TIHYGR 19

TIHYGR

Episode 19

But no soldier dared to approach Joseph.

It was because he exuded a chilling aura—like one who had battled death every day. Just meeting his eyes made their knees weak.

“Are you saying you’re going to stop me from taking the documents His Grace ordered me to retrieve?”

Joseph slowly turned to look behind him, each word chewed out deliberately.

“Hmm? Marquis Rinko?”

“……”

There wasn’t a trace of courtesy in Joseph’s feral gaze. After glaring at the marquis, he suddenly grinned and strolled off with ease.

The place he left behind was a mess. With a sigh from someone, the bureaucrats’ complaints exploded.

“He wasn’t looking for the documents! That bastard flipped everything on purpose!”

“He wanted to screw us over from the start!!”

“That damn lunatic!”

As the unexpected situation unfolded, the marquis ground his teeth in frustration. Next to him, the marquess quietly shook her head.

“Looks like the Duke postponed your negotiation.”

“Hmph, picking up shallow tricks somewhere…!”

“No helping it. I’ll step in and look into the Duke myself.”

“You? What are you planning to do?”

The marquess lightly patted her husband’s arm as if to say “don’t worry,” then turned around gracefully. As she exited the office, she ordered a maid:

“Bring Flora to me.”

✦ ✦ ✦

When Joseph arrived at the Duke’s chambers, Walter was reading a book on the sofa. He wasn’t in his usual bloodstained armor, but a suit. What he held wasn’t a bloodied sword, but a book. And yet, he still radiated dignity and authority.

Joseph, remembering the marquis who only dared to shout at him, wished he could see this.

“I’ve retrieved the documents you requested, Your Grace.”

Walter set the book aside and held out his hand. Joseph quickly handed over the papers, and Walter leaned forward to scan through them at speed.

Joseph glanced at the book Walter had been reading. The edges were worn from use, but the cover had no title—as always. Walter only ever read books with no title.

Unlike the marquis’s assumption that Walter wouldn’t even understand the documents, the Duke flipped through them with icy precision.

“You’ve done well, Joseph.”

Joseph blinked and asked cautiously,

“Weren’t you planning to move the moment you arrived?”

“……”

“Wouldn’t striking before they’re prepared be wiser—”

“Joseph.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Walter gazed at him, then asked with a slight edge:

“If they’re prepared, are you not confident?”

The question made Joseph let out a soft laugh. The smile lingered briefly before he straightened his posture.

“Not at all.”

Apparently satisfied, Walter leaned back and replied,

“They probably think I’ve wasted ten years. But in that time, I gained you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just wait a little longer. I’ve waited ten years—what’s a few more days?”

“Understood.”

Joseph replied like a disciplined soldier, then instinctively surveyed the room. But there was no sign of Grace.

After a brief hesitation, he asked carefully,

“Is the young lady… on the move?”

Walter didn’t respond. But Joseph saw the corners of the Duke’s mouth briefly curve upward.

Pretending not to notice, Joseph stifled a grin. He hadn’t known Grace for long, but somehow, knowing she was active filled him with confidence.

Then came a knock, and a maid announced unwelcome guests.

“Your Grace, the Marchioness of Rinko and Lady Flora of the Count of Lewen are here to see you.”

✦ ✦ ✦

A large pink rose.

That was Joseph’s impression of Flora. Her dress was adorned with floral clusters that made her resemble a bouquet.

She sat demurely, hands folded in her lap, sneaking glances at Walter. From this angle, he looked even more dashing. She had never met a man so overwhelming she couldn’t look directly at him.

Knights were said to look like laboring peasants, but Walter resembled a masterwork sculpture—sharp jawline, finely carved nose, deep eyes, thick brows. He embodied perfection.

And yet, from this perfect sculpture came an untamed wildness—something no ordinary man could ever imitate.

Her heart thumped wildly.

Flora bit her lower lip slightly and lifted her gaze. She prayed he would look at her—and sure enough!

Their eyes met.

Startled, she looked down quickly and bit her lip. Her nerves were on edge.

He looked at me.

A tingling sensation spread through her body.

Yes! This must mean something!

As Flora blushed and lowered her head, the Marchioness turned to Walter and said,

“Your Grace, this is Lady Flora, only daughter of the loyal Count of Lewen. She is like a daughter to me. Her beauty is matched only by her kind heart. She’s well-versed in embroidery, music, painting—an educated lady in every respect.”

“Marchioness, please… you embarrass me.”

Flora murmured shyly. The Marchioness laughed behind her hand.

“Such modesty, as always, dear Flora.”

She turned to Walter with a radiant smile—only for it to falter briefly.

She’d thought he’d be uncouth, raised among knights. But there was… something different about Walter.

He sat with flawless posture—yet didn’t smile, didn’t greet them. He simply observed.

Then, at last, he spoke.

“So. What brings you here?”

His calm voice made the Marchioness swallow nervously. After a pause, she decided to speak plainly.

“Your Grace, there’s been some talk among the servants. About the occupant of the chandelier room.”

Walter waited in silence.

“May I ask… who is she?”

Flora quickly looked up, eyes fixed on his lips.

Walter replied slowly.

“Grace. She is my beloved.”

“……”

Marchioness and Flora blinked slowly, then exchanged looks.

Grace.

That was all.

Flora bit her lip to stifle a scoff. Meanwhile, the Marchioness—now composed—continued,

“Forgive me, but that room should not be opened for personal whims. And the person at Your Grace’s side should be thoroughly vetted.”

Walter lifted his eyes slightly.

A coldness crept in, like a fog rolling over still waters. A chill prickled across her skin. Then she realized—Walter’s demeanor reminded her of…

“Marchioness. What’s my name?”

“Pardon?”

“Don’t make me ask twice. My name.”

“You are Duke Walter Richmond.”

“And what’s the name of this ancestral estate you revere so much?”

“The Richmond Ducal Estate.”

Walter stroked his chin lazily and asked,

“Is there any room in this estate that I must request permission to open?”

The Marchioness suddenly understood. His demeanor—

“And everyone at my side is someone I have vetted. Who dares question my judgment? You, Marchioness?”

—was like royalty.

No… he can’t be royal…

She clenched her fists tightly to push away the intuition.

Don’t falter. The Duke is bluffing.

She widened her eyes and spoke with force.

“Forgive me if I offended you. But the title of Duchess is not mere decoration. If you seek respect from your vassals, Your Grace, then the Duchess must also earn respect from the ladies and servants of the inner castle.”