Chapter 118: The Deal
Claire stood before the two of them, her hands clasped politely in front of her.
“You did well. It must have been frightening, but you didn’t back down and spoke with confidence,” Aracila said, giving Claire’s shoulder a gentle pat.
Today’s surprise press conference had been entirely Aracila’s orchestration. It was she who had instructed Claire to insist on formal adoption into the family registry, using her as a pawn to provoke Oscar into revealing his true colors in front of a third party. To that end, Aracila had even gone so far as to acquire the Flare Theater under the Parkxian Troupe’s umbrella. After all, they couldn’t cause a scene at someone else’s establishment.
“No, it’s thanks to your help that I could speak so boldly. Thank you,” Claire replied, bowing her head deeply. Aracila gazed at her for a moment before placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“No matter how much the Vandermir Duchy tries to lure you, never leave the capital,” Aracila said softly. “Move in with Mia, and I’ve already spoken to the Flare Theater—you can return and periodically draw public attention. That’s how you’ll stay safe.”
The more eyes remained on Claire, the less likely the Duchy would dare touch her, wary of public scrutiny. Aracila had already arranged with Roberto to cast Claire as an actress in roles that wouldn’t strain her too much. Overwhelmed by Aracila’s care, Claire bit her lip to hold back the surge of emotion welling within her. She nodded heavily, as if carving Aracila’s words into her bones, then turned to Damian and bowed deeply.
“I’m truly sorry for causing you trouble,” she said.
“No, the fault lies entirely with Oscar Vandermir,” Damian replied, letting out a faint sigh. After all, Claire, too, was a victim of her own family’s machinations. Though Damian felt no affection or familial bond toward the ducal household, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of responsibility, given that someone sharing his surname had caused her harm.
“My foolish half-brother has put you through so much,” he continued. “I’ll do everything I can to ensure you and your child survive and are protected. I’ll watch over you both to the best of my ability.”
With those words, Damian promised the fullest measure of safety he could offer. Claire, sensing a sincerity in him that was wholly unlike Oscar’s, was deeply moved.
“…Thank you, from the bottom of my heart,” she said, unable to hold back her tears. Wiping her face, she bowed once more to both of them before turning to leave, her retreating figure carrying a quiet resilience.
—
As the sun dipped low in the late afternoon sky, Damian and Aracila left the theater but didn’t head straight home. Instead, they wandered into a nearby park. The hour was quiet, and the park was nearly deserted. Golden ginkgo leaves fluttered gently along the path where the two walked side by side, a comfortable silence settling between them.
It was Damian who broke the silence first. “Thanks to you, my name has been cleared. I’m truly grateful.”
“It’s only natural for me to help my husband,” Aracila replied matter-of-factly, without a hint of self-importance. Damian’s lips curved into a faint smile. After a brief hesitation, he lowered his gaze and asked, “But… how were you able to trust me so steadfastly?”
Though they had been married for half a year, that time was a mere fraction compared to the lives they’d each lived before. They could hardly claim to know each other completely. If Aracila had doubted him, Damian wouldn’t have blamed her. He would have quietly borne the suspicion, focusing only on clearing his name. Yet from the very start, Aracila had shown him unwavering, transparent trust, putting his heart at ease. He was grateful, awed, and, in a way, almost bewildered by her.
“Was there ever a moment, while investigating, when your faith in me wavered?” he asked.
“No, not once,” Aracila answered without hesitation.
“I’ve always believed in you.”
“But… on what grounds?” Damian pressed, his voice tinged with curiosity.
Aracila’s eyes softened. “Damian, you’re always striving to be a better person. People like that don’t usually do bad things.”
She vividly recalled how, back in the Duchy, Damian had confessed his fear of becoming like his father. Someone so vigilant, so careful to guard against their own flaws, didn’t strike her as the kind of person who would repeat his father’s mistakes. A breeze stirred her hair, brushing softly against her pale, rounded forehead. Damian gazed at her serene expression, and a childish curiosity suddenly bubbled up within him. What would Aracila have done if he had truly betrayed her trust?
“If I had actually had an affair,” he blurted out impulsively, “what would you have done?”
His face was serious enough that Aracila, who had been about to laugh it off, paused and let herself imagine it. Damian, entangled with another woman. A faint crease formed on her smooth brow, deepening as she lingered on the thought.
“…It’s more upsetting than I expected,” she admitted to herself. Her mind insisted that, as a contract wife, she had no claim over whether Damian took a lover or not. Yet her heart grew inexplicably cold, sinking heavily. The mere thought of Damian sharing tender moments with Claire sent her mood plummeting.
“Am I losing my mind?” she wondered silently. “Even if Damian were with someone else, it’s not like I have any right to object.”
Of course, their marriage was a strategic alliance, each with their own goals, so if Damian did something to jeopardize the contract, Aracila could rightfully take issue with it. Even if she wasn’t his true wife, as a contractual partner, she could demand he uphold proper conduct. But her unease wasn’t about him breaching their agreement. Just the thought of Damian being unfaithful stirred an inexplicable, deep sense of betrayal in her chest. How could he, with me here…
But is it right for me to feel this way? I’m only his contract wife. In that moment, a chilling realization crept into Aracila’s heart—she might be crossing the boundaries of their agreement. That couldn’t happen. She could be friends with Damian, but nothing more. To harbor such feelings for him was absurd. How could she, in her right mind, let herself feel this way when their relationship had been built on clear, predefined terms from the start?
“…My lady?” Damian’s voice broke through her thoughts, tinged with concern. Aracila had fallen silent, her lips pressed tightly together, her expression rigid. Sensing something amiss, he called out to her.
