Chapter 82
A new item had been added to the daily morning briefing.
It started exactly two days after the Duchess had fallen ill and returned home to rest.
“Tell me about the open slots first.”
If there was even the slightest gap in his schedule, it had to be reported immediately.
The Duke of Venachert’s schedule was always packed. Even more so since the resort’s grand opening.
Even the rare “free” moments weren’t enough for proper rest—barely enough time for a quick meal or a cup of coffee.
Callis stared hard at the schedule.
He had tried everything—shoving meetings around, juggling appointments—to carve out even a sliver of time, but today, it was utterly impossible.
He knew perfectly well why the Duke wanted this report, yet no matter how hard he looked…
Taking a short breath, Callis let out a weary sigh.
“I’m sorry, sir. You still have to meet Mr. Twain this morning, and in the afternoon, we must begin preparations for the military farewell ceremony.”
In short—no rest again today.
“Why does the Crown Prince always make me handle every single military ceremony?” Dante’s brow creased sharply.
It was a farewell ceremony for the Bermark soldiers who had returned home after the end of the war with the Caldrian Republic.
[I’ll have to trouble you just this once more. I also have some matters to discuss, so I’ll be waiting to see you in Arbern. — Reich Venachert]
It was supposed to be the Crown Prince’s responsibility. But only a few days ago, Dante had received that absurd telegram.
That bastard dumped the last ceremony on me too.
He’s completely insane.
And this one was worse—an unplanned event hastily arranged for the returning Bermark forces. They had barely a week to prepare.
If not for the soldiers needing rest after combat, they wouldn’t have had even that.
They were to regroup in Arbern after spending some time in their hometowns, where the grand farewell would take place.
Beneath Dante’s furrowed brows, his golden eyes burned as he glared at the telegram.
At the very end, an irritating line had been added: “Matters to discuss.”
No doubt about titles, conditions—or marriage. The same tiresome nonsense as always.
Clicking his tongue shortly, Dante grabbed his jacket and rose from his seat.
Callis, who had been glancing nervously at the clock, immediately rushed to open the door the moment Dante stood.
Riena stepped inside the building, slowly taking in her surroundings.
The large, grand space didn’t feel entirely unfamiliar, though the lively crowd already made her feel tired.
Sunlight poured through the windows, flooding the hall with a bright, cheerful energy.
The air was filled with the hum of pleasant conversation and laughter.
Among the many tables and people, Riena searched for the person she was supposed to meet today.
Hasn’t he arrived yet?
Tilting her head slightly, she glanced around—
Tap.
A hand suddenly landed on her shoulder. Startled, Riena spun around.
“What are you doing here?”
It was Dante Venachert.
Completely caught off guard, Riena’s lips parted soundlessly before she stammered, “W–why are you… aren’t you supposed to be working?”
“I am. I’m here to meet someone.”
He looked down at her with his usual calmness, a faint arch of his brow.
“And you?”
“Oh, I… um…”
Her words trailed off awkwardly before she closed her mouth altogether.
“Why’d you stop mid-sentence?”
Dante squinted slightly. She even avoided his gaze, acting as if telling him the truth would be difficult—suspicious, to say the least.
Riena had never been fond of noisy, crowded places. The only reason she’d come to one of the city’s biggest cafés had to be a meeting.
Realizing something, Dante sighed quietly.
He had forgotten, momentarily, that meeting her outside like this wasn’t unusual anymore.
“Go on. Your company’s probably waiting.”
Surprised by his words, Riena lifted her head.
He’s just… letting me go?
Blinking blankly, she finally remembered what he had said earlier.
“Oh, you mentioned you were meeting someone too, right?”
He nodded. “The person I’m meeting doesn’t know your face. Don’t worry.”
“…Alright, then.”
Hesitating, unsure how to end the exchange, she bowed slightly.
Dante frowned noticeably, though Riena didn’t see it.
She turned and walked past him.
From behind Dante, Callis—who had been waiting for the awkward encounter to end—peeked out nervously.
“Um… Your Grace, our meeting guest is waiting as well.”
“I know.”
His tone was sharp.
Riena sat by the window, waiting for Henry.
She’d had no choice but to meet him here, but even so, she couldn’t bring herself to sit in the same seat as before.
As the ice in her apple juice melted and condensation gathered on the glass, she finally spotted him hurrying through the café entrance.
“Over here, Henry.”
She raised her hand lightly to wave.
Henry spotted her immediately and rushed over—but something seemed off.
He was limping.
Riena narrowed her eyes slightly.
“I’m really sorry, Riena.”
“It’s alright. I only just got here.”
She knew he’d noticed her melted drink, but she didn’t want him to feel bad.
Henry’s brows drooped apologetically.
“I’m sorry. Doing things with one hand isn’t easy. I should’ve left earlier…”
“I understand. Oh—let me order something for you.”
She unfolded the menu before him, smoothly changing the subject.
“They’re known for their open sandwiches here—they’re really good. What do you think?”
“Then I’ll buy two of those.”
“Oh, Henry. Please stay seated. I’ll go.”
When he nodded and began to rise, she quickly stopped him.
“No, really. I want to do this. Consider it my treat.”
Now that she had money of her own, she could finally repay him, even just a little.
And besides—his arm wasn’t the only thing that was still healing.
“I’ll be right back.”
“…Thank you.”
Dante was quickly losing patience.
The businessman across from him hadn’t stopped talking about himself since the meeting began.
They’d done business before, and Dante had no reason to ruin the relationship, so he gave polite, empty responses. But the man’s ceaseless chatter tested even his iron patience.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Riena stand up from her seat behind the man.
She couldn’t be leaving already—it must have been to order something herself.
His gaze followed her.
That idiot. He made her wait all this time and now lets her go buy it herself?
Dante had seen everything—from when Riena first arrived and waited alone, to when that limping man entered.
So that’s who she’s meeting…
He hadn’t expected that.
Short hair. Bandaged arm. Limping gait.
A recently returned Bermark soldier, without a doubt.
The businessman, oblivious to Dante’s dwindling attention, seemed delighted by his silence and dove into a new topic.
“This isn’t public knowledge yet, but the Delarube Company—who used to supply wine to the royal family—is starting a new brewing venture.”
Pulling his gaze back from Riena, Dante finally looked at Mr. Twain again.
“I see.”
“They’re planning to use some new foreign fermentation method to create an entirely different kind of liquor.”
For some reason, his attention kept drifting back toward Riena’s table.
It wasn’t that he cared how she knew a soldier like that—just that seeing her with any man rubbed him the wrong way.
He had no intention of doing anything like before… but still.
So he pretended not to notice.
“Are you interested in this venture, Your Grace?” Twain asked eagerly.
For now, Dante had to deal with the man in front of him.
Businessmen were all the same—no one wanted to invest first, not until someone influential broke the ice. Twain clearly wanted Dante’s endorsement.
After all, Duke Venachert was one of the most successful businessmen in the kingdom.
Lifting his coffee cup leisurely, Dante murmured, “Hmm. Doesn’t quite spark my interest yet.”
A shrewd man, yet surprisingly foolish.
Everyone knew Dante rarely drank alcohol, and yet the businessman prattled on, smiling.
“Haha! Of course, of course. I suppose hearing about it like this doesn’t quite do it justice. Ah, by the way—I heard you’re in charge of the upcoming military farewell ceremony? Is that true?”
“Word travels fast,” Dante said with a faint smile.
Next to him, Callis bit his lip hard.
That smile—the one that came out when the Duke was trying very hard not to lose his temper.
