Chapter 90
“Kalian, sir.”
Vigo entered the study and approached the desk, handing over the military documents that Kalian had prepared. Even in his call, there was a nuance that something was off.
“Here, the forces from the Duke of Bilton’s household…”
It wasn’t just an omission; not a single detail was listed about the troops they could mobilize, like cavalry, spearmen, or archers.
But it couldn’t have been intentional. The Bilton family’s forces were so central to Phaelon that it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call them its backbone. Going to war without them was an absurd notion.
“A commander who’s not in his right mind is worse than having no troops to command at all.”
Kalian cut off Vigo’s words coldly. So, he had deliberately left it blank.
“If we exclude the Bilton household.”
Vigo continued in surprise.
“It won’t differ much from the Taran Kingdom’s forces. You know how many private soldiers Duke Bilton has, don’t you?”
“If they join later, they’ll be reinforcements, but if we include them in the calculations and they drop out, it’ll lower morale. For now, prepare as if they’re not there.”
Vigo wanted to say that if rumors spread about the Duke of Bilton’s household being excluded from this war, morale would drop anyway.
Why did Duke Bilton have to cause such trouble at a time like this? Knowing the reason why Angela wasn’t by Kalian’s side today, Vigo felt like he was dying inside. If he felt this way, how much worse must it be for the other knights?
But Kalian’s face showed not a hint of wavering. His eyes, gazing toward victory, were resolute, and his lips, ready to issue commands for that purpose, were firm. Vigo, who had been staring at that face quietly, didn’t insist further that they couldn’t exclude Duke Bilton and closed his mouth.
This was what it meant to have a reliable commander. Even in a wretched situation, he made you see hope.
In that sense, if the commander couldn’t show faith, then having Duke Bilton wouldn’t mean anything anyway.
Soon, Vigo bowed and left the room.
* * *
The next day.
“Wa, waa, wa, wa!”
As Cecil let out strange sounds in succession, Ian looked at him as if to ask what he was doing.
Usually, it was Ian who did the weird things, and Cecil who gave him the strange looks, but right now, their roles were reversed.
“It’s about Count Florence.”
At the mention of Kalian, Ian bolted upright from where he’d been sprawled on the sofa.
“What, why, huh? Him, why!”
In response to the intense reaction, Cecil handed over the military documents that had just arrived. Since Ian would also be participating in the war, Cecil was checking them one by one, and this was something that made his eyes widen in shock.
“He’s excluded Duke Bilton from this expedition.”
“What?”
Ian snatched the documents Cecil was holding out and hurriedly scanned them. As Cecil said, the Duke of Bilton’s household was left blank.
“Is this guy insane?”
Did he not plan to win? It was war. He’d personally issued evacuation orders to the locals, saying the land might be scorched, and this wasn’t some joke.
Ian immediately stormed out of the room and headed for the emperor’s audience chamber. He intended to petition his father never to approve these documents.
On the way, he encountered someone completely unexpected. It was Angela.
“Angela!”
Forgetting entirely what he was doing or where he was headed, Ian called out to Angela happily. Angela, spotting Ian, stopped in the middle of the corridor.
“What brings you here?”
Even though he’d been so ignored at the last palace banquet, Ian’s heart raced whenever he saw Angela. Knowing she only had eyes for Kalian didn’t matter.
They’d bumped into each other countless times since childhood, but Angela had never once given her heart to Ian. It was too late to feel hurt about that now; his one-sided feelings had gone on for too long.
“I’m on my way back from an audience with His Majesty the Emperor.”
Only then did Ian realize that the only place one could exit through this corridor was the emperor’s audience chamber, and he asked back.
“For what? Could it be…”
Ian pointed to the military documents in his hand. Meaning, was she here because Dominic was missing from these documents? Angela nodded.
Indeed, excluding Dominic while waging war was nonsensical. To think it had even prompted Angela to step in—Kalian Florence, that bastard, what the…
“I explained to Father that he’s not in a state to command the army.”
“What…?”
Angela’s explanation ended there. Though there must be more to the story, whether it wasn’t something Ian should hear or she thought he didn’t deserve to, Angela didn’t open her mouth further.
Ian felt sorry for Angela’s atmosphere, which had sunk heavily, more than the questions in his mind. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder. It was meant to pat her comfortingly. There were absolutely no ulterior motives. It was just that, unlike her usual self, she wasn’t holding her head high haughtily but standing there blankly, so his hand moved on its own.
But the texture he felt was strangely firm. Looking down, Ian realized he was kneading the back of some large hand instead of Angela’s shoulder.
Whose doing could it be? Obviously, Kalian’s.
Whether he’d entered the audience chamber with her or had come walking from that direction, Kalian had swiftly claimed Angela’s shoulder first.
“The count has impeccable timing.”
Ian brushed his hand through the air, smiled brightly at the bewildered Angela standing there cluelessly, and forced a smile toward Kalian.
Kalian, with an expressionless face, bowed his head to Ian, then, with his hand still on Angela’s shoulder, led her away as if to show off.
Even in the midst of this, Ian waved at Angela and suddenly thought: What if, in this battlefield, I secretly behead that guy, pretending it was the enemy?
But it was a ridiculous notion. He’d be lucky if his own neck wasn’t secretly sliced instead.
With no more reason to petition the emperor, Ian turned around and returned to his room. He tossed the documents to Cecil, who asked why he was back so soon, and crawled into bed.
To Cecil’s question of what was wrong, he wanted to whine without any pride.
I lost again, Cecil.
