#12.
Someone cautiously brought up the events of ten years ago. Just hearing words that even vaguely alluded to past treason made the nobles uneasy; they quickly avoided each other’s gaze.
“If that’s really the case, then quite a few people here could be in trouble. There were plenty who played the role of the hunting dogs, after all.”
A noblewoman wearing a large hat spoke sharply. Her tone dripped with cold disdain.
Hera guessed that this woman must be someone who still mourned the late Emperor Diane.
“Lady Welch, that kind of comment is a bit…”
Those around her tried to dissuade her, but even their voices were careful and subdued.
Hera could feel in her bones how much they all wanted to avoid talking about the wolf hunt.
“I’ve heard that the Duke of Lorant is quite famous in Mozheni for… certain things.”
“What do you mean, ‘certain things’?”
“Womanizing.”
A nobleman spoke in a suggestive tone, trying to spark curiosity among the listeners.
Once he had their full attention, he continued excitedly.
“It’s not that I have a particular interest in the Duke myself, but my brother-in-law works in trade and sails ships from Sarodos. As you know, Mozheni is right next to Sarodos, so we often hear gossip from over there.”
“So the story has some credibility?”
“Of course. I don’t tell lies. They say that any woman can get a tour of the Duke’s bedroom.”
He said it with a deliberately lascivious tone.
This provoked vivid imaginations, and some faces flushed with excitement.
Just like that, Marriott Lorant became an object of curiosity for the Central nobles.
He had been a forbidden name for the past ten years—someone they were forced to pretend to forget.
But for most of these nobles, entertainment mattered more than any complicated political reasons.
The reappearance of a dazzling, vibrant figure brought long-lost life into the dull social scene.
“Oh ho, then has he shed that fiery temper of his? The one that used to be just like Emperor Diane’s?”
“Perhaps so. You remember all the wild rumors when he first settled in Mozheni? They said he tortured and killed a steward sent by Emperor Jerome.”
“I’ve heard that one too.”
“Chances are that was true. Remember that rumor about Crown Prince Ron secretly traveling to Mozheni and getting into a huge fight with the Duke about nine years ago?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“When you live in a relaxed and scenic place like Mozheni, the venom just drains from you naturally. Besides, the South is quite liberal. It’s not hard to imagine a passionate prince indulging in those kinds of pleasures.”
One by one, the nobles began pouring out all the rumors they’d kept buried.
So engrossed in gossip, they didn’t even notice the butler from the Count of Wintail’s household standing behind them.
“He’s grown into such a fine gentleman. Those with unmarried daughters better keep a close eye on them.”
“With a face like that, he’ll attract scandal without even trying.”
“Looks like we’re in for an exciting social season.”
“Everyone, Count Wintail is waiting for you. Please, come inside.”
Startled by the butler’s sudden interruption, the nobles went quiet.
They had indulged in far too much idle chatter for a memorial service. Now they entered the Wintail estate with guilt-ridden expressions, as if they had committed a crime.
‘Uncle Berry…’
At the very back of the line, Hera had a very different expression from the others.
She spotted Berry Donell, the butler, struggling to compose his grief-stricken face from afar and barely managed to hold back her own tears.
To her, the butler of the Wintail household was like an uncle.
That he couldn’t hide his grief was proof that he was mourning Hera’s death.
Overcome with guilt, Hera lowered her head.
“To die at twenty-two… The heavens are truly heartless.”
As she stepped into the familiar Wintail mansion, Hera spotted Crown Prince Ron already inside, offering words of comfort to Count Wintail.
“It’s an honor that Your Highness came in person—to both me and Hera.”
Larry Wintail responded as respectfully as he could. He had become noticeably gaunt in just a few days.
His already slim figure now looked downright frail.
“Not at all. There’s no family in the Ivy Empire with a longer history than yours. Both I and His Majesty the Emperor consider your sorrow a sorrow of the entire Empire.”
Ron gently placed a hand on the Count’s shoulder. He was shocked by how bony it had become, but forced a smile to hide his reaction.
“Ah, the Duke of Lorant is here as well.”
The Count’s gaze shifted to Marriott, who stood behind Ron.
He recalled the boy from ten years ago—a youth consumed with vengeance after losing all his loved ones. Who would have thought that dangerous boy would grow into such a gentle-eyed man?
Larry Wintail stammered slightly, unable to reconcile the past and present images of Marriott.
“I’m sorry I cannot properly host such esteemed guests under the circumstances…”
The Count’s apology seemed genuine. Even Hera had never seen him look so disheveled.
‘Father…’
But with Emilia’s face, she couldn’t approach him.
Standing at the very back among the nobles, Hera had to fight the urge to run into her father’s arms.
“How did she die?”
“Pardon?”
Everyone at the memorial could feel the depth of the Count’s grief without needing to ask. Silence filled the room.
The one to break that heavy silence was Marriott Lorant, who seemed to have no personal ties to Hera.
“How did Hera—no, Lady Hera—die?”
It wasn’t a routine offering of sympathy. His eyes were suddenly filled with genuine sorrow as he looked at the Count.
He had called her Hera with familiarity, then corrected himself.
The arrogance and languidness that usually colored his face melted away.
In this moment, he seemed sincere.
Perhaps it was only natural that Count Wintail broke down upon facing him.
“Hera… my child… went peacefully. The illness that tormented her finally claimed her.”
The Count’s voice trembled.
Marriott stood before him, hardly daring to breathe.
It was as though the two were sharing a private grief only they could understand.
“I always hated that Hera was sick. My poor girl never had the chance to know simple happiness. Sometimes, I even prayed she would die quickly, so she could be reborn healthy. So she could run like a horse, command the battlefield like a knight of the Sun King, or sing like the performers on Baum Street—live freely in a body without chains.”
The inner thoughts of a grieving father left those listening with heavy hearts.
Even strangers found their eyes stinging. Hera, unable to approach, silently wept from afar.
“But now that she’s gone without even a chance for a proper goodbye, I find myself wishing she were still here—even if she were still sick.”
Count Wintail could no longer contain his emotions.
Tears streamed down his face as his shoulders shook.
“How can I still be so selfish after losing my daughter in such a senseless way?”
Who could dare to tell such a broken father, “It’s not your fault”?
The nobles simply wiped away their own tears quietly.
“Hold onto it all. That sorrow. That guilt.”
Marriott stepped forward and spoke calmly, biting his lip to keep back tears.
“As long as someone remembers the dead, they are never truly gone. Count Wintail, let us remember our Lady Hera forever.”
At his words, the Count’s face softened a little. He nodded.
“Even after all that time in a rural place like Mozheni, he still carries the dignity of the imperial family.”
“Indeed. And he looks just like the late Emperor Diane. So handsome.”
The nobles in front of Hera began whispering behind their fans, clearly beginning to view Marriott in a favorable light.
Hera couldn’t help but feel the same.
How could she dislike someone who had sincerely mourned her death and comforted her father?
“But… I don’t see Countess Wintail. Is she too heartbroken to receive guests?”
Just as the Count had regained some composure, Ron’s question made him frown slightly.
He briefly considered lying.
After all, when Hera died, Belina had immediately declared she wanted a divorce. People would surely criticize her.
He considered claiming she had gone to the countryside for recovery, but the truth would come out eventually—there was no point making it more complicated.
“Belina… has returned to her homeland.”
“Ah, yes. The Countess was originally a princess of the Kingdom of Caren, wasn’t she? So she’s gone for a short rest?”
“No. Belina and I have divorced.”
To others, this might have been juicy gossip.
But to Hera, it felt like her world was falling apart.
