Chapter 137

The Duke continued speaking nonchalantly, his tone carrying an air of detached curiosity. “The Grand Duke has reportedly been holed up in his quarters for days,” he remarked, his voice steady and calm.

Genovia tilted her head slightly, feigning disinterest. “There’s been… a lot of snow,” she replied.

The Duke’s piercing gaze didn’t waver. “You know full well he’s not one to be stopped by something like a snowstorm, don’t you?” he pressed, his words cutting through her excuse.

Genovia gave a half-shrug, her expression neutral. “Who knows? I don’t even want to spare him a glance these days,” she muttered, her tone betraying an undertone of frustration.

“Genovia,” the Duke said, his voice sharp and deliberate.

The name hung in the air like a challenge, but Genovia refused to rise to it. Their conversation circled the edges of a deeper issue, never quite touching the center. The Duke’s brow furrowed, his displeasure now visible.

“Why you’re so intent on protecting the Princess is beyond me,” he said abruptly, his words landing with the weight of suspicion.

Genovia clicked her tongue inwardly, resisting the urge to sigh. Had word leaked somewhere? It wasn’t entirely surprising. The Duke had reigned as the ruler of Norella for decades, and his instincts were rarely wrong.

With a Princess—a significant and living presence—under their roof, expecting the head of the house to remain oblivious for over two weeks had been overly optimistic. Quickly, she masked her thoughts with a cheerful smile, her tone light and disarming.

“Protecting? No, Father. I was just worried you’d trouble yourself unnecessarily,” she said, her voice soft but calculated. “You’ve had enough to worry about because of me lately. I wanted to handle this quietly without causing a fuss.”

The Duke’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, prompting Genovia to continue.

“Who’s looking after whom?” he asked at last, his voice tinged with exasperation. “You’re still recovering, Genovia.”

Genovia waved off his concern, her determination evident. “Once this is over, I’ll rest properly,” she assured him. “Besides, it won’t be long before that couple heads back to Rotiara, will it? Only when the Grand Duke leaves this estate will I finally sleep easy. So as for the Princess…”

Her words trailed off as she noticed the Duke’s expression shift into something uncharacteristically strange.

“What are you talking about? Them returning to Rotiara?” he asked, his voice unusually sharp, laced with an edge of confusion.

“Aren’t they?” Genovia asked, her voice laced with uncertainty.

Her father shook his head, replying calmly, “Of course not. The Princess will be heading to the capital.”

The capital? Why is that suddenly coming up? Genovia’s brow furrowed in confusion, and her father, noting her expression, explained patiently.

“Rezette Kyrstan already let the Princess slip through his fingers once. While he managed to retrieve her in time, His Majesty has decided it’s no longer acceptable to leave her entirely in his hands,” he said evenly.

“The Princess will give birth in Opel,” he added, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Genovia’s breath hitched. “…Are you saying…” she began, but the words caught in her throat. She barely stopped herself from gaping outright.

“Does the Grand Duke know about this agreement?” she asked cautiously, her voice lower now, as though saying it too loudly would summon him.

Her father’s response was maddeningly matter-of-fact. “Of course not.”

Genovia stared at him, momentarily dumbfounded by his nonchalance. “Then how do you plan to… handle this?” she asked, forcing a brittle smile to mask the dismay creeping into her voice.

“You’ve seen how obsessed he is with the Princess,” she added, her tone carrying an edge of warning.

The Duke merely shrugged, his indifference unshaken. “Why do we need to handle anything? Irriens simply need to obey imperial orders.”

“Orders?” Genovia repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

“His Majesty has issued a royal decree and sent royal guards here,” her father continued, glancing at her as if discussing routine matters. “They were delayed by the snowstorm but crossed the territory’s borders at dawn. By now, they’ve likely just entered the estate.”

“Already?” Genovia’s voice wavered as her face went pale.

If the royal guards were already at Norella’s doorstep, they’d reach the manor within a couple of hours. Her father’s gaze shifted to the clock on the wall.

