#11.
Cecilia and Julian’s expressions stiffened immediately, as if they had suddenly become shameless intruders—when in fact, they were only following their father’s orders.
The nobles gathered around Cecilia exchanged sneering glances at the silent Tolyn siblings. They were always ready to look down on the Tolyn family.
Baron Tolyn had been granted his title less than nine years ago for handling the empire’s dirty work on behalf of the Emperor. To the Central nobles, the Tolyns were nothing more than gossip fodder.
“I regret I couldn’t attend the funeral,” Cecilia said.
“Well, that makes sense. Only those who properly understand the Empire’s solemn funeral traditions were invited. A pretty face alone isn’t enough to qualify.”
Madam Orentia’s aggressive remarks had clearly crossed the line.
Cecilia, who usually gave back as good as she got, kept her mouth shut before Madam Orentia. Understandably so—Orentia’s husband was the Minister of the Interior, Julian’s superior.
Cecilia instead imagined herself stomping on Orentia’s foot repeatedly while letting the woman’s insulting words slide in one ear and out the other.
“And yet, our dear Lady Cecilia is busy showing off her beauty even at someone else’s memorial service? Isn’t that dress a little too extravagant? Don’t be too upset if Count Wintaile treats you like an unwelcome guest.”
It wasn’t Cecilia’s dress that was extravagant—it was her looks.
Aside from her striking beauty, there was nothing about Cecilia that was over-the-top. As Madam Orentia picked a needless fight, Cecilia’s eyebrow twitched, as though she couldn’t hold back any longer.
Madam Orentia had always targeted Cecilia with petty insults. Her daughter, being of a similar age to Cecilia and a competitor for the Crown Princess’s hand, was likely the reason for her spite.
“Madam Orentia, your words are far too—”
“Count Wintaile values all his guests.”
It was Hera who stepped forward at that moment.
Standing just behind a fuming Cecilia, Hera took half a step forward and spoke firmly.
Cecilia turned to her in surprise. She hadn’t expected Hera to step up in a situation like this.
“It is not the tradition of House Wintaile to reject guests who come to offer condolences and share in our grief.”
Hera could feel Cecilia’s gaze on her.
She wasn’t sure if it was right to stand out using Emilia’s body like this—but she couldn’t stay silent while Cecilia, who had taken such good care of her, was being insulted.
‘Besides, this is my house. If anything, Cecilia is my guest.’
Hera could speak more confidently than anyone else here.
After all, no one knew Count Wintaile—her father—better than she did.
“Hm, not bad! A young lady of House Tolyn who knows how to strike back.”
A loud voice called out from behind the crowd just as Hera finished speaking.
The voice drew everyone’s attention—and shocked them all at once.
“His Highness the Crown Prince!”
It was none other than Crown Prince Ron Arista of the Ivy Empire.
Dismounting from his horse, he looked at Hera and gave a bright smile. He had likely been listening from the beginning.
“The Wintaile family motto is ‘Listen to the Song of Stars and Whales.’ And as songs leap over windows and fences and spread far, the Wintaile spirit is just what the young lady of House Tolyn has said.”
Ron sided with Hera.
He smiled at her, but Hera was more struck by how much his hair resembled someone else’s.
That golden wheat-colored hair looked exactly like…
“Don’t you think so, Marriott?”
Ron turned his head and called out to someone else. At his call, Marriott stepped down from a carriage.
“That man…”
Hera’s gaze instantly locked onto Marriott.
“His Highness the Crown Prince is right. That is why House Wintaile is known as ‘the Empire’s Last Peace.’”
Seeing Marriott again was bizarre. Gone was the arrogant air from their first encounter in the bedroom, and the weak, tearful figure who had wept behind the garden statue.
He looked like a completely different person.
If not for his almost perfect beauty, Hera might not have believed it was the same man.
His attire was overly casual, a sweet smile played at his lips, his eyes slanted softly, and his voice was gentle.
Nothing about him resembled that first impression.
Now, he simply looked like a very handsome, spoiled noble.
“Haha. The beautiful Wintaile spirit of peace that sides with no one.”
