Chapter 109

"How many more I'm sorrys before this conversation ends?"

"Good question."

Lyssel was smiling even as he ran his thumb over the red mark still on his wrist.

"It'll fade in a few days. It doesn't even hurt that much."

"…All right. From now on, we don't apologize to each other anymore."

"Pft. Deal. Anyway, since I woke you up — lie back down. I'll pat you to sleep."

"…All right."

Lyssel wasn't much of a sleeper, and falling asleep had never come easily to him.

On top of that, dawn was breaking — and he'd spent the whole night wide awake, watching over Iberin as she wandered the manor.

Iberin knew, which made her feel worse.

In the end, Lyssel gave in and lay back down on the bedding.

"By the way, you're not tired, Iberin?"

"Me? I'm fine, actually."

"Really…?"

"Why, do I run around pretty hard out there?"

"No, it's not that."

"Maybe sleepwalking means you don't even feel tired since you're moving unconsciously?"

Iberin had never sleepwalked before, so she had nothing to go on.

She'd only ever heard the term.

It puzzled her, but she really didn't feel any physical strain.

"Anyway, I'm fine, so close your eyes already, Lyssel."

The moment the words left her, Lyssel's eyes slid shut.

A steady, rhythmic pat. The warmth of her pressing close against his side.

Everything settled around him.

He couldn't say how badly he'd missed this feeling on the battlefield.

Even the dawn birdsong felt like it was tickling at his ear.

Soon enough, the bedroom filled with the even rise and fall of his breathing.

---

Iberin hadn't been outside since the welcoming ceremony.

So all the talk about how favorable the public was toward Lecashe — she'd only heard it, never felt it firsthand.

"Cherity was right — the invitation did come."

"In some sense it's a party celebrating the safe return from war."

"After we wrecked the welcoming ceremony like that? On top of that, the high priest still hasn't been caught."

"That's why even the nobles are talking. Wondering if this is just a maneuver to swing the spotlight onto Lecashe and bury the high priest matter…"

That made sense too.

"And Viscount Sherburn and his wife are in the capital, you said."

"What do you want to do?"

"…If it's a victory party, honestly the man of the hour is Lecashe — it'd be strange for Lecashe not to attend."

"True enough. But I have no intention of forcing myself to go."

Lyssel said it firmly.

But Iberin was thinking the other way.

Avoiding it wasn't a solution.

"No, let's go and put a real end to what we set out to do."

If the emperor kept refusing to grant them an audience and dragged things out, there wouldn't be a single thing Lecashe could do.

"It probably won't be as easy as you think, though."

"Why?"

"Because Lecashe has become a hero. When we were the household everyone treated like dirt, nobody cared — they were too busy cursing us. Now they'll do everything they can to keep hold of us. Nothing's actually changed, except that the monsters moved their nest from the south to the west."

"As for that problem — like I said before, if we hand the seed to the emperor, it solves itself."

"You think he'd take it…?"

"…He wouldn't take it directly, no. But he'd find someone to play puppet in his place."

"What a pitiful imperial family — all they can do is keep kicking the can."

Then again, the emperor of a Holy Empire walking around with a body full of demonic energy would be its own kind of joke.

"You can't force it on him?"

She asked it half hoping to mess with him, and Lyssel said it wasn't out of the question.

"Really?"

"Mm. I've never tried it, though."

So it wasn't beyond imagining.

For an emperor who couldn't loosen his grip on power, the heaviest punishment would be to strip it away — and make sure he couldn't even hope to get it back.

"But then the emperor could just push the problem off onto someone else."

"…You might be right."

Who would dare hypnotize or brainwash the emperor?

Forget that — most people didn't even know the seed existed.

So handing it off carelessly could just create another victim.

"Whatever. As long as the emperor goes down."

She kept turning the emperor's possible angles over in her head, and time passed, and the day of the party arrived.

And then, the Viscount and Viscountess Sherburn — who hadn't shown so much as a nose-tip until now — came to call first.

It turned out Iberin wasn't the only daughter — a woman about her own age stood there beaming.

"It's a pleasure, Your Highness the Grand Duke."

The viscount addressed Lyssel beside her.

"Yes."

"Hello, Your Highness! I'm Yunet Sherburn. Iberin's younger sister."

So she had a sister.

Yunet was unmistakably the viscount's daughter.

The viscount's face wasn't exactly an easy one to like, and Yunet's wasn't either.

