CHAPTER 64………………………………

The study door opened and closed.

Heavy footsteps that had been pacing stopped in front of the desk, but Count Sebastian Frances continued signing the documents in silence.

Jerome bit his lip at the obvious slight and, voice full of outrage, finally spoke.

“Father, are we just supposed to put up with this?”

“…….”

“Father!”

Only then did the count, who had been frowning, look up and startle when he took in Jerome’s face.

His split lip was crusted with dried blood, and raw, reddish bruises showed where his skin had been struck.

Had he been hit by the princess—or by one of her bodyguards who follow her around? If that were the case, Jerome’s fury made a good deal of sense.

“Tch, look at you! What did you do to deserve getting slapped like that?” the count snapped.

“Are you saying I should’ve fought her?” Jerome shot back.

The count had briefly hoped it wasn’t the princess who’d struck him — at least, he thought, the boy wouldn’t be one to be beaten by a woman and come home like this. But Jerome’s indignant reply mercilessly dashed that small hope, and Count Frances was momentarily at a loss for words.

“You should’ve at least dodged. Look at you…” He trailed off, unable to finish.

“I barely managed to stop Mother from rushing over to demand satisfaction. I thought you might have some plan, Father. But I can’t stand this any longer.”

“You can’t stand it?”

“I will lodge a formal complaint with the Duke’s house. If there isn’t an appropriate apology and compensation, I won’t hesitate to sue!”

Hearing his son’s angry voice, the count scoffed.

“With that courage, why didn’t you confront the princess then and there? Don’t make a scene at home after the fact.”

“W-what…?”

Shame flooded Jerome’s face.

“I was caught off guard and got hit. You know how the princess is supposed to be—composed and well-bred. Mother accepted the match believing that. Mariana’s adoption is a bit troubling, but if she’s known as a meek, demure woman who smiles quietly whatever’s said to her, she’s an easy match. Marrying her would mean the ducal backing and a substantial dowry—people would stop criticizing you for letting the years go to waste.”

So for Jerome, this marriage was attractive in many ways.

“And so the man ends up with his face like that? Do you think that’s reasonable? Pathetic,” the count spat.

Jerome was about to retort when there was a knock at the door.

“Sir, a guest has arrived.”

‘I told them not to admit anyone else,’ the count grumbled, frowning at the butler’s tone. He was irritated that the butler, out of character, seemed oblivious to the count’s wishes.

“Show them into the drawing room and have them wait,” the count called without checking who it was.

“The guest insists on seeing you, sir — right now, immediately, your Excellency,” the butler pleaded again.

At the butler’s repeated urgency, the count tried to recall if he had forgotten an appointment. He could think of none. Still, there must be a reason the butler persisted.

“Who on earth is here… Bring them in.”

The count’s glare shifted to where the butler stood behind him. A fair-haired man with green eyes met the count’s gaze and inclined his head.

“Been well, Count?” the man greeted pleasantly.

At Algernon’s polite salutation, the count’s eyes widened in surprise. He never imagined he’d be hosting royalty in his home.

He started to bow, then scanned the room. He ordered refreshments and turned toward Jerome.

“We’ll talk later. You should go now.”

“That must be your son. Or, no, leave him be.”

Algernon, who had been light and jocular at the banquet, now took the seat of honor with an imperious air that contrasted sharply with the earlier conviviality.

“Planning to keep me looking up at you all the time?” the count asked.

Algernon’s tone made the count hesitate, but he settled on the sofa; Jerome obediently sat beside him, though he kept eyeing the man in the seat of honor.

Jerome remembered seeing this man at the last banquet.

His name—wasn’t he Viscount Algernon? Then why was a viscount sitting in the seat of honor? And why was Father acting so cautious?

Questions swirled in Jerome’s head. Seeing his father stiff and sitting with knees together, Jerome dared not speak.

“I thought you’d gone abroad again,” the count said.

“I had planned to,” Algernon replied, wrinkling the bridge of his nose in a half-smile. “But something’s keeping me here. By the way, what happened to your son’s face?”

The story that Count Frances’ son had been roughed up by the Princess at the city’s most fashionable dessert shop had spread across the capital before Jerome had even reached home.

By morning everyone—even those who usually miss gossip—would know. With the situation as it was, why ask such a question now?

Count Frances shot a hostile look at Algernon.

“Are you asking because you don’t know? Or are you trying to mock me and my son anew?”

“Count.”

Just a slight tilt of his head changed Algernon’s demeanor.

He smiled with the cold, hungry look of a predator eyeing its prey.

“I’m not curious about why your son’s face looks like that,” Algernon said. “I’m curious about something else. Jerome, is it?”

Jerome gave him a reluctant glance.

“Yes… that’s right.”

“Jerome. Mind your manners.”

The count, ashen-faced, snapped at his son, but Jerome—too upset to care—didn’t take it in.

“If I recall correctly, you only hold the rank of viscount. Yet you brazenly took the seat of honor and fired off rude questions. I’d say that’s about as polite as you can get.”

“Jerome!” the count rasped, calling his son’s name in a strangled voice.

“Enough. Count. It’s possible not to know. Let me see… I suppose I have been away from the Empire a long time, haven’t I?”

“It is—your Excellency, the Grand Duke. After Her Majesty the Empress passed away, you left immediately; it’s been about twenty years. You left when my son was learning to run and learn to read. You must have had a hard time wandering abroad at such a young age.”

The count’s flattering concern made Jerome’s gaze tremble.

‘Grand Duke?’

To Jerome’s knowledge, there was only one man who would bear that title.

But he had heard the man died abroad.

“Exactly. So it’s natural your son wouldn’t recognize me,” Algernon said.

“My apologies.”

“That’s settled. What I wanted to know was this: it seems odd that a healthy man would be beaten senseless without once swinging an arm in defense. If he had instinctively swung even once, a frail woman might have felt threatened.”

“No, your Excellency.”

Before he realized it, Jerome was on his knees on the floor. Remembering his own behavior, he squeezed his eyes shut.

Who was this Grand Duke? He was the only legitimate son born to the late Empress—a direct heir and second in line to the throne. Yet after the Empress’s death he’d reportedly gone abroad and his whereabouts were unknown. Considering the Emperor has no children, the man before Jerome was essentially the foremost claimant to succession.

Jerome realized his blundering mouth might have just blocked his own future.

“Embarrassingly, the Princess was so violent that I had no chance to swing. I called for help from the attendants who stood in for her chaperon, but those insolent fools pretended not to hear,” Jerome said, swallowing his angry breath and continuing.

“So shamefully, I just kept taking the blows.”

“Tch!” his father clicked his tongue, but Jerome pretended not to hear.

“Good,” Algernon said abruptly.

Jerome looked up in surprise.

“What did you say just now…?”

“I said it was good. Your restraint then saved your life. If you’d swung an arm and grazed the princess, I would have had that arm cut off.”

“What?” The hair on Jerome’s arms prickled; he instinctively wrapped both arms around himself.

Jerome had once sent a collateral relative to fight in his stead during a past war to preserve his own life. After being so careful to protect himself, and with the wars long over — what could this mean?