Chapter 18
“How dare a mere noble show such insolence toward the imperial family!”
The Emperor was anxious—extremely anxious. The longer the Empress remained unconscious, the more frantic he became.
During that ever-lengthening time, all sorts of rumors had spread, dredging up the old conflicts between him and the Empress once again.
This marriage needed to proceed flawlessly, without a single blemish, so the Emperor could present himself as the perfectly normal head of a proper household.
Thus, he intended to further integrate Grand Duke Lusenford into the imperial family by using his niece Caella, and publicly declare that the child was both the Empress’s son and his own.
To Pheon, this was incomprehensible—but then, the Emperor had always been an incomprehensible being.
‘He was like this back then too.’
Pheon remembered. The Emperor had grown just as impatient when he desperately tried to prove his ability to father children by showing jealousy toward Pheon, and eventually began taking other women.
Desperate to prove his fertility wasn’t flawed, he fathered countless illegitimate children.
When their number surpassed ten in a single year, he briefly paused, seemingly aware of public attention—but soon resumed his obsessive pursuit of women after those children began wasting away and dying within a year.
No matter how much chaos he caused, he couldn’t escape the whispers that “there’s something wrong with his seed.”
It was the same now. He frantically searched every possible cause for the Empress’s collapse, all to avoid the accusation that the imperial family was abnormal.
The more whispers he heard from every corner, the more obsessively the Emperor fixated on maintaining the “appearance of a normal family.” Fearing his wife might die, he repented for his wrongs toward her in his own peculiar way.
Thus, upon hearing that Duchess Monde had dared show disrespect to Caella, he immediately banned her from the imperial palace—ignoring even the fact that she was the Empress’s closest friend and chief maid.
“Lusenford and Ostein are the pillars supporting this empire.”
The Emperor rambled like a madman. Yet that madness operated with a cunning, cold logic that terrified everyone.
Before his regression, Pheon had strongly resisted, so the Emperor crushed him. This time, Duchess Monde had drawn more attention, so the Emperor certainly wouldn’t let her off lightly.
“Those two pillars must properly assist the Crown Prince. This is all for the Empress, Hyperion. Wouldn’t the Empress of Crania worry if Crania weren’t functioning properly?”
His mother would never care whether Crania fell or thrived. Yet Pheon quietly answered, “Yes.”
“This is cause for celebration and great honor. Anyone who ruins it will not be forgiven. Your marriage must proceed flawlessly.”
The Emperor muttered, his eyes bloodshot. What if news reached his ears now that Caella had refused the marriage and run away?
‘Then House Ostein would be ruined.’
Caella would have faced a far more terrible fate than marrying Pheon—forced to wed a man much older and of significantly lower status, and stripped of the Duchy of Ostein.
The Emperor never forgave anyone who disgraced his dignity.
Though the boundaries of who he considered “imperial family” constantly shifted, he still viewed any disrespect toward those within that circle as a personal insult. Now, even Duke Ostein—previously not acknowledged as part of the imperial family—had been included.
“Just complications right before something good happens. Tsk.”
The Emperor clicked his tongue, clearly displeased with Duchess Monde.
“Marriages must align with one’s status. Your heart may wander elsewhere, but the blood flowing in your veins must remain noble.”
That tiresome obsession with bloodlines. Pheon gave perfunctory replies—“Yes, yes”—though he felt nothing of the sort.
“Considering how frail she is, the poor girl must have been terrified simply by the mention of marriage, let alone preparing for it.”
“I understand Princess Ostein has been extremely busy—first with the Kerujan delegation, and now with wedding preparations.”
But he couldn’t let Caella’s situation pass with just a simple “yes.”
If the best course now was to proceed with the marriage, eliminate the Emperor afterward, secure her status, and then cleanly divorce, then he had to protect her for the time being—even as he couldn’t help but smile bitterly.
How could Caella, noble daughter of House Ostein, have so few choices? He needed to give her more options through his own efforts. Whether that was genuine repentance or mere self-satisfaction, he couldn’t say.
In that sense, Pheon thought himself no different from that mad Emperor—each sacrificing an innocent wife and atoning in their own self-serving way.