Turning to him a beat too late, Aracila spoke in a deliberately calm tone. “What would I have done? Nothing, I suppose. We’re not a real couple, after all.”
“Oh…” Damian’s voice faltered, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. He knew Aracila’s clear boundary-setting was right, yet a bitter taste lingered. He chastised himself for wanting more, for daring to harbor feelings beyond their contract when he was the one breaking its terms in his heart. Trying not to let his emotions show, he turned his gaze elsewhere.
Aracila didn’t notice the subtle droop in his sharp profile. Her own heart was too tangled to pay close attention to his reaction. Unlike the easy silence they’d shared earlier, an awkward tension now hung between them as they continued walking.
“By the way,” Aracila said suddenly, as if struck by a thought just before they reached the carriage after circling the park, “I have a proposal for you.”
“What is it?” Damian asked, curiosity piqued.
“How about we do another business venture together?”
She’d meant to bring it up after Claire’s situation was resolved but had only now remembered. “A business? Do you have something in mind?” Damian asked.
“Yes. This time, I’m thinking about magic lamps.”
While investigating Claire’s case, Aracila had noticed a recurring comment from witnesses: “The streets were too dark to see clearly.” Even Rudy, whom she’d met by chance, had warned her that the streets and alleys, though not terribly late at night, were dim enough to invite accidents and trouble. The lamps currently in use relied on candles, which gave off weak light and went out once the wax melted—a clear flaw. What if they developed a magical lamp to address those shortcomings?
“Hmm, lamps are a daily necessity for everyone,” Damian mused, nodding with interest. “If we do this right, it could be highly profitable.”
Regardless of age, gender, or status, no one went without a lamp. A product more convenient and efficient than candle-based lamps could capture widespread attention.
“Then I’ll be counting on you again,” Damian said, extending his hand for a handshake.
Aracila clasped his large hand firmly. “The contract terms will be the same as with the airship venture.”
“Agreed,” Damian replied.
And so, their second partnership was born.
—
For the magic lamp project, Aracila turned to luminescent stones. These were the most common mineral in the Setron Empire, emitting a faint glow but otherwise considered little more than curious rocks with no practical use. Aracila experimented with fusion magic to enhance the stones’ luminosity, aiming to maximize their glow when heated.
While she worked diligently with her junior researchers on the luminescent stones, Damian handled external affairs, just as he had during their airship venture. Today, he was visiting Lord Joachim, a border count who owned vast lands in the northern region, rich in luminescent stone deposits. Though extracting the stones wasn’t particularly difficult, securing a reliable supplier was crucial for the business’s stability.
“Ha, it’s our first time meeting one-on-one, isn’t it? A pleasure, Sir Vandermir!” Lord Joachim, a former knight, was a towering man with white hair that gave him the air of a seasoned warrior. Yet he had long since retired his sword, focusing instead on leading his house to prosperity. These days, he was more scholar than soldier—or perhaps a beleaguered businessman, grappling with his family’s shaky finances.
“Greetings, Lord Joachim. Thank you for making time for me,” Damian said courteously.
“Nonsense! Who in the world would refuse a visit from the empire’s greatest swordmaster?” Joachim’s hearty response carried a particular fondness for knights, a remnant of his own days wielding a blade. “So, what brings you here?”
“I have a business proposal for you,” Damian began, his tone steady. He went on to explain their plan to refine luminescent stones for a new lamp venture, laying out the details with precision.
Joachim’s eyes gleamed with intrigue as he listened, clearly captivated by the potential of the enterprise.
With every word Damian spoke, Lord Joachim’s mind churned, his attention sharply attuned to the conversation.
“I’d like to purchase luminescent stones from you, Lord Joachim,” Damian concluded, pausing to take a sip of his tea. Joachim’s face broke into a broad, beaming smile.
“I’m all for it!” he exclaimed. “Truth be told, I’ve had my eye on you for a while, and I’m thrilled such a fine opportunity has come my way!”
In reality, Joachim had long been frustrated by the abundance of luminescent stones in his territory. They were useless, neither valuable nor practical, yet they were unearthed in droves across his lands. So when a promising young knight like Damian proposed a deal to offload those worthless rocks in one fell swoop, Joachim felt like he could soar. This was a deal he absolutely couldn’t let slip through his fingers.
“There is, however, a condition,” Damian added.
“…A condition?” Joachim’s enthusiasm faltered slightly.
“Before we proceed, I’d like information about the unofficial meeting you attended last month.”
“The unofficial meeting…?” Joachim’s voice trailed off, uncertain.
“The one where the Crimson Hawk Knights were appointed to handle the western beast subjugation,” Damian clarified.
A faint twitch flickered at the corner of Joachim’s mouth. The air in the study, where the two sat across from each other, grew cold and heavy in an instant. The hearty laughter that had filled the room moments ago vanished, replaced by the count’s icy, impassive expression. Leaning back against the sofa, Joachim waved a dismissive hand toward Damian.
“You’re asking for too much,” he said curtly. “I’ve no interest in that kind of deal, so you’d best be on your way, Sir Damian Vandermir.”
“Is that so? That’s a pity,” Damian replied, rising from his seat with surprising nonchalance. His calm demeanor caught Joachim off guard, leaving the count momentarily flustered.
Bowing politely, Damian turned toward the door, his voice casual as he tossed out a final remark. “In that case, I’ll take this business to Count Neville.”
“Wait, hold on!” Joachim called out, his voice betraying a sudden urgency.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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