The talk of high society in recent weeks had been nothing but Duke Hardeion’s upcoming wedding.
Edwin drifted from gambling den to gambling den every day, but he gathered every scrap of gossip that carried Ivelina’s name.
“Bring me more wine.”
“Edwin, that’s three bottles already…”
“The hell — do I look like I’m joking? Are you ignoring me?”
“I-it’s not that. I just worry about your health.”
Camilla flinched at Edwin’s shout and instinctively pressed her hands over her stomach. Her belly was growing more pronounced by the day.
Edwin looked at it with narrowed eyes.
“Getting yourself pregnant. What a nuisance.”
Camilla could not bear to hear her child spoken of that way.
But she had to bear it. A few days ago, something had happened — she had almost lost the baby.
‘Don’t you speak about my child that way! It’s our child!’
‘You dare talk back to me? Want to die? You were thrown away by your own uncle — who do you think you are, talking back to me?’
‘Stop—’
‘Keep quiet. Stop making me lose my temper.’
‘Sob…’
That day, Edwin had come home having lost every coin he had at the tables. He had been beyond reason — screaming, drunk, smashing whatever his hands found, and in the end turning that violence onto her.
Camilla had endured it to protect her child. This child she had kept at the cost of every friend and every family member she had ever had. The child growing inside her — the child of the man she loved. She could not let it go.
“It’s all right, little one…”
‘If I hold on and keep quiet, Edwin won’t leave us. It’s all right, little one. It’s all right. Your father is just going through something difficult right now…’
“Pathetic. Going around with your best friend’s fiancé and now you want to play mother?”
Edwin’s eyes, as he watched Camilla sink to the floor and stroke her belly, were filled with contempt.
He turned toward the pile of gossip papers.
A distinct gleam moved through his eyes.
“Camilla. The baby. I’ll accept it.”
“What — what? Really?”
“Yes. But there’s a condition.”
“What is it? Tell me, I’ll do anything.”
“Ivelina. I want her dead. And Duke Hardeion with her.”
“…Edwin. That’s too dangerous—”
Camilla’s face went white.
Edwin moved toward her slowly and took her chin in his hand.
“You want to raise your child as a bastard?”
“…N-no. Not this child… I don’t want it to be like me.”
Camilla murmured as though sleepwalking, her hand moving over her belly.
Edwin watched her with bloodshot, half-lidded eyes, and smiled.
“Good. Do this for me, and I’ll take in not just the child — I’ll take you too.”
“…Me as well?”
“That’s right. Your last chance to become Viscountess Hansworth. What do you say?”
* * *
“It’s Kael’s birthday?”
“Yes, my lady — did you not know? The servants have been talking about it.”
“I — no, I had no idea. He never mentioned it.”
‘Kael’s birthday.’
I knew the Crown Prince’s. But Kael’s? There had been no information about it in the original novel at all.
“He must have hidden it so as not to burden you. Apparently he never makes much of his birthday to begin with.”
“Really? Oh — actually…”
Something came back to me. A conversation from when I had mistaken Father-in-law for a vagrant.
‘My son’s birthday is coming up soon — I timed my return to the capital around it.’
That son had been Kael after all.
So it really was his birthday.
“And it’s the day after tomorrow?”
“Yes. Two days from now.”
“That doesn’t leave much time…”
Too little time to arrange anything properly.
But after everything Kael had done — it felt wrong to let the day pass without acknowledging it. I had standards, even if I wanted the engagement to end.
“Apparently His Grace usually spends it with just the family over a meal — or sometimes skips even that.”
“Still — it’s his birthday. I can’t let it go by like it’s nothing…”
I fell into thought.
If it had been my birthday, I had a feeling Kael would not have let it pass quietly.
“Are you thinking of a gift?”
“Even something small — I think it’s better to give something.”
“Hmm.”
‘Was I overthinking this?’
He didn’t even make a fuss of it himself.
‘No. Even so. It’s once a year. A day that only comes once.’
“I’d feel guilty knowing about it and doing nothing.”
“That reminds me of something, actually.”
“What?”
“A long time ago — when I was small, I did errands for a mercenary company for a while.”
