Chapter 8
“Yes? Ah, if you mean that time…”
Marquis Foerkin frowned as he understood what Haven was referring to. He immediately realized which day in the past Haven meant by “that time.”
『Answer me, Marquis! If this child is mine, then where is her mother? Where is the woman who should be my wife?』
『A lowborn woman, Your Highness. You needn’t concern yourself with her. Please don’t let personal feelings cloud your judgment.』
He still remembered. That moment in the carriage on the way back to the capital, when Haven woke up and furiously demanded answers. And the words he had given to such a furious Haven.
The Marquis couldn’t blame the Archduke for his anger. He had awoken to find some of his memories missing, and a newborn—his own flesh and blood—presented before him. Moreover, the former queen and the people of House DeClen were all present, which must have made him feel utterly manipulated.
Recalling the past, the marquis gave a bitter smile and nodded.
“Of course I remember. I… did say that to Your Highness.”
For a brief moment, guilt stirred in the marquis’s chest. He recalled the image of the commoner woman, weeping as she let go of the newborn in her arms. He also clearly remembered how she had cried, unable to touch the Archduke who had passed out after drinking tea.
She had been too pitiful to even scold for daring to covet the noble blood of the Guenters.
That’s why he had tried, in his own way, to protect her. To keep the former queen and her allies from disposing of her. It would have been too cruel to not only take away her husband and child but to rob her of her life as well.
Whether that was truly the right choice, he didn’t know.
Her life after losing her beloved family couldn’t have been happy. Or perhaps… maybe she had met another man and formed a new family. Yes, as a lowly commoner, that was entirely possible.
With that excuse, the marquis buried his guilt deep inside once again.
He did not regret his choice. To him, “Guenters” was more precious than his own life.
If it was to protect the royal bloodline, to preserve its purity, he was willing to do even more. And he would continue to do so.
He steadied his mind and opened his mouth, ready to persuade Haven again. But at that moment, someone knocked on the door. Before Haven could grant permission, the door opened and a coy, delicate voice rang out.
“Haven, you came early.”
It was the former queen, Isabella, entering with a bright smile. The marquis quickly stepped aside and bowed respectfully to her. Isabella offered a light nod in return before turning her gaze back to Haven.
“You’re here,” Haven replied coldly.
His gaze toward Isabella was frigid. No, rather than simply cold, it carried a deep, unmistakable disgust.
Was there even a trace of mourning for her late husband in that face?
Wearing a black dress doesn’t mean you’re in mourning. Even if she wore her usual attire, if she sincerely mourned him, that would have been better.
But Isabella was the exact opposite.
Her dress was black in color alone; otherwise, it was excessively extravagant. It was not to honor the late king, but to flaunt her own beauty. Try as he might, Haven couldn’t suppress his revulsion.
“By the way, I see Marquis Foerkin is here too. May I ask what you two were discussing?”
Isabella’s gaze shifted again. She smiled with her eyes as she glanced between Warren and Haven.
But she didn’t ask out of genuine curiosity. She knew full well how eagerly the marquis wanted her and Haven to marry. Most likely, he had just been pressing Haven to agree. She was pleased by this, seeing it as a chance to bring up the topic of marriage and insert herself into the conversation.
“It was something the former queen needn’t concern herself with. Nothing of importance,” Haven replied curtly.
Isabella’s eyelids twitched slightly. Still, she managed to suppress her irritation and continued with a soft smile.
“There’s no rule that we can only talk about important things, is there? Sometimes light conversation is better.”
“Well, I don’t know who you meant by ‘we,’ but… it’s not a topic I wish to discuss out loud.”
“Oh, come now, Haven. You’re only making me more curious. What was it? Hmm?”
She pressed further, driven by pride. She wouldn’t be satisfied until she heard Haven admit that they had been discussing marriage. But Haven’s eyes only grew colder at her persistence.
Sensing the tension, the marquis awkwardly tried to intervene. Just then, Haven spoke again.
“It was a subject too revolting to speak of.”
“……!”
“Especially in a place meant to mourn the late king.”
With those words, he stood up. He turned away from the pale-faced Isabella and looked at the marquis instead, his eyes carrying a clear, icy warning.
The marquis shivered involuntarily. Haven turned and exited the room.
“Your Highness.”
As soon as he left, his knight, Fedwin, approached from the hallway. Behind him, several servants bowed nervously, watching Haven’s mood. His voice was as cold as ever when he addressed them.
“Before I return, remove everyone from that room and clean it thoroughly.”
Just the thought of having breathed the same air as those people disgusted him. And now that Isabella had entered, the cloying scent of her perfume made him nauseous. After giving the order, he started walking toward the front gate. Fedwin followed quickly.
Pathetic.
Haven’s expression twisted as he descended the stairs. His late brother—so pitiful.
No one truly mourned him.
No one grieved his death.
Though an elaborate memorial was held every year, no one missed him.
Haven recalled his older brother—strong and kind. Unlike Haven, who had been free-spirited, his brother had been the perfect ruler.
Who could have imagined he would die so suddenly?
Was it really an accident?
At last, Haven dredged up the long-buried suspicion. They said he died after falling from a horse. But he never believed it. His brother had been the best rider he knew.
Yes, people make mistakes—but still. Haven had even visited the royal hunting grounds where the accident occurred, searching every corner.
And what he found convinced him it wasn’t an accident. Trampled grass. Chaotic footprints. They didn’t say anything specific—but they said one thing clearly:
He hadn’t just fallen from a horse and died.
Then what had really happened?
He felt lost. Like he stood before something he was never meant to uncover. After the state funeral ended amid public mourning, Haven fled as if running away…
…But where did I go?
He froze halfway down the stairs, gripping the railing tightly. A terrible headache stabbed at his skull like a blade. He hunched over, staggering.
“Your Highness! Are you all right?”
Loyal knight Fedwin rushed to support him. But Haven couldn’t respond.
His mind clouded like a fog. And from within that fog, something dimly emerged.
The memory of the day he lost consciousness and then awoke.
He was in a carriage—headed from the border back to the capital. And inside was his newborn daughter, Plita.
“Your Highness!”
“…She was…”
Where is she?
Haven nearly asked aloud, then clamped his mouth shut.
“She”? Who did he mean?
He pressed his temple, letting out a dry laugh.
Apparently, he was trying to remember the woman who gave birth to Plita. How absurd.
He had never once thought of her before—why now?
He wiped his face with one hand and took a deep breath. As the headache faded, his mind cleared. He heard Fedwin’s worried voice.
“Your Grace…”
“You don’t have to call out like that, Sir Fedwin. I’m not deaf.”
Straightening his back, Haven replied calmly. His face was composed as if nothing had happened. But Fedwin, still worried, continued.
“You don’t seem well, Your Highness. I’ll call the physician immediately—”
“Don’t bother.”
Haven raised a hand to stop him. He had brought a physician just in case Plita got sick. A headache like this? He could ignore it.
“But, Your Highness—”
“Don’t make a scene, Sir Fedwin. This isn’t the Archduke’s residence. There are too many eyes and ears here.”
Adjusting his clothes, Haven resumed walking down the stairs, giving a warning glance to Fedwin. Realizing his mistake, Fedwin fell silent and followed quietly.
Too many eyes. Too many ears.
Haven repeated the phrase in his mind. For some reason, he felt exhausted. A bitter smile touched his lips and quickly vanished.
Just then—
A maid’s scream rang out from outside the residence.
“Kyaa! Milady!”
Without hesitation, Haven rushed down the stairs and ran out the door.
