Chapter 227

“Your Excellency, reporting in.”

“Enter.”

The door to Nellusion’s office opened quietly.

After the Elandria residence burned down, Nellusion had chosen to live alone in a small mansion on the outskirts. Even after inheriting the title of Duke, he still hadn’t moved.

Rumor had it that the Duke’s family was in financial trouble, and to outsiders, it certainly looked that way. But the people serving him here knew the truth.

He was wary of spies.

And anyone wary of spies was doing something that needed to be hidden. The news the subordinate brought now belonged to that category.

“The results?”

Nellusion looked at him with icy eyes. The subordinate bowed his head with guilt.

“We could not locate him. It appears he is not hiding among the vassals in the western region.”

Nellusion’s gaze turned frigid.

Finding his father—and ensuring he died—was his top priority. Mourning his father was a convenient excuse to resist sending Valentin as Crown Princess, but beneath that was a far sharper motive.

“Last time, you said it wasn’t the North, and before that, it wasn’t the East. If he’s not in the South either, then where did my father go?”

The subordinate, who had only done as ordered, was speechless. Nellusion clicked his tongue and looked at him with contempt.

“Get out. Search every remaining place. And go through the vassals again—there must be someone hiding him.”

“Yes, Your Excellency!”

Nellusion, known as exceedingly kind in society, was ruthless to his subordinates. Remembering the fate of Joseph Karen, who had served him for years, the subordinate backed away with relief.

Nellusion was alone again, sinking into thought.

Someone was definitely hiding his father. A vassal? Yes. External help? Possible.

But was that external help Camille, or…

Nerys.

That girl who had looked at him with eyes full of contempt. Nellusion dragged a hand across his dry face.

Every time he thought of her, a burning thirst rose.

He had to have her.

He had lost his home and his family. She was all he had left.

But the path to her was not simple. Cledwyn Maindulante would never relinquish her. And even if he did, Nerys would continue thinking of him.

He couldn’t stand that.

So he had to kill him.

That thought consumed him constantly, erasing his ability to focus on anything else. Nellusion was already resolved.

To burn the North to ashes.
To take her and lock her somewhere she could never escape.
To remove everything that stood in his way.

There were too many obstacles. He exhaled deeply, suppressing the violent urges swirling inside him.

His emotions settled beneath his usual gentle expression.

❖ ❖ ❖

The gambling only ended when the morning star rose.

The group of gamblers—who had acted like frivolous, foolish people while quietly sweeping up Abelus’s money—were committed to their roles until the end. Abelus lost heavily, but he was in a good mood. A knight wearing a conflicted expression supported his drunken, barely-standing body and helped him into the carriage.

Megara gently held Abelus, who reeked of alcohol. Her face wore its usual lovely smile.

“Meggie… cute Meggie…”

Abelus clung to her.

“You’re the only one who stays by my side. My life has never been this fun.”

Of course. Megara’s smile deepened.

“There are plenty of people beside Your Highness. You are the only one beside me.”

“Who do I have? Old men who pretend to respect me but curse the Imperial Family behind my back? My sister, acting concerned while trying to control me and place herself at the peak of this country?”

Abelus’s assessment of Camille was accurate, and Megara wasn’t surprised. After all, she was the one who had told him what Camille wanted.

“Poor thing. The people tormenting our Highness are so strange.”

“Meggie… why are you so kind? Why did we meet so late…”

Because Natasha Grünehals had glared daggers at you before, idiot. Megara put on a suitably touched expression.

Abelus slurred as drunkenness tangled his tongue.

“Don’t worry about the Crown Princess matter. No matter who I marry… I’ll never abandon you…”

He didn’t finish—he fell asleep with a loud snore, his full weight collapsing onto her shoulder.

Megara adjusted him so he leaned against the backrest, then leaned back—her expression turning cold.

‘No matter who I marry.’

Even if he brought her everywhere and showered her with gifts, she was still just a mistress. Abelus never hid that when the time came, he would formally marry a lady of “proper” noble blood and make her his Queen.

How dull.

Being the Crown Prince’s official mistress—even without a wife present—wasn’t bad. From that position, she could climb high. If Abelus became Emperor, she could live better than any clumsy noblewoman as his sole favored woman.

But whenever he spoke of marriage, her insides twisted. And whenever she thought of it, the same face surfaced in her mind—the woman she despised.

Those elegant amethyst Jeweled Eyes that looked at Megara with disdain, yet never showed more emotion than that.

Nerys Truydd.

It was all because of that girl that Megara had ended up like this.

If Nerys hadn’t presumptuously claimed that Colin Ganielo did or didn’t suit her, Megara would’ve just married him and lived well. If Colin’s brother had died at the right time, she would’ve become a Duchess.

At least then I wouldn’t have become obsessed with Abelus and picked a fight with Natasha Grünehals.

And what about that party? Nerys had subtly hinted at Natasha’s poison—on purpose—to pit Megara against her.

It’s all that girl’s fault.

A cunning, despicable girl.

