“Even if the Duchess really were ill somewhere, what does that have to do with a divorce? There’s no need to overthink it—she must have decided to divorce because of the Dowager Duchess.”
Hessis openly poured cold water on Jurin’s doubts. In truth, it wasn’t important why the Duchess had gone so far as to seek a divorce.
Because Karia had publicly called out the Dowager Duchess’s embezzlement at the Grand Council, the Pantheon ducal house now had an obligation to investigate those involved and the exact amounts, and report everything to the Imperial Court. And this had to happen now—right on the eve of winter, when they were already frantically busy.
On top of that, with the official divorce from Karia, support from the grand ducal family or the imperial family could be reduced—or, in the worst case, cut off entirely. They could recover the embezzled funds to cover the losses, but how were they supposed to appease the enraged vassals? And what punishment should be handed down to the Dowager Duchess, the duke’s own mother? That, too, remained uncertain.
“In any case, we can’t keep wasting time on this. It’s not like you liked her anyway, Rubidurf. As for the divorce, I’ll negotiate the alimony, and what to do with the Duchess’s remaining belongings and jewelry. Since the Duchess’s side is clearly at fault, it shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“—Is this really how it ends?”
At Hessis’s determination to move straight into negotiating the divorce terms, Rubidurf felt a painful hollowness open up inside his chest. Was it really over? Would he never again see a wife who smiled and welcomed him home?
Six years might sound long, but in reality, the days he’d lived anything resembling a proper married life didn’t even add up to half a year. A few meals together, a few conversations, a few greetings—that was all. And yet it was ending so emptily. He couldn’t believe it.
Until the imperial decree arrived, he’d been agonizing over how to accept Karia’s illegitimate child. How to persuade the vassals, whether he should become the child’s stepfather, or whether the child should be adopted elsewhere.
Just like when we married—why is it that no one ever asks for the opinion of the person actually involved in this divorce?
As he covered his face with both hands and let out a low, anguished groan, a knock sounded at the door.
Ansen Miller, who had opened it to give his report after returning, checked the atmosphere inside and hesitated, edging back cautiously.
“Ah—sorry. Should I come back a little later?”
“No, give your report. You went to the Duchess’s townhouse, didn’t you? Are all visitors still being turned away?”
“No, not all of them. She did receive Count Lowell and the Commander of the Imperial Knights. Shortly after Sir Alcard went in, there was cheering so loud it nearly shook the mansion. I imagine that…”
“I see. Looks like the divorce approval reached the Duchess as well.”
Cheering, was it? Rubidurf let out a hollow laugh.
Was she that happy to be rid of him? Happy enough to forget all decorum and cheer as if it were a festival?
A surge of resentment welled up inside him, and he clenched his fists tightly. Yes—he felt wronged.
Looking at the whole situation, hadn’t his own wrongdoing been minimal at best? Why was the woman who had betrayed their sacred marriage vows and borne an illegitimate child so happy, while he was the one drowning in misery? He couldn’t understand it.
But his utterly selfish sense of injustice didn’t last long. Ansen added something completely unexpected.
“Oh, and the Duchess received a title at the same time as the divorce. What was it again? Ah—Valta. The Marquisate of Valta.”
“Valta? Did you just say the Marquisate of Valta?”
It was Hessis who reacted dramatically, asking again. As the man in charge of the ducal finances—a thoroughbred accountant down to the bone—he knew exactly what a golden piece of land the Valta marquisate was.
That fertile territory lay in the southern hemisphere, warm even in winter and famous as a resort. Unlike the Pantheon lands, it was blessed soil where crops would grow by autumn even if you simply scattered seeds.
The emperor had long ago bestowed that land upon his beloved daughter. And now Karia had become the Marquess of Valta? Did that mean Princess Seribis had handed over such an important territory the very moment Karia divorced?
“Isn’t the Marquisate of Valta the princess’s highest title? Why would the Duchess—? As far as I know, those two were notorious enemies. And besides, the princess had feelings for Rubidurf—”
As Hessis muttered in confusion, Rubidurf’s face drained of all color. At last, he understood the circumstances behind this divorce.
“Damn it… It’s been discovered.”
Discovered? What? Watching Rubidurf clutch at his disheveled hair and bow his head, Hessis’s mind began racing.
Princess Seribis had long harbored unrequited feelings for Rubidurf. The emperor had dismissed it as nothing more than idle gossip spread by busybodies, but was the princess really someone who could hide her heart? Everyone knew where her gaze was directed.
