Chapter 85
“Thank goodness…”
Hannibal froze at the unexpected delight on Anne’s face when she saw him.
For a moment, he looked down at her with a gaze softened by something close to yearning. But as soon as his eyes caught the sight behind her, his shoulders straightened stiffly.
A stranger was standing there—an unfamiliar nobleman watching them with a peculiar expression.
“Duke Gray Benton.”
Hannibal recognized him instantly. He shifted naturally, stepping slightly in front of Anne to shield her as he approached the red-haired man.
“You must be busy with affairs of state, yet you came all this way. You’ve taken quite some trouble.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Viscount Clayde.”
It was Gray who extended his hand first.
Though Hannibal’s imperial title was technically lower, his standing as the lord of the western frontier was by no means beneath a duke’s.
But the deliberate choice to emphasize the lower imperial rank was little more than a transparent jab. Hannibal’s brow twitched.
“…Pleasure, indeed.”
The moment he clasped the duke’s hand, he felt a strong pressure. Gray’s grip was firm, as though to prove something. Hannibal smirked and squeezed back with ease.
In an instant, the veins bulged across the back of Gray’s hand, his face contorting in discomfort. When Hannibal released him, the duke quickly yanked his hand away, slapping it against his thigh to shake off the sting.
“…”
They had both exerted strength. Neither could complain.
Hannibal’s lips curved faintly as he watched Gray hide his reddened hand with a scowl.
Rumors had reached him on the way to Teganess Castle.
That the lord’s fiancée—the former head maid—once had some kind of relationship with Duke Benton. That she had originally worked as a maid in the Benton household, and the fact that he had followed her here suggested their connection was more than ordinary.
Some whispered that the duke’s real purpose for visiting the west was not political, but to reclaim her.
Had Hannibal not been hosting Miss Mighty as an honored guest, he might have stormed ahead alone in sheer irritation.
The journey to the castle had been more draining than any night on watch in a battlefield camp.
But now, face-to-face, Gray Benton was far less impressive than the stories suggested.
Barely twenty, perhaps—still downy with youth. His hand, smooth and soft, lacked a single callus. Hardly a man who had ever wielded a blade in earnest.
Could he even have endured a proper bout of academy training? Hannibal doubted he had ever skinned so much as a beast.
Was this weak city noble really Anne’s type? That, if anything, was the only point that gave Hannibal pause.
He turned to check her expression. Those round brown eyes met his with a clear, steady light.
“My lord?”
The turmoil boiling inside him eased at once.
Even in Gray’s presence, Anne showed not the faintest sign of concern or hesitation.
Anne Perot had always been like that—forthright, honest about her likes and dislikes, never telling lies even when afraid. That was why Hannibal, despite his prejudice against the capital, had come to trust her.
She never confused him. Only Gray’s presence irritated him.
Fortunately, she was his fiancée now—and that reassurance steadied him.
“There will be many guests for supper tonight, Anne.”
As the lady of the house, it was her role. Hannibal made sure to remind her.
Anne nodded, just as Victoria entered with Oliver and Miss Mighty in tow.
“Anne! The Grand Mage of Ruto has arrived!”
Beside the towering mage, Victoria’s small figure bounced with excitement, making her look like a child.
“Are all people from Ruto so tall?” Anne murmured, covering her mouth in surprise.
Hannibal answered smoothly at her side.
“The common folk are much like our own. But the mages of Ruto tend to be tall. The stronger and sturdier the body, the more magic it can contain. Some books even say that the Grand Mage and her kin look nearly like giants.”
“…But Lady Mighty is rather petite.”
Anne frowned slightly. Hannibal read her thought.
“Claydes inherit the witch’s blood very strongly. Unlike mages, a witch is magic itself. There’s no need to carry it in a larger body. Height makes little difference.”
He murmured the words for her ears alone.