“Was the princess very upset?”
“She remained composed.”
Caella had preserved her dignity until the very last moment before being imprisoned in the tower under false accusations. Yet she died without even closing her eyes. How much bitterness must have filled her heart?
“True, her temperament is admirable—calm, courteous, and well-mannered. Tell her I’ll handle Duchess Monde; she should just focus on her health.”
“Your Majesty should also take care of your health, given you’re tending to Her Imperial Majesty the Empress and overseeing this wedding as well.”
“You’ve been showing me remarkable concern lately.”
The Emperor chuckled, amused.
“I suppose I really am getting older.”
Pheon brushed it off casually, hiding his inner turmoil over finding no quiet way to cancel the marriage to Caella. Who could have predicted Duchess Monde would end up like this? The status of Princess Ostein was soaring beyond measure.
“The Crown Prince should do the same, I imagine.”
“It’s I who am late. His Highness the Crown Prince is surely swift.”
“We’ll see. Anyway, our talk strayed—make sure you take good care of the princess.”
To that, Pheon replied with the utmost sincerity.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
*
After being summoned yet again by the Emperor and finally dismissed, Pheon returned and stared at the box on his desk containing a diamond.
No diamond would ever surpass these twelve gems of the Kerban Series—they were truly historic treasures. Naturally, their rightful owner should be the Grand Duchess Lusenford, under whose lands the Kerban Series had been discovered.
Because they were too precious, he had foolishly given the three largest stones to the Emperor and two each to the ever-demanding Beatrice, funneling the rest into military funds. He never wanted to repeat that mistake.
Yet it seemed he still didn’t understand women’s hearts and kept making blunders.
“You gave the entire set to Princess Ostein?”
Sir Renard, the sole man among his blunt northern knights tasked with reading the room, instantly recognized that Grand Duke Lusenford was deeply disheartened. Even if the Duke showed no expression, Sir Renard, who had served him closely for years, could tell.
“It should be presented as finished jewelry, Your Highness…”
“So that was the problem after all?”
Pheon finally sighed. He’d never properly learned refined Crainian etiquette or how to treat noblewomen, and had blundered again.
Sending knights to care for Caella had already been a mistake that hurt her, and now he’d done it again. How pathetic.
The only noblewomen he knew were the fussy Duchess Monde, the scheming Beatrice, and his own mother—who, while dignified, had loved him unconditionally. Thus, the delicately raised Caella remained utterly perplexing to him.
He should have spoken with her before his regression. He didn’t even know her preferences or what kind of person she was. Not knowing her, yet fearing he might already care for her, he had avoided her—ridiculous, given he was bound by a golden cage anyway.
Fear, after all, meant his heart was already set.
“What did she say?”
“She said it was excessive—and that His Imperial Majesty would be displeased.”
How terrified Caella must be of the Emperor to say that immediately. Ever since the day Duke Ostein had nearly been killed by the Emperor’s gunshot, Caella had deeply feared him.
That day, Pheon had encountered her at the Garden of Monsters—still in her hastily thrown-on house clothes, having rushed out without properly dressing. He’d often wondered: Had she somehow known what would happen to her father?
Perhaps…
“Oh, is that so? Then present them individually, starting from the smallest finished piece.”
At Sir Renard’s suggestion, Pheon’s gaze fell on the tiniest stone—still nearly six carats, perfect for a ring or pendant.
What had Beatrice done with hers? He couldn’t recall; the last time he saw her was right before her death. At the very least, he wanted to give Caella something different—something special, uniquely beautiful, and new.
Even if they would eventually part and never see each other again.
“Send it back to the jeweler. Do as Sir Renard said—start with the smallest.”
“Yes, Your Highness. What should we have made?”
Though Pheon often claimed ignorance of women, he had watched since childhood the jewels his rarely seen mother wore.
Such cultivated taste and discernment couldn’t be bought with even vast fortunes.
“Start with a ring. For the rest, consult the jeweler’s suggestions as well—something worthy of the Grand…”
The old title slipped out again, out of habit. Countless days spent referring to her as “Grand Duchess” rather than “Caella” had slowly erased her identity. Would she have appreciated being called that?
