Chapter 115
After entering the castle, the Marquis and Catherine were immediately shown to a small reception room in the main palace. As Nerys instructed for tea to be served to the two, Cledwyn Maindulante entered, accompanied by Aidan.
Cledwyn took the highest seat in the reception room with a cold breeze in his wake, his movements radiating a beast-like power. The Marquis felt pressured by his presence, but he didn’t rise and instead forced himself to speak calmly.
“It’s been a while.”
The Cledwyn the Marquis remembered was still a boy before entering the Noble Academy. Even though they’d exchanged letters for several years after that, in the Marquis’s mind, his grandson was always just a child.
He had expected him to be an adult by now, but to see a man so tall with such sharp, unwavering eyes was both strange and surprising.
Cledwyn crossed his legs and spoke in a drawl.
“How many years has it been? I can’t recall. I see you’ve received a new title, Marquis.”
A pointed remark: ‘I am greeting you as the Duke now, so show proper respect.’ Nerys suppressed a smile, and the Marquis’s face twisted.
But it was clear what response was required to such a remark. It was also correct in principle, given they were in the Duke’s castle.
Since the heads of the dissenting elders were all severed a few years ago, White Swan Castle had become an impenetrable fortress. There were plenty of headstrong types, but everyone who passed through these halls was fiercely loyal—except for those who’d recently been arrested.
And the Marquis had even helped sweep out those very men, so his behavior was obvious.
‘Karl Sidney better not have given up my name.’
If he valued his family’s lives. But there was no harm in being cautious.
“…My apologies, Your Grace.”
After a forced cough, the Marquis grudgingly apologized. Cledwyn stared at him coldly, and that chill was only accentuated by the faint, oddly pleasant smile on his lips.
Considering the incident six years ago when Cledwyn almost died, it was almost laughable that the Duke would even greet the Marquis. The Marquis should have been thrown into prison the moment he set foot in Maindulante.
But that hadn’t happened for lack of evidence. There was no proof that the Marquis of Tipion had tried to harm someone above him in status.
Without such evidence, to arrest the Marquis would mean trade with Maindulante would immediately stop, and the Imperial family would cheer as they marched north to “rescue a falsely accused high noble who’d been wronged and disgraced by his own grandson.” Many other nobles would side with him.
That’s the power of damned justification. It may seem like wordplay, but in crucial moments, it’s essential to sway public sentiment.
“I should say you’ve had a long journey, but since I didn’t invite you, that would be odd. What brings you all this way?”
“Ahem, well, Your Grace.”
The Marquis intentionally put on a sincere expression.
“There’s nothing one can trust in this world but blood. As I’ve gotten older, I find myself missing my family more. The child, Edith, left behind only one child—Your Grace. Now that you’re such a dignified Duke, I can’t help but feel proud, and if Edith were alive, she would have been so pleased…”
It was a long preamble. Nerys, sitting across from the Marquis and diagonally from Cledwyn, noticed his eyebrow steadily rising—a subtle, but clear, reaction.
“Hm.”
Clearly displeased, Cledwyn didn’t shout but only made a noncommittal sound. The Marquis, not satisfied with the reaction, furrowed his brow.
“Your Grace, I’m speaking of your mother. I cared for her so much… When I heard she’d passed away alone in this distant place, it was like the sky was falling. There hasn’t been much contact between relatives for a long time, but I would now like to help you as your grandfather.”
The air in the reception room grew heavy.
“Help?”
Cledwyn’s voice was icy as he repeated the word.
“So that’s why you tried to sway my staff and harass my advisor, to snatch away that position?”
“Oh, now, what a hurtful thing to say! I only want what’s best for Your Grace.”
‘Karl Sidney, that bastard.’
Apparently, Karl Sidney hadn’t cared much for his family’s safety. The Marquis’s wrinkled face twisted into a forced smile to mask his embarrassment. Nerys kept an even calmer expression, finding their exchange almost amusing.
Cledwyn growled in an arrogant voice.
“If you think I’ll just stand by while you meddle with my people, you’re mistaken. If you can handle the consequences, do as you please.”
At last, the Marquis’s expression hardened.
“‘Your people’? Your Grace, do you even realize what consequences will follow from appointing an eighteen-year-old girl to a position like this? Do you know how much people are gossiping?”
His tone was so aggrieved, someone might mistake him for Cledwyn’s father-in-law rather than grandfather. Both Cledwyn and the Marquis naturally turned their eyes to Nerys.
She bowed her head slightly, lowering her gaze as if completely unconcerned with the Marquis’s ranting. Cledwyn lifted one corner of his mouth and said decisively,
“Who I appoint in my castle is no one else’s business. It would be best for you to stop, Marquis. I’m holding back the urge to string you up from my castle gate.”
Whether the rope would go around his neck, waist, or ankles—only the gods knew. With no hint of elegance, the Marquis gaped in shock, and Cledwyn stood up.
“If that’s all you had to say, get out. It disgusts me to have your filthy feet in my castle.”
“Wh—!”
Wh—what—! The Marquis was so shocked he couldn’t even finish his sentence, mouth agape. But his foolish expression was already lost on Cledwyn, who had left the room.