A lower noble who barely received proper education, yet Nerys always held Megara back. Meanwhile, Nerys now lived comfortably, being addressed as Your Highness.

Hatred twisted Megara’s face—so vicious that anyone who only knew her angelic facade would never recognize her.

She clenched her fists and glanced at the sleeping Abelus.

Completely unaware. He didn’t know the Finito Club belonged to Nellusion. He didn’t know that the money he thought he could afford to lose had piled up to an alarming amount. He wasn’t a fool, but he wasn’t wise either.

That’s better.

If Abelus were too clever, he wouldn’t be so easily guided by Megara’s whispers.

She took a slow breath, calming herself.

Once my man has a firmer grip on the court, I’ll tell him never to leave Maindulante alone.

She couldn’t stand Nerys’s husband acting arrogant before the Crown Prince.

Even if she was a mistress, she would make sure everyone knew the Crown Prince’s woman outranked the Grand Duke’s woman.

What if both the Crown Princess and the Grand Duchess were addressed as Your Highness? The Crown Prince would become His Majesty someday. The Grand Duke would not.

Peace returned to Megara’s heart as she imagined Nerys floundering before her.

She began calculating how much money she needed to gather by tomorrow morning to cover Abelus’s losses today. A useful distraction.

That woman said she had plenty of spare money…

If she asked the right person, someone would give it quickly. But then a chill ran through her.

If she added up all the money Abelus had lost, it now exceeded the pocket money of an ordinary noble family—and even beyond that of the Marquess of Lycandros and Rebecca Shirley combined.

So much money was flowing straight to Nellusion Elandria?

Even if she was working with him for now, Megara knew she could become his enemy at any time. Who could guarantee that this money wouldn’t become Valentin Elandria’s dowry?

I should ask him for part of it. It was earned thanks to me, after all.

Abelus would repay her properly—if only for his pride. But there was no harm in taking a commission.

As long as it’s going to the Duke… right?

Most of the gambling was done with promissory notes. And from what she’d seen, the transactions were routed through various merchant companies.

Nellusion had said only some of the Finito Club’s patrons were his people. That made sense—on the surface, it operated as a regular high-end club.

Well… it didn’t matter. Megara pushed the thought aside.

Suddenly, she remembered a place where she could borrow money. A trading company she’d frequented when she was still the Marquess’s daughter—a company with solid financial circulation. One whose owner was a friendly woman.

The Moriér Merchant Group.

If they join hands with the Crown Prince’s only woman, they’ll be delighted.

And then—

The carriage screeched to a sudden halt. Abelus stirred in confusion.

“Your Highness, Your Highness!”

Megara shook him urgently. “Huh… Meggie…?” he mumbled, half-asleep.

“Something’s wrong, Your Highness!” the coachman shouted.

Abelus awakened instantly.

“What is it?”

A suffocating silence and a sticky, ominous air filled the carriage.

The next moment, the carriage doors were smashed open.

“Kyaaak!”

Megara screamed as a massive ax blade crashed down inches from her face.

Moonlight poured in through the torn door. A masked man loomed over them, ax raised, smiling coldly.

Even a fool would know what this was. Megara filled her eyes with venom and shouted:

“How dare you! Do you know who this person is!”

Of course the man knew. That was why they were being attacked. Megara wasn’t shouting for the assassin—she was shouting for the guards outside.

The Crown Prince’s carriage naturally had strict security: hidden members of the Imperial Shadow Force, visible escorts. To be attacked so quickly…

Something was gravely wrong.

Abelus tried to draw his sword, face twisted with fury. If he could properly unleash the power of his ultramarine Jeweled Eyes, this assassin would be nothing.

But the ax fell before he could even swing.

“Your Highness!”

“Meggie!”

Megara threw her arms around Abelus’s head, shielding him. Abelus called her name in shock—

“Keuk!”

The assassin groaned. He’d been struck in the arm by a thrown dagger. Megara didn’t loosen her grip, and Abelus managed to escape her hold to look around.

“Your Highness the Crown Prince! Are you unharmed?!”

“Your Highness!”

Knights charged in. The wounded assassin dropped his ax and fled.

“Where do you think you’re going!”

Abelus hurled a dagger. It missed his back by a hair, slicing through his sleeve instead.

The assassin jumped onto a horse and vanished. But in that brief moment, Abelus clearly saw the tattoo exposed on the torn arm:

A moon half-covered by clouds.

He knew that symbol well.

The knights split into groups—some chasing the assassin, others checking Abelus’s condition. When Abelus touched his forehead, Megara burst into anxious tears.

“Your Highness, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Are you hurt, Meggie? To risk your life for me—oh, my…”

Abelus felt overwhelming affection. This was loyalty—true, destined love!

And at the same time, a different emotion surged: rage toward a certain someone.

Even a woman he hadn’t known long would risk her life for him, yet his own sister—

Abelus ground his teeth.

“If my sister is behind this, I will not stand still!”

Megara pressed her face into his chest, smiling to herself.

He may marry another woman. But I will decide who enters—and when.

Princess Camille would pay dearly for daring to bring Valentin Elandria into play.