Chapter 67
After staging the death of Viscount Solsiang as a suicide, Ober reported to the Crown Prince what the viscount had confessed.
“Meriet has hidden his private soldiers in Central.”
“Yes.”
Ron let out a hollow laugh. He had expected that Meriet would come to Central fully prepared, but not to this extent.
Adjusting his attire in front of the mirror, Ron asked Ober,
“Have you informed His Majesty yet?”
“Not yet. As you know, His Majesty’s health has worsened recently.”
Ron’s hand froze. As Ober had said, his father, Emperor Jerome, had recently reached a critical state of health.
During the wolf hunts, Jerome had been like a revered alpha wolf—naturally commanding admiration. With just a look, he could dominate and compel obedience. To Ron, it was only natural that he had ascended to Emperor Diane’s throne. Many shared the same thought, and even his family conflicts had quietly been buried as if they never happened.
But that was all in the past. Jerome had been ailing since six years ago. In particular, in the last year, the days he remained lucid were fewer than the days he did not. Few were aware of the severity of Jerome’s illness, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide.
As if aware of this situation, Meriet appeared in Central at precisely the right time, which is why Ron felt a sense of urgency.
“Good. Well done. There’s no need to worry unnecessarily.”
Ron adjusted his sleeves again, curling one side of his lip.
Private soldiers, he thought. Private soldiers. How ridiculous I must have looked to make him plan a rebellion from the start.
But it was actually convenient. Pretending to be a foolish playboy was becoming unbearable, and now that the private soldiers were hidden, he could launch a preemptive strike.
“If you never intended to take revenge, you wouldn’t have waited ten years quietly in Mozeni. If I can find evidence of the rebellion, it’s time to end you for good.”
Ron glanced at Ober standing behind him in the mirror.
“This time, don’t make any mistakes, Baron Tolyn.”
“I will follow your orders.”
Ober bowed and twisted to leave Ron’s room. The sound of his cane hitting the floor echoed rhythmically and then abruptly stopped. As if something had occurred to him, Ober deliberately made a short sound.
“Ah.”
At that sound, Ron turned to look at Ober.
Ober, unusually pausing, clasped his hands behind his back and asked Ron,
“Have you decided on a partner for the palace ball?”
Thinking it might be an important question, Ron let out a small laugh. He still carried that expression even in casual conversation.
Turning his gaze back to the mirror, as if not worthy of an answer, he spoke playfully,
“Ober, lately you’ve been so obsessed with childish gossip. Your interests have become quite embarrassing, haven’t they?”
“If it is still undecided, may I suggest my daughter?”
“……”
Ron slowly turned his eyes back to Ober. Ober added in a calm tone, as if challenging Ron’s glance,
“I mean Cecilia.”
This time, Ron let out a sound close to a scoff.
“Who are you trying to place that brat next to?”
“Twelve years’ difference isn’t too terrible.”
“Ober.”
Ron walked over to Ober, grabbing his shoulder with a firm grip. It carried significant weight.
“When I promised you and your family a noble life,”
There was a clear warning in his voice: do not trespass into territories he had never permitted.
“I did not take her in to place her beside me. I intend for her to be behind me.”
Ober might have felt insulted by Ron’s warning not to dream of sitting beside him, but not a single eyebrow moved.
Ron studied Ober’s face closely, then laughed softly. The hand that had been resting on Ober’s shoulder fell away.
“Dreams may be sweet, but reality is bitter. Do not seek suffering for yourself.”
Ron walked past him, leaving the room. By framing it as advice, he firmly rejected Ober’s ambition. Ober’s desire to make Cecilia Crown Princess was unacceptable.
“God of Sukaro…”
Alone in the room, Ober tapped his lips twice with his index finger—a signal to begin prayer to Sukaro, the northern god.
Walking down the palace corridor, he muttered a prayer he had surely recited thousands of times.
“Your servant offers a prayer of patience. I await the fruit you shall bestow. Through suffering I understand you, through repentance I reach you. The rising flame does not fall, the flowing waters do not bend, and so the path to find you shall never be arduous.”
Ober’s prayer continued for a long time. Dressed in black, he appeared almost like a priest in a temple. It was an image unbefitting someone who had killed countless people for Ron.
The morning of the palace ball arrived.
Hera woke early, even without servants. Not out of excitement, but worry about the events to come.
Rina’s situation was concerning, but if Meriet officially broke the engagement, she would have no ties to him at all. Though they were never truly lovers, Hera felt deflated.
“Miss, you must prepare for the ball.”
Hera had been sitting idly in bed for hours, lost in thought. Only when a maid brought water and spoke to her did she finally move.
The palace ball was the largest and most important social gathering for the nobility. Once a year, high-ranking nobles, sometimes even foreign royals, attended.
This year, Crown Prince Ron would host in place of the unwell Emperor Jerome. Typically, the ball was held in the name of celebrating the prosperity of the Ivy Empire.
But this year, there was an additional purpose: to welcome Meriet’s visit to Central. Meriet was the guest of honor, and as such, was obliged to attend with a partner—Hera.
Everyone in Central knew this. In terms of both scandal and status as guest of honor, Hera would be the center of attention at the ball. Her fashion and style would be talked about until the next palace ball.
On this important day, Hera was quietly selecting her attire. Cecilia, who usually helped her like playing with dolls, had locked herself in her room.
“…Cecilia.”
“……”
Hera went to Cecilia’s room. Not for advice, but to finally lift Cecilia’s sulking mood after she had pouted since Hera accepted to be Meriet’s partner.
“It’s the ball today. Will you help me choose my dress?”
“…Who are you trying to impress?”
Cecilia, usually excited on party days, had stayed in pajamas sulking until noon. Hera’s awkward approach prompted a dissatisfied response without a glance.
“Wear a dark green evening gown with a pearl necklace.”
Dark green and pearls had been explicitly banned by Cecilia. Pointing them out showed she was still sulking.
Hera frowned, unsure what to do, and glanced at Cecilia. Without her sister by her side, it felt emptier than expected. Especially today, she needed Cecilia.
“I have an important announcement to make in front of Prince Laurent and the others. I need your judgment.”
“Hah. Enough.”
“I’m going to announce that we’re not engaged.”
“……!”
Cecilia’s eyes sparkled. She straightened her back from a sulking, slouched position on the bed. Life returned to her face instantly.
“Really?”
“Yes. This scandal has dragged on too long.”
Cecilia, who had been grumbling all along, immediately returned to her cheerful, lovable self.
“Then I’ll help you look beautiful. Let’s do this together.”
Today, my sister is the star, she added, hugging Hera’s arm. Feeling Cecilia’s warmth again, Hera gently patted her head.