“The Grand Duke reportedly left the annex a little while ago,” the Duke said, his voice firm and unyielding. “Everything will be over before he returns. Don’t bother running into him—just go back to your room.”

Genovia hesitated, her hands clenching at her sides. “Father, isn’t this all a bit… rash?” she asked carefully, her tone tinged with unease.

“Rash?” The Duke scoffed, narrowing his eyes at her. “We’ve already tolerated that accursed, lowborn man under this roof—the heart of Norella—for a week. That’s more than enough.”

“But he’s not likely to simply hand over the Princess…” Genovia ventured, her voice quieter now.

“That’s for the Grand Duke and His Majesty to sort out,” the Duke interrupted sharply, waving a dismissive hand. “We don’t need to get caught up in a brotherly quarrel. Once the royal knights take the Princess, the Grand Duke will follow them to the capital. If he’s as infatuated with her as you say, even more so.”

Before that happens, this house is bound to become a battlefield.

Genovia’s complexion darkened, her mind racing. If Elise gets dragged to the emperor like this…

She might die at his hands this time.

As soon as she left the Duke’s study, Genovia dropped all pretense of composure and sprinted down the manor’s corridors. Her breath came in quick bursts as her thoughts coalesced into a single, urgent goal. She had to get the Princess out of here—far from the estate—before the royal knights arrived.

Throwing open the door to the guestroom in the annex, she found Elise calmly tying up her hair. The Princess turned to her with a gentle smile.

“Ah, just in time. I was wondering how my maid was doing. Do you know where she is?” Elise asked casually.

“Never mind that! Where’s your husband?” Genovia cut her off without hesitation, her voice sharp with urgency.

Elise blinked at the abruptness, a faint frown crossing her features. “He seems to have left while I was napping,” she replied, her tone thoughtful. “He’s been doing that for days, but he’s never gone for more than two or three hours, so he’ll be back before evening. Tomorrow, too, probably.”

“There’s no time to wait until tomorrow,” Genovia said firmly, catching her breath.

“What?” Elise’s brows knitted in confusion.

Genovia grabbed her wrist, her grip firm but not harsh. “You have to leave immediately. I’ll escort you to the harbor myself to get you away from my father’s sight. Once there, find ‘Ricardo’s Mast’ or board any ship—just get out!”

Elise’s confusion deepened, her voice hesitant. “The ships don’t leave until tomorrow morning. What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain on the way. There’s no time to waste!” Genovia snapped, shoving a cloak into Elise’s hands. Her voice softened only slightly as she added, “You’re leaving today, whether it’s now or tomorrow makes no difference!”

Before Elise could protest further, Genovia wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and pulled her out of the room. The Princess stumbled behind her, half-dragged, as they made their way to the waiting carriage. Genovia opened the door, ushering Elise inside with hurried movements before climbing in herself.

Once seated, she rang the bell furiously, her voice sharp and commanding. “To Dock 5 at the harbor!”

***

By the afternoon, the snow had stopped completely, leaving the world crisp and white under the pale winter sun.

Rezette strode along a shortcut from the manor’s back gate toward Norella’s harbor, the crunch of snow under his boots the only sound accompanying him. As he stepped outside, he reflexively pulled out a cigarette, the habit almost second nature.

Lighting it with a flick of his fingers, he exhaled a stream of smoke that mingled with his breath in the frosty air, leaving a long, wispy trail behind him. His black steed snorted in satisfaction, shaking its head and stamping its hooves, clearly pleased to finally stretch its legs after being cooped up for days. Rezette patted its neck absently, his thoughts elsewhere.

It had been exactly two weeks since his arrival in Norella. Two long weeks.

Elise had just fallen asleep again when he left. She was sleeping more often these days, and from his quiet observations, she no longer dreamed or mumbled in her sleep. That restless edge she used to carry in unconsciousness had softened, replaced by a calm that both relieved and unsettled him.