* * *
As Angela climbed into the carriage, Kalian saw her off, and she left the imperial palace behind. Kalian couldn’t join her.
With the expedition looming, he was swamped, barely finding a moment to breathe.
Even so, Kalian longed to stay by Angela’s side, but she couldn’t bear to see him exhaust himself further, surviving on the bare minimum of sleep as it was.
When she arrived at the Florence estate, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the Bilton mansion.
It felt like stepping from a suffocating hell into a haven of peace in just one night.
Mary ran out with puffed cheeks, Emmit greeted her as if her single night away had been a grand journey abroad, and Jo and Hilda fussed over her, eager to tend to her every need.
Every servant in the household was the same.
There was nothing here that coerced Angela. Everyone genuinely wished for her tranquility.
The entire place felt like an extension of Kalian’s embrace. With every breath, his presence seemed to fill her lungs.
She almost regretted exhaling, wanting to draw him in deeper, to hold her breath and keep him within her forever.
When she entered her room and collapsed onto the bed, weary, Mary dragged a chair to her bedside and sat down.
Angela’s eyes flicked toward her, and Mary, clearing her throat with a small cough, spoke up.
“You didn’t sleep a wink, did you?”
“Like it’s just been a day or two?”
Angela replied lightly, but truth be told, she’d been sleeping better lately.
Her chronic insomnia, she suspected, had been a defense mechanism to keep Grace out of her dreams.
Mary knew that since Angela had come here, her sleep had improved noticeably. That’s why she was acting like this—insomnia had become the unfamiliar stranger now.
“I’ll sing you a lullaby!”
Mary declared boldly, recalling a story she’d heard about Angela’s birthday, when an attack by the Alcyon band forced her to stay at the Bilton mansion.
That night, Yvonne’s singing had filled Angela’s room without pause.
Mary had been thinking ever since that if Angela couldn’t sleep, she could do the same.
“Ahem, ahem.”
Clearing her throat again, Mary took Angela’s hand tightly and began to sing.
It was the same lullaby Yvonne had sung—a song about the sea sleeping, the forest sleeping, the sky sleeping, and her precious little one sleeping too.
Mary closed her eyes gently and sang the lullaby with care.
When she reached the final note, she opened her eyes, expecting her lady to be fast asleep.
But why? Angela wasn’t lying down—she was sitting bolt upright. Her face looked even more exhausted than before.
“Mary.”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever sung for anyone before?”
“All the time for my mom and dad!”
Mary answered with full-throated confidence, and Angela asked again.
“What did they say?”
“They said it was like the voice of an angel sent from heaven!”
Oh… no. It was more like the voice of a demon crawling out of hellfire.
But Angela couldn’t bring herself to say that to Mary’s sweet, earnest face. She seemed convinced she had an extraordinary singing talent, and disappointing her felt impossible.
Still, didn’t Mary have ears of her own? It was baffling.
“But why aren’t you sleeping?”
Mary tilted her head, genuinely puzzled, and Angela gave her a faint smile.
“I guess I’m not tired enough. Sleep just won’t come.”
It was a white lie. Completely fooled, Mary insisted she’d sing again later that night, tormenting Angela with the promise. It seemed sleep was out of the question for tonight.
* * *
Grace, lying in bed, slowly opened her eyes and slid her feet to the floor. Her steps instinctively sought the warmth of the fireplace.
She’d told Rasill she liked warmth because she was always complaining about the heat, but that was nonsense.
Her heart felt so cold it drove her to madness. It was as if it were hardening, turning to stone.
It hadn’t been like this before, but now, perhaps because of her half-broken power, she was in this pitiful state.
If she left this scalding room, she felt she’d freeze solid.
The last time she’d gone out to catch a glimpse of Phaelon’s empress, she hadn’t lasted long before retreating back to this room.
With her body in such a state, it was only natural she’d grow irritable.
Normally, she’d laugh off Rasill raising his voice a little, but these days, her first thought was to kill him on the spot.
She needed a solution. She had to reclaim her full power from that girl, Angela, and soon.
It was about time Dominic showed some results.
It would be perfect if he could wound Angela, manipulate her, and reduce her to a helpless puppet.
Then Grace could swallow her whole in one gulp.
Creak.
Just as Grace was savoring the thought, the door swung open, interrupting her.
It was Rasill. Judging by his heavy, stomping steps, something had clearly enraged him.
“I need to kill a few more.”
Last time, he’d thrown a fit about her using extreme methods, and now he was demanding she kill. He was utterly unpredictable.
“Who does His Majesty the King want to kill this time?”
“There are quite a few trying to stop the war with Phaelon. Kill them if you must, or do that thing you’re good at—messing with their minds. Make those fools see Phaelon as the villain.”
Grace let out a sharp laugh. It was amusing how he spoke as if he understood her power better than she did.
“I’ll arrange a spot for you to observe the next meeting in secret so you can see their faces.”
But at the mention of leaving the room, Grace’s expression turned cold again.
“I hope the meeting room is warm. At least as warm as this place.”
Rasill frowned, thinking it a strange request. But what could he do?
He nodded quickly, agreeing.
If they could silence the cowards, they could reclaim the ceded lands, and with luck, carve out a bit more of Phaelon, redrawing the map of the Taran Kingdom.
Rasill smiled as if the thought alone filled his belly.
Grace mirrored his smile, reading his thoughts without needing to delve into his mind.
When she regained her power and could leave this place freely, she’d make sure to tear that smug mouth of his apart.
