limited intellect—it was obvious she had forgotten what little she once knew.
Unlike her, I had studied at the Academy and mastered it with ease.
“As you can see, at the top it says ‘Salt Field Savory Radish.’ They said parental consent was required to take out a loan.”
“Hmm? Salt Field Savory Radish? Why there?”
“Why else? To buy you a dress, Mother.”
Apparently, I was a better actress than I thought.
As I handed over the papers like the dutiful daughter I once was, greed filled her eyes.
“Oh my, really? Even a dress for me?”
She never even considered that I might be lying.
After all, I’d spent over ten years slaving away to support the family.
It would’ve been stranger for her to doubt me.
“Yes. Your birthday is coming up, after all.”
Perhaps imagining a new dress, her eyes narrowed in excitement.
“Ha ha! Then of course—I’ll sign! I need to make salon reservations.”
Salt Field Savory Radish.
A loan shark charging over 1000% interest.
Madam Martha knew very well it was a vicious, predatory lender.
And yet, blinded by greed, she signed without hesitation.
Fully aware it was a document that would push her own daughter toward ruin.
That was the last chance I gave you—and you threw it away.
I took the document and smiled sweetly at her.
Mother, you may not know ancient imperial script, but—
What you just signed…
Wasn’t a loan agreement at all.
It was…