Almost unconsciously, Anne’s eyes drifted toward Count Arthur. Perhaps his strong inheritance of Assad’s blood was why he could never truly take the lord’s place. His exile from the west, his red hair and red eyes hidden away in the capital—were they all acts of rebellion against his lineage?
Even so, her sympathy was thin. His life had been spent pushing duty and responsibility onto others while causing nothing but trouble.
When she turned back, Hannibal was already stepping forward to greet the guests. She hurried to follow.
She bowed lightly to Oliver, whose skin looked as though it had been burnt black by the sun, then turned with courtesy to the mage.
“It’s an honor to meet you. I am Anne Perot, the lord’s fiancée.”
“Well met. A fine castle you have here.”
Miss Mighty spoke familiarly, letting her gaze sweep across the hall. Her eyes lingered briefly on Count Arthur before she turned back naturally to Hannibal.
Meeting her gaze, Hannibal spoke as if he had been waiting.
“You must be tired. Allow me to show you to your quarters. We’ll speak more at the welcoming feast this evening.”
The mage nodded, and the servants led her away.
Watching the gathering scatter, Hannibal asked casually:
“Are the guests all housed in the annex?”
“Yes.”
Victoria’s reply was curt, but her eyes flicked toward Anne.
It was enough. Hannibal understood at once.
With such rumors spreading, it would have been awkward for Duke Benton to stay under the same roof.
Count Arthur and Gray were both already in the annex; it would have been impossible to assign Miss Mighty a chamber in the main building instead.
“We can’t exactly throw my father out of his annex either.”
“And repairs would take several days at least,” the steward added.
Though the castle was large, staff were few, and only the main keep and the largest annex were properly maintained. The rest stood in near-ruin.
Hannibal nodded reluctantly.
“Strengthen the guard at the annex. Stables won’t be of use against a Grand Mage… assign more resident servants instead.”
“Yes, my lord!”
The steward hurried off with the others.
“Should I attend the banquet too?” Oliver asked before leaving.
“You should. And you as well, Victoria.”
After addressing his brother and closest companion, Hannibal turned to Anne.
His tone softened, warm.
“Then I’ll see you this evening, Anne.”
Anne felt strangely dazed ever since facing Hannibal.
Now that she had finally acknowledged her own feelings, she didn’t know how she ought to act around him.
“Why is my brother suddenly speaking to you so formally? Doesn’t it feel more awkward that way?”
Victoria asked offhandedly as they walked toward the dressing room.
“…A little, I suppose?”
Anne answered belatedly, realizing she had never told Victoria about their letters.
Her friend gave a wry smile.
“Still, he seems awfully gentle with you. When he speaks politely to Father, it’s usually just to lace his words with insults. But for his fiancée, he’s actually trying.”
“I’m grateful for that.”
At least no one else seemed to find Hannibal’s formality strange. Perhaps she alone was sensitive to the change.
But ever since her heart had shifted, everything about him—his tone, his expression, his gestures—felt different.
Did he still feel the same about her?
Three years was a long time. He could easily have met another woman during the war.
And what of the rumors about her and Gray Benton? How much did they trouble him?
She hoped he believed in her. Even if he cast her aside as his fiancée, Hannibal was too honorable a man to break his word.
“Let’s dress you beautifully tonight. Show everyone that you’re the true lady of Teganess!”
The title still weighed heavily—lady of Teganess, fiancée of the lord—but Anne nodded, gathering resolve.
Tonight, more than anything, she needed to dispel the rumors.
Soon, André arrived in haste, having been summoned.
“I knew it! That’s why I always keep extra gowns ready. The young ladies of this castle drop in without notice every time!”
Despite his grumbling, he rolled in racks full of new dresses.
“These are all in your size, Miss Anne.”
Normally she would have disliked such lavish designs. But tonight, she had to look elegant and dignified—as befitting the lady of Teganess.
And yes… she also wanted Hannibal to see her.
“This blue one will do.”
The color would match perfectly with the necklace he had given her.
Anne chose a deep blue gown, its hem richly embroidered with lace, and slipped into it.
