Chapter 29
How long could Petra Simone truly endure that unruly sixth cousin of hers?
Of course, Petra owed Ranje a debt—she had helped her, promised support—but that was a contractual obligation, unrelated to any personal affection.
“She simply isn’t someone you could say is ‘compatible,’” Lenart mused.
Petra would never betray her sense of honor. But Ranje? Lenart couldn’t—no matter how hard he tried—fit Ranje and the word “prudence” into the same sentence. There was no guarantee she wouldn’t storm out of her wardship the moment she felt unjustly criticized by Petra.
And yet, Lenart believed himself to be thinking rationally even as he bought a house—just in case the girl ended up out on the streets, some distant, hypothetical future.
Ranje, having lost interest in Lenart’s prolonged silence, now turned her attention to the view beyond the carriage window.
She had passed through the western regions once before, when they were still bleak and bare, but now everything outside was painted in splendid green. Sunlight poured down over the landscape, a golden afternoon in which not even a whisper of ill omen dared linger.
Petra looked merely bored, while Calisa and Erna had both picked up books. Lenart, for once, didn’t appear gloomy.
When their eyes met, Ranje offered him a small smile.
Despite everything, Lenart had nowhere to stay in the capital.
The social season was already in full swing, and all the proper accommodations were booked. Visiting relatives would be awkward for everyone involved.
Petra, however, was determined to care for Lenart to the very end. She hadn’t said as much aloud, and neither had he, but both knew the truth—Petra had guessed that Lenart had acted as Ranje’s partner, almost like a pair.
“Are you sure about this? Your uncle likely won’t be pleased,” Lenart warned.
Petra answered simply.
“I doubt I’ll suffer greatly for ignoring His Majesty’s whims. Simone has already survived its darkest days without any help from the capital—what difference would it make going forward?”
Anyone lacking pride—or capable of weighing pride against practical gain—would have bowed their head to the Emperor by now, cutting ties with Lenart entirely.
But Petra had no such intention.
It was a matter of family temperament. Unlike her distaste for the late Count, Petra shared a number of traits with her father. Even on his deathbed, the previous Count had openly sided with Lenart—a thoroughly eccentric man.
Watching the exchange between Petra and Lenart, Ranje was struck by the realization that people could be multifaceted.
Petra’s father, like Ranje’s grandfather, had placed great importance on customs and tradition. He would’ve supported Lenart for that reason alone. After all, unless there were glaring flaws, succession had always passed to the child of the previous Emperor.
“And yet, despite that, he never officially named his eldest daughter as heir… and stirred up unnecessary conflict in the end.”
Lenart no longer declined Petra’s invitation.
The four of them headed together to the Simone family’s townhouse in the capital.
After stepping off the train at Central Station, they boarded a carriage. Erna, pretending to be indifferent, couldn’t take her eyes off the window.
For Ville Ranje, the capital was more dazzling and vibrant than any place she had ever seen.
It was a familiar sight to Ranje, but seeing it again after so long, she could now understand Erna’s quiet awe.
“How many years has it been?”
Though she had no special memories of the city, there was a strange, nostalgic tug in her chest.
Lenart, on the other hand, was deliberately keeping his gaze fixed on the interior of the carriage. The city clearly made him uncomfortable.
Ranje, in trying to steal a glance at his expression, met his eyes.
Yet the awkward expression that followed belonged not to her—but to Lenart. Flustered by the eye contact, he pressed his lips into a thin line and asked stiffly,
“Come to think of it, is your name taken from the capital?”
“Right?”
Anyone hearing her name could easily guess the inspiration. She had named herself, but felt a little embarrassed admitting it.
Petra, for once, smiled faintly and said,
“Names taken from places aren’t that rare. The architect who designed the townhouse we’re going to—her name was Serina.”
Just then, the massive townhouse came into view—an awe-inspiring structure almost unbelievable to find inside the capital.
Smaller than the Imperial Palace, yes—but in a city with sky-high land prices and strict construction regulations, only a prince-elector could afford such a place.
“Her mother was the niece of Duke Serin. She named her daughter after her homeland. Later, Serina was granted the title of Viscountess of Tyde… and she designed this very townhouse.”
As the carriage passed through the gates and came to a stop, Petra stepped out, her expression surprisingly bright.
“Calisa, I imagine it’s your first time seeing our ancestors’ legacy. I myself haven’t been here in quite some time.”
Ranje tilted her head back to gaze at the building.
Bathed in the glow of the setting sun, its pure white façade blushed with a soft pink. It reminded her very much of the shores of Simone. The curved ironwork of the windows was a style common to seaside buildings in the west.