Though she resisted and distrusted him, paradoxically, his presence seemed to steady her. Rezette’s lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. He had poured his conscious effort into infusing her with magic, and with the child no longer draining her energy, her recovery was progressing steadily.

He paused, taking another slow drag from the cigarette, the smoke curling lazily in the still air. Kissing her…

The memory was sharper than the cold biting at his cheeks. It had been sweeter than he’d anticipated, far sweeter, enough to make his earlier restraint feel foolish. Each time their lips met, each moment she glared at him afterward with flushed cheeks and barely restrained resentment, was painfully exquisite.

His fingers tightened slightly around the cigarette. The sooner he could take her back to Rotiara, the better.

Remaining in Norella—especially under the Duke’s roof—was a constant irritation. It wasn’t his domain, his resources were limited, and the thought of Genovia observing his every move grated on his nerves. He loathed being surveilled, the subtle pressure of her watchful eyes impossible to ignore.

Isolation with Elise is impossible here.

Rezette’s golden eyes narrowed slightly as the thought crossed his mind. Not that I couldn’t create it if I wanted to.

His horse nickered softly, nudging him as though sensing his mood. Rezette absently stroked the animal’s muzzle, his gaze turning toward the horizon where the harbor lay. The sooner they left this place, the better.

For a fleeting moment, Rezette imagined planting his flag in the Irrien duchy, disposing of the Duke and his meddlesome daughter, and claiming Norella for himself.

How long would that take? An hour, maybe two?

He exhaled slowly, smoke curling lazily into the crisp air as he entertained the thought. If every pest and obstacle were cleared from his path, a few more days here might not seem so intolerable.

But just as his musings began to spiral further, a voice—a maddeningly familiar voice—resurfaced in his mind.

“Rezette. You’re… too much like Sameshita. Can’t you see?”

His dangerous thoughts came to an abrupt halt, the phantom words striking like a sudden blow.

Rezette paused mid-step, his hand clenching involuntarily. Ever since Elise had dared to liken him to Sameshita, her words had lingered, an uninvited guest disrupting his thoughts whenever his guard slipped.

Each time, irritation simmered just beneath the surface.

How are we alike?

They weren’t. He was nothing like that deranged dragon.

And yet, if someone pressed him to articulate the differences, he couldn’t immediately form a coherent argument. His strength, his appearance, even his moments of madness and unyielding nature—all bore an unsettling resemblance to traits associated with the dragon.

He knew it. That knowledge only infuriated him further.

“Don’t love me, Rezette.”

Her voice echoed again in his mind, her tone laced with an aching vulnerability that grated on his nerves.

It didn’t even deserve a scoff.

Who did she think she was to dictate his feelings? To assume she could control them?

Why?

Was she afraid he would lose himself, as Sameshita had seven centuries ago? Elise worried too much.

Rezette resumed his pace, the cold air sharp against his skin. His plan had always been straightforward: resolve the loose ends in Norella and return to his domain.

Though now, he considered revising it.

A salty breeze mingled with the cold, signaling the harbor’s proximity. Fishermen scattered salt over icy paths as they prepared their boats, eager to return to the sea after two snowbound weeks. Frost-covered nets hung limply from wooden poles, their frayed edges glinting in the fading light.

Rezette passed by the bustling preparations without sparing them a glance. The sharp tang of brine in the air stirred his thoughts once more.

The pawns serve well enough as bait for catching the prize.

Soft footsteps approached from behind, muffled by the icy ground. Rezette didn’t turn, recognizing the presence instantly.

“Did you catch them?” he asked, his tone as indifferent as the winter sky above.

Ruben, his ever-loyal aide, bowed slightly before answering. “Yes, Your Grace. The target attempted to evade pursuit, but thanks to the Irrien intelligence guild’s prompt action, we secured them in time.”

“The location?” Rezette’s voice remained calm, though a faint edge crept into it.

“At the northern edge of the harbor, near the breakwater they call ‘Sailor’s Grave.’ By ‘Ricardo’s Mast.’ Shall I take you there now?”