Did You Care for Your Son?
“Did you care for your son?”
“What?”
The Duke’s brow furrowed sharply, his face twisting in open displeasure. An unpleasant expression. Ah. So that was a sore spot. Still, it was a question she had to ask. Aern Cardenas, the adopted son of Duke Cardenas and the family’s sole heir, had always been the subject of ugly whispers.
The heir does nothing but cause trouble—they say the Duke has all but given up on him.
I heard the Duke is looking for a new heir among the collateral lines.
He’s a kite with a cut string now, isn’t he?
Society thrived on rumors of every kind, but the ones aimed at the boy were always excessively vicious. If the Duke had stepped forward even once and firmly dismissed them as nonsense, things might have been different. Because he never did, people had come to treat the gossip as established fact.
Maeve was going to die soon anyway. She might as well satisfy her curiosity—whether he had ever truly cared for the boy at all.
“You dare speak of my son with that mouth?”
Anger finally colored the face of the man who had shown almost no emotion until now. My son. He said my son. Maeve turned the words over in her mind.
“I want to know why you didn’t stop him from walking into certain death.”
The Duke, who had looked ready to draw his sword at any moment, clenched his fist tight. He snatched up the glass in front of him and drained it in one rough swallow. Then, as if forcing the rage down, he closed his eyes slowly and opened them again.
“…Why are you so loyal to the Crown Prince? What is a student you taught for a mere four years to you?”
She had expected him to ask about the Crown Prince’s whereabouts.
For a man who claimed he hated wasting time and had proposed this game, it was an absurd choice of question. At the same time, it was remarkably composed for someone who had been blazing with fury only moments before. It almost seemed as if this was what he had wanted to ask from the start.
“It wasn’t loyalty to His Highness the Crown Prince. I would have done the same for any of my students.”
The Duke regarded Maeve with quiet eyes. He had already gathered his emotions and returned to his usual expression.
“Children are the hope that can change the world. I simply believed that if we are ever to end the tragedy of war, those who know its horrors must grow up and put their will into action.”
Maeve finished speaking and let out a long breath. Then she asked at once:
“You yourself lost people precious to you to war from a young age, Duke. Don’t you agree with me?”
The story was already famous—how the previous Duke of Cardenas had marched out on the Emperor’s orders and died, leaving his young son alone.
“An idealistic speech.”
The Duke tapped the table lightly with his fingers, as if lost in thought.
“But in the end, what did the Crown Prince actually accomplish?”
Maeve opened her mouth to argue, but the Duke cut across her turn.
“Nineteen is hardly a child’s age. If he wanted something, he should have shown it through action.”
“That’s…”
He wasn’t wrong. While Maeve had taught the Crown Prince, dreaming of a vague future, children even younger than him had been dragged to the battlefield and lost their lives. The Duke exhaled and pressed his left hand hard against his temple.
“Yes. Realistically impossible. It’s just…”
He stopped, closed his eyes for a moment in thought, then slowly spoke again.
“Because I couldn’t do it either.”
The words were nearly a whisper. He seemed to be looking back on the past, yet his face remained numb—like a man whose something had been completely shattered. There was something almost pitiful about him.
He opened his eyes, slipped his hand beneath the table, and continued with the next question. His tone was dry, without rise or fall.
“Do you still believe in the Crown Prince? Do you truly think he can change this empire again?”
“Yes. I believe.”
Once more, it was not a question about the Crown Prince’s location. Maeve hid her puzzlement and answered with the firmness of a blade’s edge.
“Even if the dead never return, I believe that when His Highness the Crown Prince one day fulfills his will, there will be no more people who have to carry the same pain as us.”
Maeve finished and exhaled slowly. Listening to the immediate reply, Selver’s lips curved upward. Resting his chin on his hand and leaning forward over the table, the Duke said:
“Upright. Uselessly so.”
He gave a light nod, as if inviting her next question.
“…This may sound a little ridiculous, but—were you satisfied with the game?”
“Quite.”
Maeve lifted her last glass, smiled faintly, and added:
“I’m a little disappointed. If we hadn’t met like this, I think we might have become rather good friends.”
Even at that, Selver only watched her with his usual blunt expression, one hand resting on the table. He straightened from his lean and spoke.
“Then do you have any intention of cooperating with me even now?”
Maeve had been about to drain the glass without regret; she paused. It was not a question about the Crown Prince. Was he trying to win her over at this late hour?
“As long as you remain His Highness the Crown Prince’s enemy, I have no such intention.”
“Is that so. …A pity.”
The man waited for her next question with unhurried patience.
Maeve sank into thought for a moment. She could not begin to read this man’s mind. He wanted to learn the Crown Prince’s location, yet he was not aggressive about it. For a man who had raised a rebellion, the existence of a legitimate heir was a threat in itself—yet his attitude was far too calm.
What was the scope of the atonement he had spoken of? Did he truly intend to kill the Crown Prince? Just as the woman finished deliberating and was about to speak—
Clank—
The door to the underground prison opened, and a man in knight’s uniform strode quickly to Selver’s side.
“Your Grace, I have a report.”
The man glanced at Maeve, lips parting and closing as if uncertain whether he should speak in front of her. The Duke watched him, chin still propped on his hand, then said:
“Speak.”
As if the hesitation had never existed, the man began at once.
“There were no additional survivors inside the imperial palace.”
Selver only nodded, offering no reply.
“…And we found the Crown Prince near the northern capital walls.”
Maeve drew in a sharp breath. A trap? She had clearly told the Crown Prince to head west. Moreover, the Duke himself had seemed uncertain whether the prince had gone west or south—yet the northern walls? She must not show agitation. That would only prove she had not sent him north.
“Did you capture him?”
Without any change of expression, the Duke asked in his usual even tone.
“Yes.”
“…So it seems. Your plan appears to have failed.”
“….”
Maeve clamped her mouth shut against the scream that wanted to escape. She had thought the lack of news meant he had escaped safely. The completely unexpected turn left her mind in turmoil.
The knight who had finished his report still stood there. He remained at attention, as if something remained to be said. His rigidly set face looked tense. When Selver looked at him, the knight continued.
“However…”
He glanced once more at Maeve in front of him and held out the cloth he had been carrying. The Duke took it and unfolded it. A robe. The one Maeve had draped over the Crown Prince’s shoulders. Blood stained the fabric.
The knight went on.
“He was already dead.”
Her heart plummeted. She barely managed to hide her trembling hands beneath the table and lowered her gaze.
Selver watched her quietly, then gave the knight a look. A signal to explain.