Ranje, struck by a sudden question, turned to Petra.
“But didn’t you say you attended the New Year’s balls often?”
Unlike other social events, the New Year’s Ball held in the Emperor’s name was a far more prestigious affair.
Only prince-electors and their direct kin, royalty with succession rights, and high-ranking officials received invitations. Petra and her younger sibling had once directly faced off at one such ball.
Lenart recalled the same and added,
“You never seemed to miss one.”
Driven more by his uncle’s pressure than any desire of his own, Lenart had attended every New Year’s Ball—except this year’s.
Petra had always stood out at those events, and if she had visited the capital, surely she’d have made use of the townhouse.
“No. My brother and I never used this place,” Petra answered, smiling bitterly.
“If one of us stepped foot in first, pride would have compelled the other to follow. And then we’d have ended up bickering under the same roof, even in the capital. So… it was a kind of unspoken agreement to stay away.”
But now the succession dispute was over, and Petra stood as the rightful owner of all family properties. Her smile softened, no longer tinged with bitterness.
“It’s a great honor to receive His Highness as our first guest. You’re welcome as well,” she added to the others.
Though it sounded like they were merely add-ons, Ranje followed behind Lenart without complaint.
Lenart, checking that the sisters were behind him, kept his gaze forward.
He didn’t need to look to know Ranje was gawking around with impolite curiosity—but scolding her for it felt overbearing, even to him. Ever since meeting Ranje, Lenart had discovered how prone he was to nagging. Lately, he’d been trying to rein it in.
Petra didn’t seem bothered. The one to gently scold Ranje was Erna.
“Settle down. You’re turning your head too obviously.”
“Oops.”
“If you’re curious, just wait and ask politely for permission later. I’m sure they’ll let you explore.”
Her voice was so gentle, it gave the impression of something chilling instead.
And once again, Lenart felt uneasy.
Even if she were her older sister only for a few days, Erna was calmer, more reserved—a far more “normal” person than Ranje, to be honest.
Despite the inexplicable coldness she’d shown him lately, Lenart couldn’t simply brush it off. He wasn’t indifferent enough to ignore being disliked by someone so… ordinary.
It was made worse by the strange favor he seemed to receive from Ranje.
Even if he’d led a different life, Lenart preferred kindness, like anyone else. And with Ranje, his guard was inevitably lowered.
But now that Ranje’s beloved sister had started avoiding him, and Ranje herself only looked confused and helpless, stuck in the middle—
Until not long ago…
Yes, not long ago, they’d had a perfectly average, civil relationship. No deeper feelings, but nothing unpleasant either.
Compared to Ranje—who deserved air quotes around her self-proclaimed civility—Erna had been a respectable young lady, and Lenart couldn’t understand what had changed.
If it had been just Erna alone, he might’ve dismissed it as one more person disliking him. But she was Ranje’s sister…
Without realizing it, he began imagining scenarios of being driven apart, and without realizing that, he also began fearing it.
Even after being shown to his room—separated from the sisters—Lenart remained lost in thought.
His life had always been plagued by complicated relationships. An overbearing uncle wasn’t enough—now even a potential junior was a source of stress.
His head began to ache, likely from the exhaustion of travel, and a ridiculous wish crossed his mind.
If only that girl would start talking nonsense again…
Getting swept up in her antics would at least distract him from all these thoughts.
His wish, oddly enough, came true—but not in the way he’d hoped.
The large windows had been left open to welcome the spring breeze, which now carried a strange noise with it—unfamiliar, unsettling.
What’s all this noise?
When they’d arrived, the townhouse had been orderly. There should’ve been no reason for a commotion—not when all that was left was unpacking and preparing dinner. Even welcoming the master back after a long time wouldn’t stir up this much chaos.
Peeking outside, Lenart’s expression changed.
A carriage he hadn’t seen earlier had arrived—and flying atop it was a flag he knew all too well.
A narcissus and a long-necked bird, drawn together in a unique crest. As far as he knew, only one person used that emblem.
Rushing downstairs, Lenart arrived just in time to see Petra confronting the visitor herself.
Given their status, it was absurd for them to be clashing right there in the entrance hall—but even more shocking was who had come.
“Senior, what’s going on?”
A voice called out from the stairs—Ranje, drawn by the commotion.
Lenart spotted her and shook his head, signaling for her to stay back.
Naturally, she ignored him and joined him at his side.
Sensing the new arrivals, both Petra and the guest turned to look at them.
“So, that must be the infamous Miss Swanhilde,” the visitor said coolly.
I’m really curious as to who it is