Chapter 62
“There is some truth in the head maid’s words.”
Jack quietly added to Hannibal.
Anne’s suggestion aligned with the information Hannibal had gathered so far.
Because the greedy emperor had left the crown prince’s seat vacant even into his eighties, the capital was split into two factions—one supporting the first prince and the other supporting the second.
If Hannibal were to pull the second prince into his fold, what would happen?
The West would appear to be supporting the second prince, putting the emperor—who had tried to maintain a delicate balance between both sides—in a difficult position.
“What if Prince Daniel comes to the West and changes his mind? What if he plants his men here, and then forces you to marry Clade again?”
Oliver muttered with his chin in his hand, to which Anne swiftly replied.
“The high nobles who support Prince Daniel have no interest in whatever happens in this faraway West. Above all, what they truly want is to enjoy their wealth and power in the capital. They’ll want to prevent any discontent in the West from spilling into the capital, especially if war were to break out.”
Hannibal Clade’s military prowess had surpassed expectations.
In land battles, the Kingdom of Luto suffered crushing defeats and countless losses against him.
Infuriated by their failures in the unfamiliar terrain of the West, the King of Luto once even diverted troops to invade near the capital.
At that time, Anne and Gray had been hiding in the northern countryside of Edith Tara and knew nothing of it.
But the nobles in the capital remembered it vividly—how terrified they had been for years afterward.
Having nearly been scorched themselves, they finally acknowledged the West as their shield.
Thus, with both the capital’s nobles—who feared another spark of war—and the war-weary people of the West aligned, the second prince Daniel was finally able to ascend as emperor.
But by then, the West had already exhausted much of its forces thanks to the first prince, who had been given command of the army, and the southwestern lands, the main stage of the war, were left utterly devastated.
“Daniel may be less insane than the first prince, but… will the emperor actually listen?”
“At the very least, it’ll help us understand their schemes.”
Hannibal stopped tapping the desk with his fingers, as if he had made his decision.
“For now, let’s send a letter to the emperor. And—what’s the result of the investigation on this man, Sandor?”
At that, Oliver rolled up his sleeves.
“They say it’s only been a week!—but my informants dug up everything.”
Hannibal, unmoved by Oliver’s theatrics, silently urged him to continue.
“After passing through the gates of Tegennes, strangely enough, the mother and daughter insisted on sightseeing along the city wall.”
“The wall?”
“And according to the coachman’s testimony, while sightseeing along the wall, they conveniently fell off the cliff edge.”
“Can the coachman’s testimony be trusted?”
“So we brought him in. He admitted that he only took money to drive the carriage up to the wall as instructed. He said the last he saw, near sunset, was the mother and daughter following some man up the wall.”
“The man who paid him? Do we know who it was?”
“We don’t know who they actually met—since the mother and daughter are dead—but the man who gave the money had a relative working in Lord Sandor’s household.”
Everyone chuckled bitterly at the obvious conclusion.
“That’s enough for today.”
Hannibal, looking tired, ended the meeting.
As Oliver opened the door to leave, he paused as if remembering something and looked back.
“By the way, are you really going to keep Sir Sandor locked up? The South won’t be happy about that.”
“This is a chance to see where their loyalties truly lie.”
Hannibal dismissed his concern.
“Yes, Lord Clade!”
Oliver bowed in an exaggerated flourish and left. Anne also prepared to leave the office with Patrick, but—
“Head Maid.”
Anne froze at the title, not her name.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Won’t you show me the ledger before you go?”
“Oh, yes!”
She had brought it with her, but since they had just returned from their journey, she had thought to show it tomorrow when he wasn’t so tired.
Hurriedly, Anne handed the ledger over to Hannibal.
“And Jack—bring me some cream for the hands. We’re out of the extra supply.”
“Yes, my lord.”
With the steward gone, Anne was left alone standing before Hannibal at his desk.
“Your insights were very helpful. Thank you.”
“I only did what I should.”
Unused to praise, Anne blushed. Hannibal, distracted by the faint redness in her cheeks, stopped flipping through the ledger.
Anne Perot looked… pretty?
“My lord?”
“Oh, yes.”
Snapping out of it, Hannibal shook his head briskly, as though to rid himself of the thought.
“If you’ve nothing more to say, may I be excused?”
“Wait a moment.”
He wanted to keep her there a little longer, but just as he wetted his lips to speak, the steward returned.
