Chapter 26
Zigmund no longer doubted that Arnulf resided within Joseph’s body.
The problem was that it was difficult to get the truth directly from him.
Tok. Tok.
With a pensive look, Zigmund tapped his desk.
If he wanted to hear the truth straight from Arnulf’s mouth, he would need undeniable proof—
or a situation that would force him to speak it.
“So that’s how it is.”
His tapping finger froze mid-motion as an idea struck him.
Then a slow, thin smile curved across Zigmund’s lips.
At that same time, Arnulf, who had just finished dinner, was reading a textbook Zigmund had given him in his study when a sudden chill made his shoulders shudder.
“What was that?”
Arnulf turned his head and saw that the window was wide open.
The curtains fluttered gently in the breeze, but it wasn’t cold enough to cause a chill.
If anything, it was refreshingly cool, a welcome change from the day’s heat.
Tilting his head slightly, Arnulf’s gaze returned to the book, but his eyes soon drifted upward.
Eventually, he closed it altogether—he couldn’t focus on the text at all.
Leaning back in his chair, he frowned irritably.
What was bothering him was something Zeven had said during dinner.
That he had arranged a meeting with Zigmund as a favor in exchange for something.
After dropping such a loaded statement, Zeven had promptly made plans to meet with Baron Freang and left without hesitation, as though his business was done.
The meeting place with Baron Freang was the same as last time.
“I suppose there’s no avoiding it.”
Having made up his mind, Arnulf turned to put the textbook back on the shelf—then stopped.
His eyes fell upon a small safe taking up one section of the bookshelf.
After a brief moment of hesitation, Arnulf reached out and turned the dial.
With a soft click, the safe opened.
Inside were cash and jewels he had withdrawn from the bank.
But what caught his attention first was a platinum ring set with a blue diamond.
He had brought it from the bank impulsively and, unable to bring himself to wear it, had simply left it there.
Now that his eyes had fallen upon it again, he couldn’t just ignore it.
What should I do with it…
Arnulf turned slightly, catching sight of his reflection in the mirror.
His crisp white shirt, buttoned neatly with only the collar slightly open, showed a bit of his neck.
His gaze lingered there.
Maybe if I wear it as a necklace, it won’t draw attention.
That would be better than leaving it locked up again.
After all, when Zigmund first handed it to him, he had said he’d prefer Arnulf to keep it close.
With his thoughts settled, Arnulf took the ring out.
As he left the study, he found Finn waiting for him in the hall.
“Finn, do you happen to—”
He was about to ask if there was a spare chain for a necklace, but closed his mouth.
“Hm? Yes?”
“Nothing. I’m going out.”
Finn tilted his head, sensing there was something Arnulf wasn’t saying, but quickly let it go—
the mention of an outing seemed far more pressing.
“Going out? At this hour? Where to?”
Earlier, when Zeven had come, Finn had been dismissed from the dining room, so he hadn’t heard their conversation.
That made him even more uneasy.
Was Arnulf, once again, letting Zeven drag him somewhere he shouldn’t go?
“Zeven said he wanted me to meet someone with him.”
“Who? Why?”
Worry crept into Finn’s voice.
“Baron Freang. I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry.”
Arnulf gave his hair a casual pat.
Finn’s face showed he wanted to protest, but in the end, he only said, “Please return safely.”
Arnulf nodded wordlessly and left the house.
He hailed a passing carriage and got off in front of the same building as before.
The doorman guarding the entrance looked him over and said stiffly,
“Go to the left and look for the Room of White Roses.”
It seemed they were expecting him.
Arnulf nodded and stepped inside.
Turning left, he passed several closed doors, each marked not by nameplates but by a different flower.
A little farther down was a door adorned with white roses.
Arnulf pushed it open indifferently—but didn’t step in right away.
He frowned.
The room was hazy with smoke, thick enough to blur everything inside.
He could barely tell if anyone was even there.
Narrowing his eyes, he caught the faint, sweet scent lingering in the air.
It wasn’t pleasant. If anything, it made him more reluctant to move forward.
“Lord Joseph, do come in.”
A languid voice drifted out from within the dense fog. Arnulf recognized it instantly.
“Baron.”
“Yes. You’re a bit late.”
Freang spoke as if he had been waiting a long time—even though he hadn’t set a specific time at all.
Arnulf ignored the remark.
