# Chapter 22
Roshanne clenched her fists tightly, as if she couldn’t care less about Cheyton’s reaction.
“Eighty million gold, snatched away just like that? No way I’m letting that happen.”
“…Ha.”
Cheyton pressed a hand to his forehead. As he stood there, still mulling it over, Roshanne parted her lips to speak again.
“There’s no need to get hung up on Crown Prince Joseph’s visit. He told me to stay away from the Grand Duke, and I said I’d handle it myself.”
“What? You said that to the Crown Prince?”
Cheyton’s face twisted in disbelief. He knew all too well how much Joseph kept him in check.
The moment Cheyton set foot in the imperial palace, Joseph would panic and rush to have him thrown out.
And yet, Roshanne had told someone like that she’d “handle it herself”?
“Was there… no trouble after that?”
“Hmm. He threw a teacup.”
“What?!”
Cheyton shot up from his seat.
“He threw a teacup? At you, Lady Roshanne?”
She’d only mentioned it to clarify that their conversation hadn’t exactly ended on friendly terms, but she hadn’t expected such a fierce reaction.
Roshanne, rarely caught off guard, nodded with a hint of unease.
“But I threw one back, so…”
“He threw a teacup? The Crown Prince has lost his mind.”
“I said I threw one back too.”
“Are you hurt? You must’ve been shaken. Are you alright? Was it this parlor? There might still be shards from the broken teacup lying around. Tiny glass fragments are hard to spot, and they can sting if they get lodged in your skin. It might be best to avoid using this parlor for a while.”
Cheyton’s demeanor, as if he were handling a sandcastle that might crumble at the slightest touch, left Roshanne with an odd feeling.
Even Duke Railaten, who had witnessed the shattered teacup, hadn’t bothered to ask if she was alright.
No, it wasn’t just that. Even when Roshanne had gone to war as a hero, covered in blood and grime, no one had ever asked if she was okay.
It was as if that were only natural.
“…I’m fine.”
Roshanne, tucking away the strange emotion, answered slowly.
“Other than throwing the teacup, did he do anything else?”
“He said he’d summon the Hero.”
“What?”
Cheyton’s eyes wavered. In that moment, Roshanne’s gaze sharpened.
“He said he’d call the Emperor’s puppet, the Hero, to kill me.”
“…The Emperor’s puppet? Hah, what a despicable bastard.”
Perhaps it was because they’d fought side by side in battle before. Cheyton gritted his teeth, his voice low with anger.
Roshanne simply watched him in silence.
Cheyton, who had been fuming alone, ran a hand over his weary face several times, reining in his emotions.
“Hah. There’s nothing to fear. The Hero only answers to the Emperor. Even if Crown Prince Joseph makes a request, the Emperor wouldn’t unseal the Hero for something so petty.”
The Hero only answers to the Emperor?
It seemed Cheyton knew far more about the Hero’s seal than Joseph did.
“And…”
Cheyton hesitated.
“Even if it’s the Emperor’s command, the Hero wouldn’t kill an innocent lady like you. That’s not the kind of person they are.”
Person.
Joseph had called the Hero the Emperor’s dog, the Emperor’s puppet.
But Cheyton was different.
He called them a person. A living, breathing person. And he was certain they wouldn’t harm the innocent.
Roshanne fidgeted with her fingers. That strange feeling stirred in her again.
“I can’t say more than that, but you don’t need to worry, Lady Roshanne.”
Cheyton spoke with firm conviction, as if he thought she was frightened.
Roshanne nodded.
This man—she definitely needed to keep him close.
“Grand Duke.”
Roshanne called out to Cheyton.
“For tomorrow’s duel, I still want you to step in for me.”
Cheyton didn’t answer right away.
He knew how many eyes would be on this duel. Even the Emperor himself was watching with keen interest.
“Do you know what people will say if I step in as your knight?”
“Hmm.”
“It’s not the same as us meeting a few times like this. People will see us and…”
“They’ll ask if we’re together?”
“Yeah. They’ll ask if we’re together… wait, what?”
Roshanne’s casual murmur made Cheyton’s ears flush red.
“What’s the problem?”
“What’s the problem? Lady Roshanne, you…”
“We already decided to let people think we’re in love, didn’t we?”
Cheyton was momentarily speechless.
And then it hit him.
No matter what he said, he’d never outtalk this woman.
Roshanne grinned at Cheyton as he pressed a hand to his forehead.
“You said you needed me, Grand Duke, but maybe you’re not that desperate?”
Her voice, brimming with amusement, made Cheyton lift his head almost instinctively.
There she was, smiling.
Desperate? How could he not be?
Even now, he was fighting the overwhelming urge to take her hand.
“Grand Duke.”