Emily, who had grown up in an orphanage, had taken whatever work she could find from an early age. The mercenary errands had been one of them — until she was taken on at our estate.
“There was a mercenary there — one of the older ones — who gave his sweetheart a birthday gift and was broken up with on the spot.”
“What? Truly?”
“Yes.”
“That’s dreadful of her. If you’re going to end things, at least don’t take the gift first.”
“Hmm.”
Emily’s reaction was slightly flat. Clearly she didn’t share my view.
“Was the gift returned, at least?”
“That’s where it gets complicated. Honestly, when I think back on it — it wasn’t her fault. It was his.”
The one who gave the gift was at fault?
I genuinely couldn’t make sense of that. Even something small, even something inexpensive — if you chose it while thinking of the other person, it means something.
“Why did you see it that way?”
“He gave something very strange. I told you — she broke up with him over the gift itself.”
“…What did he give her?”
Emily pulled the ribbon from her hair. Her brown hair fell loose and swayed in the breeze.
“This. Like this.”
She tied the ribbon in a circle around her face, knotting it under her chin so it framed her face like a flower.
“‘Ta-da! Your gift!'”
“…?”
“He did that. And she ended things on the spot.”
“…She had every right to.”
“Exactly. That’s why I said it was his fault.”
Emily wiped her expression clean as though flipping a switch, untied the ribbon, and wound it back into her hair.
“But Emily.”
“Yes?”
“Why are you only telling me about this now?”
“Mm.”
“Think about it — all this time, and you never mentioned such a simple method? Instead you kept recommending things like speaking in the third person and being pitifully adorable?”
Emily’s eyes went blank and fixed on the middle distance.
“Working for the mercenary company was… quite difficult, in ways I don’t like to remember.”
“…Oh.”
“I must have buried it without realizing. I’m sorry, my lady.”
“No, don’t be. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“Anyway — that’s as much of my past as I care to share. So — what kind of gift were you thinking?”
“I’m not sure. It’s very sudden… and there’s not much time.”
“We’re already out, though — we could look for something while we’re here.”
Emily glanced around. We were in a stretch of shops well-suited to browsing for small gifts.
“Actually, Emily.”
“Yes.”
“What do you think — should I try that method?”
“The one I just demonstrated?”
I gave a slightly sheepish smile and made my case.
“Well — it’s not that complicated… and it happens to be Kael’s birthday, so the timing is convenient… and it feels like a waste to let the opportunity go…”
“There’s nothing wrong with trying. Worst case, it costs nothing.”
“Still — I do want to have a real gift ready too. Maybe try the ‘ta-da’ first, see how it lands, and then bring out the actual present?”
I gauged Emily’s reaction carefully as I said it.
Exploiting someone’s birthday for your own ends felt a little low, even to me.
“We should look for something with a return policy. If you’re broken up with on the spot, you’ll have a gift you don’t need.”
Emily accepted the plan without a trace of difficulty — and immediately offered the most practical, economical adjustment possible.
* * *
The actual gift for Kael was harder to decide.
What did he like? What did he need? I had no idea.
So we started with the materials for the fake gift.
We stopped at what appeared to be the largest and best-stocked general shop in the area.
“Shall we go with pink ribbon?”
“Something bolder might work better. What about red — to match the Duke’s eye color?”
“Oh, that’s a good idea. Let’s get this one.”
I picked out a ribbon wide enough to be noticeable, with a nice trim of lace.
“Emily — how does this look? Too much?”
“Not at all. Oversized bow. Very good.”
Then we split up to browse for anything else that might add to the effect.
From somewhere among the shelves, Emily’s voice drifted over.
“My lady — where are you?”
“Over here!”
I went quickly to where she was calling from. Emily was standing in front of a neat arrangement of boxes sorted by size — ranging from small to ones large enough to fit a person.
“My lady — what about this?”
“A box? What for?”
“I think it could work nicely. For a surprise effect.”
“A surprise?”
“Yes. Showing up already wearing the ribbon is one thing — but wouldn’t it make him more annoyed if you were hidden inside a box, and then popped out and went ‘ta-da’ with the ribbon on? That feels more impactful, don’t you think?”