And as much as he hated to connect the dots, there had recently been a rumor about Rubidurf. Not only the Duchess, but the duke himself had committed adultery.
Worse still, the rumor had gradually twisted into a story that the Duchess had taken a lover in retaliation for the duke’s infidelity.
Hessis didn’t believe it was true—but if, just if, one were to guess who the other party might be…
“Have you ever had an improper relationship with the princess?”
“Jurin, what are you saying—!”
“Answer me, Rubidurf. Have you ever had an improper relationship with the princess?”
Jurin demanded, his eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare. Hessis tried to stop him, insisting it couldn’t possibly be so, but it was no use.
Rubidurf said nothing, his head still lowered. Taking that silence as an answer, Jurin Baltos turned on his heel and stormed out.
He heard Hessis calling after him from behind, but he didn’t stop. If he did, he felt certain he would end up throwing a punch at his longtime friend and liege.
“Jurin? That sounds just like a girl’s name. It really doesn’t suit you.”
Rubidurf’s first wife, Lamia, was a distant relative of Jurin’s. He first met her when he was about seven—around the same time he met Rubidurf and Hessis. She was as lively as she was rude.
From the very first meeting, he disliked the brown-haired girl who teased him about the name he was sensitive about.
“It is a girl’s name. My mother died giving birth to me, so my aunt named me after her.”
His mother had suffered through a difficult labor and passed away. And at the time, his father had been off elsewhere, amusing himself with a mistress.
When she heard the news, his aunt grieved for her sister’s death—but his father rejoiced at the birth of an heir.
Furious, his aunt decided on her own to give Jurin his mother’s name, so that his father would feel guilty for the rest of his life.
“Your aunt did that?”
“Yes. I was practically raised by her.”
He grew up constantly hearing from his aunt that adultery was something worse than what animals did, and that a man must cherish his wife as his very life. Never become like your father, she would say.
She was somewhat hysterical, and while she treated him well most of the time, whenever she saw traces of his father in his face, she would pick faults and punish him for no real reason.
Usually, when he told this story, people would clasp their hands together in sympathy—for his deceased mother, and for him.
The reason Jurin brought up his mother in front of a girl he’d just met was simply because he wanted her to stop pestering him. But instead of clicking her tongue dismissively, the girl flared up in anger.
“That’s awful! I’m sorry to your late mother, but your mother is your mother—and you are you! You’re not a substitute for her! You need a blessed name of your own! Just wait a bit—I’ll think of one for you!”
After hearing those words, Jurin felt dazed for quite some time.
Living with a woman’s name had been inconvenient in many ways, but he’d believed he had no right to complain. It was a memorial to the mother who died giving birth to him—and he owed her his life.
Yet here was someone telling him that was wrong. It left him a little dizzy, a little unsettled… and a little happy. From then on, he grew quite fond of Lamia.
Time passed, and Lamia became the Duchess of Pantheon. Jurin Baltos served as her guard, protecting her safety. Sadly, she left in a way he could do nothing about—she died in childbirth.
“This child shall be named Lamia, after her.”
As a vassal of the duke, Jurin had no standing to interfere in the affairs of the ducal house. And so he couldn’t stop the child from being named Lamia, nor could he stop a new duchess from entering the house a mere five months after Lamia’s death.
Still, as Lamia’s friend, he couldn’t bear to watch a complete stranger step into her place.
“Um… Sir Baltos, is Lamia named after the former Duchess?”
“Yes. Is there a problem with that?”
Jurin did not abandon his duties as captain of the knights—but that was all. He carried out his assigned tasks, kept within his prescribed boundaries. He knew the Dowager Duchess bullied her, yet he did nothing to stop it.
“This may be presumptuous of me, but I worry that inheriting the name of her deceased mother might be a burden on the child. Of course, honoring the departed is good, but… perhaps there’s a better way, even if it’s not the baby’s name.”
Even so, Jurin had long known that Karia was not a bad person. She was timid, fragile, a woman who could shatter like glass. Despite that, her nature was deeply kind.
Yet the years she spent in the ducal house had changed her into someone else entirely.
And whether little or much, he bore responsibility for that change. Jurin Baltos felt guilty toward her.
Setting aside the issues of illegitimate children and adultery, as a human being, he owed her an apology.
And as he watched his friend—whom he followed as his lord—flounder in such a pitiful state, his eyes were finally opened.
Though she was no longer of Pantheon, he sincerely wished that the woman who had once been the lady of the house, even for a short time, would find peace from here on out.