What bothered him was the thick smoke swirling through the room.
Still, he couldn’t very well turn back now.
A few steps in, he could finally make out Baron Freang, lounging lazily on a purple velvet sofa.
His hazy eyes fixed on Arnulf, a faint smile curving his lips.
“Have a seat.”
The smile was as unsettling as the cloying scent in the air.
* * *
From the study window, Zigmund frowned at the sight of an unwelcome carriage arriving below.
Six horses drew the heavy carriage—each one a prized stallion bred by the House of Valdeck, renowned for their speed and lineage.
The vehicle itself was elegant and luxurious, befitting the nobleman inside—
the Duke of Valdeck.
“My lord, you have a visitor,” came the butler’s voice from outside the door.
“My father, I assume?”
“Yes, sir.”
The butler’s prompt reply confirmed Zigmund’s suspicion.
The study door still remained closed.
“Show him to the drawing room.”
“Yes, sir.”
After the footsteps faded, Zigmund rose from his seat.
He didn’t head out right away.
Instead, he went to the window and watched as the carriage disappeared into the darkness.
Some time later, the butler returned to inform him that the Duke had been shown to the drawing room.
Yet Zigmund still didn’t move.
The butler, growing anxious, shifted uneasily.
He had once served in the Duke’s household before being sent to assist Zigmund,
so he could not afford to displease either of them.
“My lord…” he began carefully, only to be cut off.
“Wait.”
The butler could do nothing but obey, though he was clearly nervous.
Zigmund stood silently, his gaze still fixed on the darkened window, lost in thought.
He was considering what might have brought the Duke here.
The most likely reason? A question about his future plans.
After Zigmund came of age, the Duke had sent him to the battlefield, seeing it as a chance for him to earn military honors.
But years of war had left the Duke dissatisfied.
Perhaps now, he saw a good opportunity to summon his son home.
But Zigmund had no intention—then or now—of returning to the Valdeck estate.
“Welcome.”
As Zigmund entered the drawing room, the Duke greeted him as though he were the master of the house.
Zigmund gave a curt bow—without any pleasantries.
The Duke clicked his tongue softly before speaking.
“You’ve forced me to come all the way here, haven’t you?”
“There’s no need for us to meet at all, is there?”
Zigmund’s reply was blunt, almost indifferent—hardly the tone one would expect from a son to his father.
“I should at least know whether my son is healthy and doing well.”
“If that’s all you want to know, you already have people reporting to you.”
The Duke didn’t even flinch at the accusation that he had spies planted around Zigmund.
“Getting reports from others isn’t the same as seeing for myself,”
the Duke answered shamelessly.
Zigmund didn’t even bother to scoff. He simply replied flatly,
“I don’t have time for this.”
The Duke clicked his tongue again.
He already knew what kept Zigmund so occupied—investigating the death of Prince Arnulf.
“How long will you keep this up? Some things are better left forgotten.”
But even that failed to stir Zigmund.
The Duke had never approved of his serving as Arnulf’s aide to begin with.
Yes, truly—
the Duke of Valdeck’s greatest regret in life was sending Zigmund to the Academy,
where he had met Arnulf in the first place.
If only I’d known it would come to this… tch.
The Duke clicked his tongue inwardly.
If Zigmund hadn’t been wasting away in apathy every day back then,
he never would have been sent to the Academy at all.
Still, he’d once taken pride in reports that his son was changing for the better—
not realizing that “change” would mean wandering warfronts and borderlands.
At least, now that the thorn in his side—Prince Arnulf—was gone, he could breathe easier.
“I’ll be hosting a ball,” the Duke said casually.
Zigmund looked up, puzzled.
“Your mother plans to invite the sons and daughters of respectable noble families.
Make sure you’re properly prepared.”
So that was it—a matchmaking ball.
Zigmund’s expression darkened.
“I have no need for that.”
“The ball will be held in a month. I’ll inform you of the exact date later.”
Zigmund refused curtly, but the Duke continued, unfazed, even dictating the schedule.
“Your mother will also be sending a tailor and jeweler. Be ready.”
“I told you—I won’t be marrying.”
“Who said anything about marriage? I only said there will be a ball.”
Zigmund’s face turned cold.
So this was why his father had come?
Unexpected—and infuriating.
He rose abruptly, intending to end the conversation,
but froze at the Duke’s next, offhand remark.