Ron casually threw his arm around Marriott’s shoulders and pulled him close.
To the onlookers, they appeared like the best of friends.
“You owe a lot to that spirit, don’t you? From long ago—ten years, perhaps?”
Though Ron’s words were suggestive, Marriott replied with a bright smile.
“House Wintaile was merely a resting stop. The ones who truly saved my life were His Majesty Jerome and His Highness Ron. It was His Majesty who allowed me to carry my mother’s family name—an honor I will never forget.”
Pleased with the answer, Ron nodded vigorously.
“Well then, shall we go see Count Wintaile?”
Laughing and chatting, Ron and Marriott strolled across the garden.
People parted to the sides to avoid obstructing their path.
As Marriott passed by Hera, her eyes naturally drifted to his outfit.
‘Those aren’t wolf buttons…’
The buttons on Marriott’s clothing were plain.
Even if he had been wearing those wolf-engraved buttons again, they would’ve been replaced by now.
That was the expected course of things—but still, something about his spotless, perfect outfit made her feel an odd sense of disappointment.
A meaningless, private disappointment.
“Wasn’t that just now… His Grace, Duke Marriott Lorant?”
After Ron and Marriott entered the manor, silence fell over the crowd.
Not for lack of things to say—but because they had too much to say.
They simply couldn’t believe what they had just seen.
Marriott Lorant had returned to Central.
After ten years.
“What in the world is going on?”
“How did he leave the South?”
It wasn’t just one or two nobles who had turned pale.
They all looked as if they had seen a ghost.
“Why are people so shocked?” Hera asked Cecilia quietly, unable to contain her curiosity.
Cecilia looked at her strangely, as if wondering why she would even ask.
“Don’t you remember the Wolf Hunt?”
“Wolf… hunt?”
Hera had expected an explanation about Marriott—but instead, Cecilia brought up a wild beast hunt out of nowhere.
When Hera tilted her head in confusion, Cecilia began speaking, her expression not exactly welcoming.
“It was in May of 928, ten years ago. At the time, Marriott Lorant—no, Marriott Arista—was the imperial crown prince. The beloved grandson of Emperor Diane.”
Cecilia recited the tale smoothly, as if reading from a history book.
If the characters she spoke of hadn’t just been standing in front of them, the story would’ve sounded like some violent historical novel.
“Duke Jerome Arista, Emperor Diane’s younger brother, and his son Ron Arista led a force that stormed the palace. They killed Emperor Diane, Crown Prince Cain, and Crown Princess Sharon. People called it the ‘Wolf Hunt,’ because the Arista family’s symbol was a wolf—though it’s changed slightly now.”
“The current emperor… is a traitor?” Hera asked, eyes wide.
“Shh.”
Cecilia pressed a finger to Hera’s lips.
“No one calls the emperor a traitor. And no one calls Marriott Lorant a poor victim either.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Wolf Hunt happened—but at the same time, it didn’t.”
Her words were vague, but Hera grasped the gist.
The people of the Ivy Empire had already accepted Jerome’s rebellion. That meant it had been a perfectly executed coup.
“Emperor Jerome gave Prince Marriott his mother’s maiden name, Lorant. It was essentially an expulsion from the Arista line. After the Wolf Hunt, the emperor announced that Marriott chose to retire to the southern province of Mozene to carry on his mother’s legacy—but in truth, he was imprisoned there. A secret edict was issued preventing him from ever leaving.”
Cecilia’s voice turned bitter as she continued.
“It’s a ridiculous excuse. Claiming that the hunted crown prince voluntarily went to protect the southern border against foreign threats. Who would believe that someone would protect their enemy’s empire out of duty?”
Cecilia frowned, her tone sour.
She had no affection for Marriott—but still seemed to feel a sliver of pity for him.
Almost as if she were empathizing.
“He went through something terrible.”
Thanks to Cecilia, Hera now knew a great deal more about Marriott.
But one question still lingered: why had he returned to Central—this place full of painful memories?
There was no way Cecilia could answer that for her.
“Maybe… to repay a debt from the Wolf Hunt…”