Roshanne’s voice was sweet as she called his name.
How could he not yearn for the only force capable of taming his madness?
“If you’re truly desperate, don’t give up or back down.”
She extended her hand, as if inviting him to take it.
“Ha.”
Cheyton let out a heavy, suppressed breath. His gaze lingered on her hand.
“Don’t worry about anyone else’s circumstances. Hold on tight, bind me, and don’t let go.”
It was an offer he couldn’t refuse.
“Even if it’s my own circumstances.”
An inevitable surrender.
Cheyton squeezed his eyes shut and reached out, intertwining his fingers with hers.
—
The day of the duel arrived.
Brina, clearly confident in her victory, had chosen a public training ground managed by the Fortlen family as the venue.
Perhaps at Brina’s invitation, a group of her close acquaintances sat at a tea table nearby, looking oddly out of place.
“My old friends came to visit, and I couldn’t just turn them away coldly… But I also couldn’t postpone the duel, so I had no choice but to allow them to observe. That’s alright, isn’t it, Lady Roshanne?”
Brina giggled. She’d heard no word of Roshanne securing a knight, so this was clearly a ploy to humiliate her publicly.
Roshanne gave a nonchalant nod, as if it didn’t matter.
“Oh, and I invited Viscount Zichelia to act as an impartial judge for the wager. That’s fine too, right?”
Brina, piling on excuses to justify the growing crowd of spectators, glanced behind Roshanne.
Following Brina’s gaze, Roshanne cast a quick look over her shoulder.
There was no one behind her but her maid, River.
Brina’s smile widened, brimming with certainty of her victory. But she quickly composed herself, striving to maintain an air of refinement.
“Where’s the knight you’ve chosen for the duel?”
Brina asked. Sir Mark stepped forward, brandishing his sword with a flourish through the air.
“If you couldn’t find a knight, that means you’ve already lost, Lady Roshanne—”
“I’m late.”
Brina’s smug muttering, laced with barely concealed mockery, was cut off by an unfamiliar, icy voice.
“Grand Duke… Barpheus?”
Brina’s eyes widened in disbelief. The spectators, equally stunned, leapt to their feet and bowed deeply.
Even if the nobles subtly disregarded Cheyton—shunned by the Emperor and checked by Joseph—he was still royalty.
In his presence, they had no choice but to bow.
“What brings Your Grace here…?”
“I’m here to fight as Lady Roshanne’s knight.”
“What?!”
Brina’s head snapped up in shock. To confirm the truth of his words, Cheyton stood before Roshanne, sword already drawn.
“Why would Your Grace involve himself in Lady Roshanne’s affairs…?”
Brina mumbled, almost to herself. Cheyton fixed her with a quiet stare.
“Do I owe you an explanation, Lady Fortlen?”
His sharp, unpolished tone made Brina hurriedly bow again.
Cheyton, constantly sidelined by the royal family, had always remained aloof from such matters.
Yet here he was, standing as the knight for Lady Roshanne, a central figure in the Emperor’s faction.
And in the duel that had captured everyone’s attention, no less!
“You’re late.”
Roshanne, arms crossed, shook her head in mock reproach. Cheyton cleared his throat awkwardly, pretending not to hear.
Brina’s trembling gaze darted to Sir Mark. The confidence that had radiated from him moments ago was now clouded with unease and tension.
We can’t win. His expression seemed to scream it.
Brina clenched her fists tightly.
Cheyton had been thrown into dragon-slaying campaigns and countless wars since childhood, always emerging alive.
No matter how skilled Sir Mark was, he was no match for Cheyton. The comparison wasn’t even close.
“This… this is unfair!”
Brina’s voice trembled as she shouted.
“Grand Duke Barpheus isn’t a knight—he’s royalty! Only knights can stand in a duel!”
“He’s a knight.”
“What? A knight…?”
Brina blinked, caught off guard by Roshanne’s calm retort.
“He’s always fought in wars and rebellions as the Emperor’s loyal knight, hasn’t he?”
Brina’s lips clamped shut, realizing her mistake.
When the Emperor banished Cheyton from the palace, he’d granted him a grand duchy and a title for appearances’ sake. But he still treated him as a knight.
Summoned to the palace as a knight, sent across the empire to resolve conflicts as the Emperor’s loyal knight—or rather, sent to die.
“Are you saying you’re defying the Emperor?”
“When did I ever say anything against His Majesty…?”
“The Fortlen family’s lady refuses to acknowledge a knight recognized by the Emperor himself?”
Roshanne’s words left Brina speechless, unable to muster a rebuttal. She bit her lower lip hard.
“Aren’t we starting the duel? Or is this a battle of words?”
Cheyton’s voice dripped with mockery.
There was no turning back now.
