It was the sudden surge of discomfort and fury that rose in his chest the moment those words left his father’s mouth — half-witted stuttering bastard girl. The rebellion that flared up in him with an intensity that went well beyond anything the situation warranted.
Leon reined in the aggressive tide of feeling with great effort and slowly opened his mouth. He gathered every last fragment of the filial piety and patience he still possessed — enough to keep himself from provoking a man whose mind and nerves were in precarious condition.
“She is a woman of noble standing, formally registered with a Count’s household. She is highly educated, and she possesses rare and exceptional gifts. You should not judge her by what uninformed people choose to say.”
“Shut your mouth, you stupid fool.”
The crude words that fell from the Grand Duke’s lips made Leon wonder for a moment if he had heard correctly.
Grand Duke Osilot was a man of tremendous pride in his imperial blood — a man who, in all his years, had never spoken coarsely to family or anyone else. Leon could not recall, from childhood to now, a single instance of his father resorting to insult. Contempt, yes — cold and patrician — but never language like this.
And the look in his father’s eyes in this moment was something Leon had never seen there before. As though he were one more provocation away from striking his own son.
But Leon knew. He knew what was actually inside those eyes.
The curse had sharpened his senses beyond ordinary measure, and what those sharpened senses told him now was this: the overpowering smell of iron. That bitter, sharp, metallic reek.
That was the smell of fear.
His father had been carrying it — that smell, like a furnace swallowed whole — for longer than Leon could remember.
His father was afraid. Of something. Terribly afraid.
Leon watched the man who hid his bottomless terror behind a performance of fury, and felt nothing in his face.
“Be quiet and do as I say, Leon.”
“Father.”
“If you keep defying me, neither that woman nor you will come out of it unscathed. Do you understand me?”
Leon went cold.
Was his father actually threatening him — threatening him through Kasha? Had his father’s mind truly become so compromised?
He found himself hoping — genuinely, painfully hoping — that his father was drunk, or raving, or otherwise not entirely in his right mind.
He had never wished to hate his father. Even while making himself the sacrifice that kept the family safe, there was one thing he had clung to — the idea of family. His father was part of that.
His father spoke on as though Leon’s silent wishes counted for nothing.
“I asked you if you understood. You are my son, Leon. You are the achievement, the legacy, of what Larissa and I made together. And you are going to hold that — that filthy bastard girl — up beside it?”
“Enough.”
Leon cut across him with a voice like ice.
Every time his father used that word — bastard — for Kasha, something burned at his temples in a way that made no sense to him.
“That is enough. I will not listen to any more of this.”
“Is that so? Insufferable, ungrateful boy. No matter how impressive you think you are, without the Aranias blood I gave you, you’d be nothing. Do you honestly think the Tyrot Duke would spare a single glance at some common Holy Knight?”
“The Tyrot Duke means nothing to me.”
“Nothing? Nothing? We need the Tyrot Duke’s money to rebuild this family!”
“This family that you destroyed, Father.”
“What did you just say? You insolent little —!”
The Grand Duke could no longer contain himself. He surged to his feet and lunged for Leon to strike him across the face. Leon caught his father’s wrist without effort — a simple, effortless motion — and neutralized the blow.
“Let go of me! What kind of Holy Knight assaults his own father?”
“Assault.”
Leon laughed — cold, humorless.
“One more sin to add to the tally. My damnation was already assured long before this, Father.”
“What in the world are you —”
The Grand Duke had been about to thunder back — but he stopped. He looked at Leon’s face. And the noise went out of him.
There was anger in that face. The sorrowful, long-endured anger of a child who had waited and waited, and been given nothing in return.
Leon held his father’s gaze for one moment longer, then spoke.
“In any case — I will not be inheriting the Grand Dukedom.”
“What?”
“So what I choose to do with my own life is not your concern. I am already formally courting Kasha Rüschino.”
“Now just a —”
“I do not betray the people I have chosen.”
“What — what are you —”
The fire in the old man’s eyes guttered, suddenly and completely. His once-imposing frame swayed.
Good. At least there’s still some conscience left in you.
Leon made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, shook his father’s wrist free, and turned to go. He had taken only a few steps when he paused.
“One more thing.”
“…….”
“If you want to keep the Aranias name from complete ruin — the one you care so much about — then Kasha Rüschino may be your only hope.”
“What kind of nonsense is this?”
“So do not touch her. In any way. Unless you’d like to watch this cursed house burn down to ash.”
Leon delivered the warning with cold precision and left. The Grand Duke’s fury rang out behind him.
“You — you! Come back here, you ungrateful wretch! Come back here, Leon!”
Bang.
Something flew across the room and struck the door behind him.
Crash. Clatter.
Then several more tremendous sounds, as though the man were attempting to demolish his own study.
“…….”
Exhaustion settled over Leon like a weight pressing him into the floor — a bone-deep, total exhaustion that made him feel as though the ground might simply swallow him whole. Alongside it came the despair of a man who wanted nothing more than to shed every burden and run.
And with a sudden, fierce clarity, he felt it — the longing to be somewhere else. Not just anywhere.
Somewhere beside a woman with quietly luminous pale-pink eyes. To breathe in her cool, soft, nearly imperceptible scent, deep into his lungs, like a man starved of air.