Seeing his Duke address Princess Ostein—as yet not even Grand Duchess—as “Grand Duchess,” Sir Renard looked slightly baffled. It seems His Highness cares for the princess more than he lets on.
“No—something especially suited for the princess.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
This wouldn’t be an heirloom for future Grand Duchesses of Lusenford. He simply wanted it to be something Caella could take with her after their divorce.
He wished, at the very least, for her to leave Lusenford with one proper possession—though it could never compensate for the damage to her reputation and the time she’d lost.
It needed to be sent quickly. Thus, the Emperor’s plans would have to move even faster. Pheon’s thoughts grew more tangled.
“I’ll carry out your orders. Also, Your Highness, I’ve just received word—Duchess Monde has been banned from the imperial palace for three months. It hasn’t been officially announced yet.”
So this was what the Emperor meant by “handling it.” Pheon lightly traced his lips with fingertips that, once slender and refined, had grown rough from gripping a sword.
Sir Renard pulled a thin sheet of paper from his pocket and placed it on Pheon’s desk. Pheon unfolded the imperial copy, drafted by the Emperor’s scribes, and read.
“…as a member of the imperial family, soon to become Grand Duchess Lusenford.”
The prestige of the Grand Duchy of Lusenford had risen significantly. Not long ago, the title of Grand Duke meant little more than a human shield on the front lines, treated like a mercenary.
“Everyone strives to elevate the dignity of their titles. Is it not beneficial that His Imperial Majesty has publicly affirmed this?”
The people of Lusenford loathed the Emperor yet craved his recognition. They couldn’t help it—being from the marginalized North. Though fiercely proud and claiming not to care for outside validation, they grew angry when denied it.
“It’s a good thing.”
Pheon muttered after a long pause. Whether it was truly good for the Emperor to lift them up only to cast them down later—he couldn’t say.
In any case, Duchess Monde was now forbidden from entering the palace at all by imperial decree. A three-month ban clearly meant she wouldn’t attend the upcoming wedding between Grand Duke Lusenford and Princess Ostein.
“There’ll be endless gossip.”
Duchess Monde, once expected to become the Grand Duke’s mother-in-law, had openly disrespected Caella—the woman who’d effectively taken Beatrice’s place—and now faced punishment. High society would pounce with glee.
What a delicious scandal! For Duchess Monde, whose only livelihood was her social standing, this was a fatal blow.
It would have been better if Pheon had regressed to when he was fourteen—or even earlier.
Then, perhaps the stigma tied to Beatrice wouldn’t have forced such humiliation onto Caella. He knew full well the immense sacrifice it had taken to turn back time—but still, he felt regret.
“It’ll soon pass.”
Sir Renard hesitated before offering what sounded like consolation.
“You don’t need to comfort me.”
It was simply fate—or perhaps karma. Pheon was too flawed and inadequate a man for Caella, and Caella, though nobly born, had been pitifully entangled with him, making this a bond that burdened her alone.
“I wouldn’t presume, Your Highness. It’s just something I heard—apparently, all sorts of rumors fly before a wedding. If the bride sheds even a tear, they say she’s been sold off; if the groom frowns slightly from the sun’s glare, they whisper the bride must be ugly. That’s weddings for you.”
Pheon couldn’t even smile, dreading the rumor that he was dragging his bride off to the barbaric North.
“But they also say once a child is born, all those rumors vanish—so they’re not worth worrying about. Yes, that’s what I heard.”
“Who told you that?”
“My grandmother.”
Even among the nobility, the principle was the same: as long as the marriage produced an heir—the very purpose of matrimony—the union was deemed proper and sacred.
But that was a world away from Pheon. An heir? He couldn’t even properly protect his own mother and wife as a grown man—how could he safeguard a child? If he couldn’t even be a proper husband, what kind of father could he be?
Pheon had never even considered an heir with Caella. He simply decided that if this marriage quietly ended in divorce, it would count as success.
But even if this marriage was doomed, it was his own failure alone—his bride shouldn’t suffer too. So, for the sake of just one person’s happiness, he had already begun searching for mines early on.
After all, a wedding where only the bride needed to look beautiful required money above all else.
