Chapter 59
Noten, after leaving Achilles, returned to his mansion and shut himself away in his bedroom. His body was less exhausted than his tangled mind—so weary that all he wanted to do was lie down.
Seven years.
It had been a full seven years. Dragged off to his domain by the Grand Nobles’ Council, conscripted without even a chance to make excuses, he had fought a war no one expected to last so long.
The Empire’s Guardian, the Iron-Blooded Marchen.
To live up to that name, he had cut down and cut down again the endless swarms of beasts pressing in from beyond the Whistle Wall. Whether he wanted to or not, his sword had grown so accustomed to killing that he could not sleep unless he slaughtered them.
By the time everything but instinctive attack and defense, and the bare necessities of food and shelter, had become a burden to him, his mind hollow—
For the first time, he missed his only family, Killian.
It was strange, even in hindsight. Why did he suddenly long for that thorn in his side, that mere substitute?
Three months ago, when Killian—now noticeably more grown-up—had come to the territory unannounced, ready to take up the sword alongside him, Noten had actually felt glad.
One sleepless night, he had even caught himself smiling faintly, imagining what it would be like to forget the past and live peacefully as a father and son with Killian.
Things could have changed. Everything might have changed—
If not for the letter that arrived some time later.
The Marquis Alberto’s letter read: “Noten Marchen, you have a son, and he is alive.”
When he saw the sender, Noten’s first thought had been: I should never have opened this. His next was: How could they have hidden this from me for fourteen years?
That doubt became resentment, then helpless rage, and at last—an awkward spark of hope.
A real son.
A son born of Olivia and him. If that boy truly existed… perhaps everything could be restored.
Noten clenched his teeth in expectation.
Sixteen years ago.
When Crown Prince Lovis Mond ascended the throne, he held an imperial wedding.
His bride was Cheryl Donovan Mond, a commoner whom his mentor, Austin Donovan, had personally legitimized.
A woman who hit the jackpot of fate.
That was what Marquis Alberto had said of the new Empress.
“Father is very displeased, Noten. We should soon bring up our matter, but the timing is bad. What shall we do?”
“Don’t worry, Olivia. We still have plenty of time. Once things settle down, then we’ll send the marriage proposal.”
That day, when her father’s attempt to push her into the Imperial family failed, Olivia sighed in relief before Noten—yet still felt a heaviness in her chest. She knew all too well her father would never give up easily. What if Marquis Alberto chose an extreme path…?
It was a fear she could not confess to her lover, Noten.
Noten Marchen and Olivia Alberto had been friends since childhood. Naturally, they became each other’s only one, dreaming of a romantic life together.
As long as they had each other’s comfort, each other’s love, everything would be fine—or so they repeated like a spell. And within that optimism came an early gift.
“What should we do, Noten? If Father finds out, he might try to kill me. Shouldn’t we run away?”
“No, Olivia. Don’t say such things. The baby can hear. Actually, this is a good chance. We should go to the Marquis properly and speak about our marriage. What do you think? I’ll take responsibility for everything. Don’t worry about a thing.”
When Olivia revealed her pregnancy, Marquis Alberto flew into a rage. But when Noten showed up with a marriage proposal, the Marquis slapped him across the face and, having no other choice, reluctantly gave his consent.
The two prepared for a wedding after the birth, certain that at last everything would finally fall into place.
It might have—had the Empress not conceived an heir within a year of her imperial wedding, given birth to a princess, and then died three months later.
“At today’s Grand Nobles’ Council, it was decided the vacant Empress seat must be filled. Things had been difficult, but with the Marquis Donovan in exile, matters became easier. That sly Lovis brat—still hasn’t come to his senses. To think he’s hung up over some lowborn wench. Still, it was a pitiful sight. Hahaha.”
With cruel glee, Marquis Alberto dropped his bombshell:
“At last the chance has come! Finally! From this moment, steel yourself, Olivia. Start studying imperial etiquette again. I’ll put you on the throne!”
His ambition would not be so easily quenched.
Olivia, trembling, clasped her hands together and gathered her courage. She now had a life to protect.
“But Father, I’m soon to marry Noten. You already gave your blessing. I’m carrying his child. How could someone like me dare to become Empress? That would be deceiving His Majesty.”
Slap!
The blow sent Olivia reeling. She instinctively clutched her belly.
“Better spend your time studying etiquette. I told you—I’ll handle everything. Conveniently, the Emperor declared the new Empress must be incapable of bearing heirs. I’ll see to it you fit that condition.”
Marquis Alberto, hot-tempered and eccentric as always, stretched out a thin, chilling hand with a grotesque smile.
Olivia barely stifled her scream and fled to her bedroom, locking the door.
The baby shifted within her, sensing her fear. Her swollen stomach tightened. Olivia dragged a table and chairs against the door with all her strength.
Instinct told her—something terrible would happen tonight.
She longed to escape, but could not. She prayed for salvation, but her prayers went unanswered.
She must have dozed off. When she woke, a gag was in her mouth, her wrists and ankles tied to a table. Her mind was clear, her body helpless. She could feel everything—except pain.
In the dead of night, as the household slept, Olivia felt a blade cut across her belly, felt her son dragged lifelessly into the world.
“This child is as good as nonexistent. He’ll likely die soon anyway, so don’t form any attachment.”
The newborn, who couldn’t even cry properly, was carried off in a maid’s arms.
Olivia fainted. And when she awoke, pale and expressionless, she was the Empress of the Empire.
Noten chewed bitter regret.
Back then, when Olivia asked if they should run, he should have taken her away to his domain.
Instead of naively preparing a wedding, they should have fled the Empire.
If only they had, this would never have happened.
While it all unfolded, Noten had been away in the territory. On the day he returned, he heard the news: Olivia’s imperial marriage.
When he went to the Marquis’s house too late, demanding to know where their child was, what had become of him, Marquis Alberto feigned ignorance.
And now—after all this time—he says the child still lives.
Even as the medicine dulled his body and dragged his eyelids down, Noten clenched his teeth.
“What? Noten has a hidden son? With the Empress, no less?”
This was insane. Like dropping K-drama melodrama clichés into what was supposed to be a childcare story.
“Yes. According to him, that’s the case, Your Highness. He asked us to find out if the child is alive and, if so, where and how he’s living.”
“God, that’s chilling.”
“Are you all right?”
“Me? Why?”
When I shrugged, Jerron said:
“Because Her Majesty the Empress is your mother.”
“Eh, no way. I’ve always known she wasn’t my real mother. And we’ve never even spoken.”
Stuff like this happened so often, I’d grown immune.
“…This happens often?” Jerron gaped.
“Well, in certain worlds it does. Secret parentage, terminal illnesses, all that.”
“…Ah.”
I wasn’t sure what he thought he understood, but he nodded.
“So, how do you plan to investigate? Fourteen years have passed. Will there be any information left to find?”
“I’ll start by tracing how Duke Marchen even got that information. There must be a trail somewhere.”
“Good. If you need help, just say so.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Has Count Tolkye arrived yet?”
“He’s already here, waiting.”
Jerron gestured toward the door, then rose and opened it.
“You’ve grown up, Jerron. Even learned how to treat a lady properly.”
I reached out to ruffle his hair as I stepped out to meet Count Tolkye—never noticing that Jerron’s face had turned so red it was almost black.