"Ah. Yes. Lyssel Lecashe."

Lyssel had braced himself stiff.

Iberin, on the other hand, had absolutely zero expectations of her parents, so her posture was loose.

"…Hello, or rather, it's been a while…?"

Parents or not, Iberin offered an awkward greeting under the cold looks the couple were giving her.

"What's with that dim-witted face. You're still a fool, I see."

A woman dressed to the nines, in an elegant voice, slapped Iberin down.

"…Pardon?"

She was opening like this — straight to the throat?

Even Lyssel froze and stared at the viscountess, but she didn't seem to register it and kept that loose mouth running.

"Tch. When you marry, you're supposed to become a ghost in your husband's house — what are you doing running around like this."

It was a thoroughly dated thing to say.

Honestly, it wasn't the kind of thing anyone deserved to hear to her face. It was rude.

Parents or not.

"What, my words upset you?"

"Yes. They do. So why is Mother here instead of being a ghost in House Sherburn? The Sherburn main estate is in the east."

"…What? Are you talking back to me?"

"It's not talking back — your statement contradicts itself."

"Absurd."

"My thought exactly."

Her mouth fell open, and the viscountess let out an incredulous dry laugh, sighing heavily over and over.

"All this time you've put us through —!"

She was about to launch into another round of yelling when the viscount stopped her from beside her.

"We're out of time."

"Ngh."

The viscountess didn't dare get another word out at her husband's cue, and just snapped open her fan.

But she made a point of stomping along, radiating displeasure.

Lyssel paired with the viscount, Iberin with the viscountess and Yunet, and they split into separate carriages.

So began a deeply uncomfortable ride.

---

Even inside the carriage, the viscountess apparently found endless things wrong with everything — she launched into a point-by-point critique of Iberin's dress, her hair, every detail of her appearance.

"You're the Grand Duchess now, of all things, and you can't be bothered to carry yourself properly!"

"Yunet's style is pretty much the same as mine."

"Are you and Yunet the same?!"

"What's different about us, exactly."

"What? You really are hopeless."

"Hopeless, so — what'll you do about it?"

Apparently, in front of her family, Iberin had been a docile little lamb who fell in line.

"Viscountess Sherburn, I don't think you're in any position to do anything to me."

"What are you talking about! Before I'm a viscountess, I'm your mother!"

The viscountess shrieked it, and Yunet smirked at Iberin with a look like she pitied her.

"She'll get it good and then sit there sobbing and snotting and begging for forgiveness, like she always does."

"What?"

"What."

It was a completely different tone from the one she'd cooed at Lyssel in earlier.

Somehow, even though they were both daughters, the treatment was wildly different.

Yunet got to talk that way, slanted and sharp, while Iberin got picked apart for everything she did.

Then again, that was probably how they'd managed to ship her off to House Lecashe in the first place.

Because she wasn't loved.

"Now I get it."

"Get what?"

"That you're ugly and you have a rotten personality?"

"Oh, this little —!"

Yunet's hand shot up.

She was clearly about to backhand her across the face, and Iberin caught her wrist mid-swing.

Yunet hadn't expected to actually be caught — their eyes met as hers went wide and round.

And without hesitation, Iberin lifted her other hand and did to Yunet exactly what Yunet had been about to do to her.

Smack—

"Kyaaa!"

Yunet's head whipped to the side under the slap, and the viscountess screamed.

"What do you think you're doing!!! You damned bitch!!!"

The shriek was so loud the coachman flinched and stopped the carriage for a moment.

—Is everything all right?

The flustered voice came from outside, and the viscountess, shaking, snapped:

"Just keep going!"

—Yes, yes, ma'am.

The carriage started rolling again, and the viscountess flailed around clutching Yunet against her chest.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?"

"Mama…"

Yunet sniffled, hand pressed to her flushed red cheek.

It was a pathetic sight.

"You — when we get home — just wait."

The viscountess ground out the warning through clenched teeth.

"What'll be different later?"

"What do you mean what's different! You've forgotten your place, so I'm going to teach it to you, step by step!"

"My place?"

"Ha! You don't actually think marrying a grand duke made you something, do you? It's just a cursed house, and you are nothing!"

It wasn't the kind of thing anyone could believe a mother saying to her own daughter.

The viscountess wore a satisfied look, certain that surely now her daughter understood her place, then frowned.

Because Iberin — who should have been shaking and apologizing — had just brushed it off with a soft snort.