You fool…
Leon gritted his teeth and pushed a hand through his hair.
“Not very like you, is it. Provoking Father like that.”
A low, measured voice — sharp and without warmth — spoke from nearby.
He turned. Anthony was standing there in his neat shirtsleeves, watching him. The green eyes — so like their mother’s — were deeply, quietly troubled. One look told Leon that his younger brother had overheard every word.
“Anthony.”
“You look exhausted, Brother. Still not sleeping well?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine at all.”
Anthony said it like a reprimand.
“Brother. Are you really planning to court Miss Kasha Rüschino?”
Those green eyes pressed into him, relentless and searching. Leon knew he couldn’t give a vague answer.
“…Yes.”
“Why?”
“Hard to say exactly.”
“You don’t suit her, Brother.”
Anthony said it quickly, as though he needed to expel the words before he thought better of them.
Leon looked at him with tired eyes.
Whatever Anthony meant by it — he was not in the mood to argue. Anthony was sharp and easily unsettled, but underneath all of that he was a gentle person. Leon chose to believe the remark came from a place of genuine concern.
“Have you been listening to what people are saying about her in society?”
He thought that was probably it — that Anthony had heard the gossip and formed his impression from there. But Anthony shook his head with flat certainty.
“No. It’s nothing like that. I’m only stating a fact.”
“What fact?”
“She’s clearly not a good person. She came close to Eve just to get to you.”
“That is…”
Leon couldn’t deny outright that Kasha might have approached Eve with some deliberate intention. His lips pressed together.
And yet — even as that thought took shape, he found himself recalling the way Anthony had looked at Kasha the day of Eve’s tea party. That gaze had not been idle or incidental. He had known, even then, that Kasha would be helping with the event — and still his attention had found her.
Then why is he now speaking of her as though she’s something to be suspected?
“Brother.”
Anthony stepped forward.
But at the same moment, the faint, metallic scent of blood that clung to Anthony made Leon draw back instinctively.
Blood-scent was the smell of desire — not the cheap, base kind, but something deeper. A hunger with roots. At some point Anthony had begun to carry this scent, and Leon had never been able to determine what that hidden longing was, or where it lived inside the brother who always wore such a beautiful, effortless smile.
In the darkness of the corridor, Anthony’s green eyes looked almost black.
And from that darkness, he whispered again.
“Brother. You will regret it — you must not trust that woman.”
The day of the hunting competition arrived.
Kasha rode in alongside Daryl, the two of them side by side as they entered the competition grounds in the Chrysos Forest.
Daryl kept glancing back at her with poorly concealed anxiety as she handled her horse with less than expert grace.
“Please reconsider, Kasha.”
“…….”
Having endured the same argument for days now, Kasha chose to pretend she hadn’t heard. But Daryl pressed on with tireless persistence — truly, the man had never learned to let a thing go.
“I’m worried about you, that’s all.”
“You don’t need to be.”
“Kasha—”
Just as Daryl’s voice was climbing in frustration, salvation appeared at exactly the right moment.
“Kasha! Over here!”
Margaret, standing beneath one of the elaborate tents scattered across the grounds, was waving at them with both arms. She was wearing a pale yellow short-sleeved dress, and she looked more vivacious than usual.
“Margaret.”
Kasha dismounted and handed Daryl the reins in one smooth motion, then made her way over. Margaret’s eyes went wide as she got a proper look at her.
“Oh. You actually look even better than I expected. Kasha, honestly — dressing you up is one of life’s great pleasures.”
For today, Kasha wore a crisp white shirt embroidered all over with delicate roses and trailing vines, paired with riding trousers, her hair swept high and gathered neatly. The outfit was one she and Margaret had chosen together at a dressmaker’s shop, planned specifically for today.
“It’s thanks to you.”
It was brief and might have seemed blunt to the ear, but Margaret seemed to hear the sincerity that lived in it — she smiled warmly.
“Anytime. Just say the word.”
“I will.”
They looked at each other and smiled.
“Oh — is that it?”
Margaret nodded at the long leather case strapped across Kasha’s shoulder.
“Yes.”
“So it’s really —”
“Yes, really.”
Just as Kasha answered, Daryl approached, having handed off his horse. He greeted Margaret with an awkwardness that was entirely unlike him.
“Miss Margaret.”
“Viscount.”
Two people glancing sidelong at each other while pretending to look away, both subtly flushed. Kasha found this deeply interesting to observe.
“Th — the weather is quite warm today, isn’t it, Miss Margaret?”
“A little. But being in the forest helps.”
Daryl stumbling over his words in a way that didn’t suit him at all. Margaret appearing considerably shyer than her usual self.
Their situation seemed to be progressing pleasantly enough.
Kasha slipped away from the tent to give them a moment alone, glancing around to get her bearings on the area.
That was when a thoroughly unwelcome face appeared from behind a tent on the other side of the grounds.
Simon Blanche.
He spotted her and immediately arranged his face into a polished, practiced smile, striding toward her.
That revolting, vile —
Kasha was preparing to glare him down when —
…?
Whatever he saw in that moment, Simon came to an abrupt halt. He shifted direction unnaturally, turned his back on her as though she hadn’t registered at all, and walked away.
What was that about?
She tilted her head in puzzlement and turned — and found herself face to face with someone she had not expected.