“I brought plenty, my lord.”
“Good. Take one for yourself. Head Maid, you too—take plenty.”
Hannibal picked up three jars from the batch the steward had brought and handed them to Anne.
Anne reached out hesitantly, only to notice the cracked edges of her fingernails.
From all the kitchen work and household chores, such small splits and roughness were nothing unusual—
But at this moment, she felt ashamed of her hands.
“Use it often. And stop doing every little menial task yourself—leave it to the undermaids. The head maid is in management.”
Hannibal, sounding almost like a scold, returned the checked ledger to her.
“Yes, thank you.”
Perhaps he had noticed when he held her hand before—that unlike noble ladies, hers were neither soft nor delicate.
Accepting the jars with polite thanks, Anne quickly excused herself and slipped out.
“But my lord, do you really use cream on your hands? I didn’t know that.”
Jack, oblivious, picked up one of the jars he had brought. Hannibal shot him a sharp glare.
“Do you use it?”
Seeing his master’s brow rise as if to touch the heavens, the steward hastily put the jar back down in silence.
* * *
Even in autumn, the western lands where no leaves ever fell were growing drier by the day.
And for the past two months, the Tegennes lord’s castle had known no peace.
“You’re still here today, I see.”
Arthur Clade was still staying on.
Every day, Hannibal asked when he would return to the capital, and every day the answer was the same.
“What kind of unfilial wretch tries to drive out his own father?!”
“Father. No matter how kind the emperor may be, no matter how delightful the capital’s parties, Clade is of the West. Whatever plots are being woven, you must remember you’re only being used.”
Convinced that his father was the emperor’s spy, Hannibal had long since abandoned courtesy toward him.
“Do you think I’m like you—fooled by a woman? I’m protecting this castle not as the emperor’s pawn, but as Clade. Is the war preparation going well? You’re not wasting time with those letters of negotiations and trade again, are you?”
It wasn’t even fatherly advice—so the atmosphere only grew more venomous.
“We can’t let ourselves fall victim to Luto’s schemes.”
“If you had handled things better, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place! Look, Hannibal. War is about to break out, and you’re still unmarried. If you die, who will carry on the line? Unless you mean to leave it to Victoria—marry at once!”
Again, Arthur tried to press capital noblewomen on him as candidates.
“Out of all the women, you just had to be duped by a fraud. But there are plenty of fine ladies in the capital. Don’t trust your foolish judgment—this time, follow your father’s recommendation. This is an order as your count.”
So this was why the old man had, for once, joined him at breakfast—only to ruin the meal with endless nagging.
Hannibal put down his knife, rinsed his mouth with water, and finally spoke.
“Father.”
His voice was low, but it carried a sinister weight like a threat.
“As Clade, pay your respects to the witch and mind the house.”
Hannibal often mentioned the witch in front of Arthur—not only because of her warning, but also because he enjoyed seeing his father shudder in disgust every time.
“You should be marrying and having children first! Only then—”
“I’ll deal with marriage and children myself.”
“When?! When will you ever do it yourself?! The imperial army has already reached the South, and Prince Daniel is arriving as commander just as you wanted. Soon you’ll have to go to the battlefield—”
Bang!
The cup rattled so violently that the last few drops of water splashed across the table.
For Hannibal, his father’s orders to march to war were an old trauma. He fixed Arthur with a dark glare.
“I’ll leave. So shut your mouth.”
“Y-you—what kind of tone is that to your father! Did I push you into this? You’re the lord, so you must take responsibility. Even now, in this dangerous time, I’m working closely with the capital for your marriage. If not a wedding, then at least an engagement before you march. Count Karl’s daughter is on her way to the West—even in this war, she comes to be betrothed to you.”
“…Haa. What is it that you really want, Father?”
Hannibal truly wondered.
A man who cared nothing for responsibility as lord, who only wanted to preserve his own skin—why did he come every year, meddling in West affairs?
If he only wanted money, that would be understandable. But always pushing capital noblewomen at him—wasn’t that just proof he was the emperor’s informant?
If Count Clade really was the emperor’s spy, nothing could be more pathetic.
“You can’t be wishing for the West to fall.”
That would mean losing the very foundation that gave him his standing.
Even if capital nobles mocked him behind his back, Arthur’s treatment rested on the prosperity Hannibal had carved out for the West with his own blood and sweat.
“Do you perhaps want the West to fall into the emperor’s hands?”