Nerys gave a wry smile.
“Please don’t let it trouble you.”
Cledwyn was excessively kind by nature, and sometimes Nerys worried about that. But she was almost relieved to see he could speak harshly when necessary.
With only the three of them left, Nerys calmly regarded the Marquis and Catherine.
The Marquis was so stunned by his grandson’s attitude that he clutched his neck, while Catherine only smiled awkwardly—even after hearing rudeness no noble lady of the Empire would ever encounter.
Was it because she hadn’t been directly named? In fact, Cledwyn had completely ignored Catherine, as if she was a doll, not a person. The chill in the room never touched her.
If she was truly unbothered, there were only two explanations: she was either a fool, or—
‘She’s after something bigger than hospitality.’
Nerys guessed the latter. There was no reason for the Marquis to bring a fool all this way.
A lovely young lady from a minor noble family—if she was clever as well, how easy she would be to use, especially as a bride for someone he wanted to control.
Nerys herself had been used in exactly this way by Nellusion Elandria, so she knew all too well how thoroughly great nobles made use of even distant relatives for alliances.
It was shocking, though, to see someone act like this toward his own grandson. But then, remembering the Marquis had helped orchestrate the attempt on that same grandson’s life for a shot at devouring all of Maindulante, it was hardly surprising.
“If you need anything, either of you, please let me know.”
❖ ❖ ❖
“You said it was nothing special, Your Grace.”
In the guest room they’d barely managed to insist on, Catherine spoke teasingly.
The Marquis, sipping his tea in the same room, fumed. Never in his life had he been so openly insulted.
“What an arrogant bastard!”
Clatter.
The Marquis smashed his porcelain teacup in a fit of rage.
It was a fine piece, not the sort you’d expect to find in a rural castle. Its presence was proof the “barbarians” were wealthy after all. Catherine looked regretful at its loss.
She had brought a long chair over to the fireplace and was comfortably lying on it, shoes off, warming her tired feet by the fire—so at home you’d think she lived there.
“What’s the point of smashing things when it’ll all be mine anyway?”
“If it works out, I’ll buy you ten new cups! Ha!”
Still grumbling, the Marquis was soothed by Catherine’s easy confidence and talk of sweet prospects.
Their room had a sitting area and two good bedrooms—enough for passing guests, but not fit for the Duke’s maternal grandfather.
Truly important guests received rooms with extra servant quarters, maid rooms, a fine bath, and a garden view with large windows.
The Marquis, having visited Penmewick Castle before, knew this well—he’d once had such a room himself. Now, he was clearly being snubbed.
“Don’t worry. It will be that way soon enough.”
Catherine soothed him with a confident smile, though inside she despised how the Marquis couldn’t control his own emotions. For now, though, they were partners.
A partner needs to be composed if any plot is to succeed.
“His Grace is very handsome. They say he’s mad, but if that’s what madness looks like, I welcome it.”
“You say that even after seeing the woman beside him? Hah! Giving a high post to such trash. He can’t keep his head around women, just like his father!”
Not words anyone should say about a son-in-law or grandson. But after what she’d heard in the carriage, Catherine wasn’t surprised.
It was clear the Marquis wasn’t the type to lose his head over family—he didn’t seem to care for his dead daughter at all.
‘Though for some reason, he seems to dote on his foolish son.’
People in the Marquisate thought the Marquis dearly loved his family, so this degree of favoritism was a surprise.
“Don’t worry. By the end of winter, I’ll be giving out the best room in the castle as mistress of the house. Men like that don’t choose women by their status—wealth, blood, looks, none of it matters.”
She smiled confidently.
True, when she first arrived, she’d been startled by the ‘advisor.’ The elegance in every word, the beauty that made even the slightest glance look picturesque.
But since when were relationships between men and women decided by grace?
They had deliberately timed their arrival for the start of winter. Traveling these frozen lands in midwinter was suicide, and northerners wouldn’t send anyone out into the snow unless they were a sworn enemy.
One long winter would be more than enough for Catherine.
Her words and attitude completely calmed the Marquis.
He was usually sly and experienced. The reason he’d lost his composure today was—
‘It was when I met that girl’s eyes.’
The eyes of someone so much younger, who shouldn’t even be a match for him, gave him an odd chill. As if—
—as if she would peel him apart piece by piece and devour him in the end.
It was unsettling. Even ominous.
‘Because of that Jeweled Eyes.’
Yes, maybe it was those Jewele Eyes Nerys Truydd has, for all her youth, looked at others with the same cold dignity as the Imperial family.
Just then, Catherine, who’d been thinking of the same person, spoke decisively.
“You said you had a plan, Marquis? Do whatever you can. Spread rumors that Truydd is trash, or beg His Grace to meet me—whatever it takes.”
Catherine could see herself objectively and was perceptive. She knew Nerys had many things she herself didn’t.
But she also knew this: women who are as outstanding as Nerys Truydd never make the first move.
‘She’s no match for me.’
Picturing her ‘fateful’ reunion with the Duke, Catherine smirked.
(T/N: This is getting exciting!! I was hoping for the btch Megara to show up but this is better. Another btch character will get trashed. Can’t wait!)
