Chapter 66: How a Mercenary Deals with a Royal Messenger (2)
“For your safety. And for Persona. That’s why I’ll find out. So relax your face a little.”
Gyle gently tickled the frown between Regina’s brows.
She bit down hard on his teasing finger. She knew he was being mischievous because she was ticklish. It must have hurt, but Gyle didn’t pull away. Instead, he stayed there, almost daring her to bite harder.
“Pfft. Don’t fool around at times like this.”
“Haha.”
He tried to ease the heavy mood with laughter. Regina sighed deeply, her shoulders rising and falling, and warned him:
“Even if you find out something, the decision is mine.”
“Of course.”
Naturally. Gyle nodded without hesitation.
“Ah, now that the room feels warm, I think I’ll take a nap.”
“Go sleep in your room, not in the lounge.”
Shanro collapsed on the sofa, ignoring her nagging. He knew she’d just end up shaking him awake with her hands or feet anyway.
But strangely, she didn’t. Curious, Shanro cracked open one eye. Regina was staring out the far window.
Whatever it is… she’ll vanish tonight.
Balmen was drenched in rain. Thomas said it had been storming since dawn. Perhaps the cursed storm clouds that left the capital had drifted here instead.
“But where is the duchess?”
Cablen glanced behind Valentin. He had expected her to enter the room together with him.
“She’s unwell. She stayed at the villa.”
Thomas answered quickly, but Cablen clicked his tongue in displeasure.
Thomas looked at the man—his former hero—like he was the very root of all evil.
When Thomas was young, newly a knight, Cablen had been a war hero. His victories were sung everywhere, even in distant villages. To fight under him had felt like an honor too heavy to bear.
Until he saw the truth. Women and children, abused and slaughtered just for being “enemy families.” Cablen had allowed it, even encouraged his soldiers to join in.
Thomas could still feel the softness of those innocent bodies clinging to his blade. That day had haunted him ever since.
He could never call that “honor.” So he fled.
Afterward, the order branded him a disgrace. Cablen ignored him completely. His career had ended there.
That’s why the lady isn’t here. She’s kind and just—she’d never sit across from this cruel man with a smile. Especially not her.
Thomas gave Valentin a quiet, knowing glance from behind.
“There’s no imperial law saying the decree must be received as a couple.”
Valentin tilted his head slightly, as if asking, So what’s the problem?
“I heard your wife is a strong mercenary. Or did I hear wrong?”
Every time Cablen spoke, the scar slashing across his face twisted and moved. Valentin’s mood twisted with it.
“I was told this order was urgent.”
“Then I may ask as your old master… how is married life?”
His calm reply made Cablen’s gray eyes flicker. He stared at Valentin’s clothes, as though searching for even a speck of dust.
Was this really a conversation? Thomas pressed his chest, uneasy. Once, these two had shared the bond of master and student. Now they were only enemies.
Outside, the rain pounded harder, as if following Cablen’s hand gesture.
“The rain grows stronger. Let’s drink tea and discuss the order slowly.”
A flash of lightning rattled the windows.
Cablen grinned, joking that strong tea suited such weather. His scar, stretching from jaw to brow, seemed to smile with him.
The round table quickly filled with teacups. Confe, who had once bragged of his tea-brewing skills, now poured with pride for such an important guest.
“Mmm. Good.”
Cablen picked up a cream-covered cookie with his scarred hand and gazed out the window. The decree, carrying the emperor’s words, lay before Valentin like some common love letter.
Usually, one knelt to receive it. But Valentin was still a prince, and Cablen couldn’t be bothered to make a cripple kneel.
“The Empress Dowager wishes you both to attend the Day of Blessings. She regrets never meeting your wife. It’s a day of joy, the start of spring—what better time?”
His tone toward a prince and duke was anything but respectful.
Of course—compared to a discarded “mad prince,” Cablen saw himself as superior. His power and fame, built by blood, shone like a sunflower blooming proudly under the sun.
And so long as the sun never set, that sunflower would never wilt.
“You’ve never attended such imperial celebrations, have you? But now you have a wife. If you’re uneasy, she can come in your place.”
In other words, refusal was not an option.
Valentin’s lips twisted bitterly. His stomach churned. This private audience with his former master made him sick. His buried hatred rose, raw and burning.
He wanted to vomit.
“The Day of Blessings is like a hunting festival. With my legs, I can’t even run. And my wife—she’s never even been to such an event.”
“Yet she’s the mercenary who drew her sword against Count Renziere. She could easily act for her husband. Isn’t she the one who dared raise a blade?”
Cablen’s chin lifted arrogantly, as if he held everything in his palm.
“The rumors were silenced, but I know. And as captain of the guard, I could punish such a crime myself—protecting Her Majesty’s honor.”
He recalled with pleasure how he once crushed soft pudding in front of Shubel, staining his hands but savoring the boy’s tears of rage. That mix of despair and fury had been sweeter than cream.
“Ah, is that why you didn’t bring her?”
“She is sick. As my knight said.”
Valentin turned to the rain. Better the sound of the storm than this foul conversation. His waist always hurt worse in this weather.
He thought of her. He wanted to see her.
“You’ve grown calmer, I admit. At first, I didn’t believe Count Renziere’s words. But perhaps you are stable enough now for a small outing.”
Valentin still kept his eyes on the window.
Everyone in the palace knew the “mad prince” often stared blankly outside before collapsing into seizures. But in truth, that had always been his best defense. If he didn’t meet their eyes, he could still breathe.
“Or perhaps your healer made some miracle cure? Or maybe it’s your wife’s love, healing your broken mind?”
Cablen kept talking, even as Valentin ignored him.
Finally, Valentin turned his head. He picked up the teacup—and smashed it against his own skull. Shards dug into his flesh. Blood spilled down, soaking the white tablecloth deeper than the spilled tea.
“Is this the madness you wanted?”
Cablen bit his tongue, stifling his words. Truly insane, he thought.
Blood dripping down his face, Valentin smiled brightly. He looked like a man splashed with sweet red wine.
“My healer gave me medicine. It lets me go mad politely.”
He wiped his bloody hand across the white cloth. Crimson spread everywhere, staining the table once filled with elegant porcelain.
“But sometimes I still go wild. Want to see?”
His hand, pressed to the table, trembled slightly. Was it madness? Joy? Or fear? No one could tell.
