Peace, Interrupted
And so, a year went by.
The uproar of the capital had faded until it felt as distant as a memory from a past life, and time in the Valois Duchy flowed on, quiet and serene. In the duke's study, warm sunlight spilled down as if shattering into golden dust, and Cesare moved his quill along, signing his way through documents detailing the territory's affairs, great and small.
Between the rustle of turning pages, the occasional soft breath and gentle stirring wove in pleasantly. Cesare's gaze drifted naturally from the papers toward the sofa. There, buried in a plump, milky-white blanket, a baby lay sleeping without a care in the world, tiny fists clenched tight. It was just past its first hundred days—the child Cesare himself had borne.
...I really did have a baby.
Cesare tilted his head slightly and smiled. When he had first confirmed the pregnancy and fled down to his territory, it had felt as though the world were collapsing, but the child, once born, was lovable as a miracle. Gazing at those soft, snow-white cheeks, Cesare set down his pen, approached carefully, and brushed back the fine hair. It was still newborn down, silky and wispy, yet every time the sunlight caught it, it gleamed a vivid, brilliant gold. To anyone who looked, it was proof positive that the child carried Leoneld's blood.
Rumors drifted down now and then that the fight for the throne was raging in the capital, but that was none of Cesare's concern. If he climbed back up to involve himself, this peace would be over for good.
"Waaah..."
The baby, stirring faintly in its sleep, smacked its tiny lips and sank back into deep slumber. Cesare held his breath lest the child wake, then carefully took the little fingers in his own.
"That's right. Power, thrones—none of it matters. Living out my days here with you is enough."
He whispered low and pressed a soft kiss to the baby's forehead. Beyond the window, the scent of purple roses in lavish bloom rode the breeze, sweetly drifting into the study.
A day in the territory passed in peace and quiet. In the mornings, he worked through the backlog of documents in the sun-warmed study, with the baby's breathing for background music.
"Any other correspondence from the capital?"
"No, Your Grace. That's all."
For a man who had vanished without so much as a word of notice, the letters from the capital were fewer than expected—brief greetings from various nobles and trade-related correspondence, nothing more. So the days went: documents and letters by daylight, and in the afternoons he would dress lightly, board a carriage, and tour the territory in person, keeping an eye on how his people lived.
"Duke Valois...! No—Your Grace, what brings you to walk in person to such a humble place!"
"The bountiful harvest is all thanks to the grace you have bestowed upon us. May glory be upon House Valois!"
The territory folk, catching sight of Cesare as he stepped down from the carriage, abandoned their work one after another and came running with cheers. Watching them beam up at him, Cesare returned a gentle smile of his own.
"This is thanks to your sweat and labor, not any virtue of mine. They say this winter will be a bitter one, so hurry the repairs on the storehouses. I give you my word the castle will supply whatever materials you need."
Moved by his kindly charge, the people's praise rang out across the square. Through the market and past the fertile farmlands and waterways, Cesare's stride stayed easy and unhurried. By the time the peaceful afternoon inspection ended and he returned to the castle, evening had settled in a wash of red sunset.
The moment Cesare entered his room, he shrugged off his outer coat and made for the bed. He spent a long while soothing the baby, who had just woken and begun to fuss; the child giggled, then soon drifted back into a light doze. Only after laying the little one carefully in the cradle did Cesare finally head for the dining hall to fill his own stomach. He had tended the baby through the night and walked the territory all day, and his whole body ached with fatigue—the warm soup and bread the servants had left ready made his mouth water.
Peaceful.
If only this life could go on just as it was, he thought he would have no regrets. He had just lifted his spoon to begin his meal when—
BANG!
Shattering the stillness, the dining hall's massive doors were flung open with rough force.
"Your Grace! I tried to stop him, but—!"
With the escort knight's white-faced cry, the heavy air pouring through the open doorway swallowed the dining hall whole. There was only one person alive who would barge in this rudely. Cesare sighed and lifted his head toward the entrance.
"It's been a while, Duke Valois."
Just as expected, standing there was Fourth Prince Lysian.
"Haah..."
Cesare heaved a long sigh and regarded Lysian with dull, lifeless eyes. His head throbbed. His peaceful territory life would be utterly perfect if only that bastard were nowhere in it. Making no effort to hide the disgust welling up in him, Cesare said coldly:
"What brings you here?"
"Haha, demanding my business the moment I arrive—how very cold of you."
Lysian flashed his trademark sly grin and strode into the dining hall. Trespassing as he was, he carried himself with the ease of a man in his own bedroom, settling naturally into the chair across from Cesare.
"Anyone would think... this was your own house?"
Watching such shamelessness, Cesare pressed a hand to his forehead.
"Well, who's to say?"
Lysian's eyes narrowed to slits. Those red pupils raked over Cesare's face, then down to the loosely open collar of his shirt, lingering and deliberate.
"..."
Just as the blatant stare drew Cesare's brows together, Lysian's gaze finally came to rest on the small baby's handkerchief laid at the edge of the table. The corner of his mouth curved into a smooth, elegant arc.
"And is there some reason I shouldn't make myself at home?"
"...I beg your pardon?"
"We are, after all, raising a child together, are we not?"
At that absurd remark, Cesare's face froze in an instant. Dead serious, he cut the words off clean as a blade:
"That's going too far."
"Why? The baby's hair is dazzling gold like mine, and its eyes that beautiful violet like yours... at this point, the world wouldn't be wrong to take me for the father—"
"Enough of your insane nonsense."
CRASH!
Out of patience, Cesare hurled the soup bowl in front of him straight at Lysian. With a sharp crack, the bowl struck the wall just past Lysian's shoulder and shattered to pieces.
"My, my."
Lysian chuckled as though delighted and shrugged.
"That was excessive of me. I do apologize. But you see—"
He brushed off his collar and rose from his seat. Then, taking another step toward Cesare, he narrowed his eyes. Beyond the playful red irises, a relentless glint flashed.
"So who really is the child's father? Given the gold hair... the imperial bloodline seems certain, at the very least."
"...It's none of your concern, is it."
Cesare dismissed him coldly, glaring at Lysian as he swallowed a vicious curse.
If that lunatic is just going to spout this useless drivel, why does he keep coming back?
So no—there was no grand scheme or conspiracy behind Lysian's repeated visits to this remote territory. It was purely his willful temperament. The moment Cesare had cast aside the capital's power struggles and come down to his lands, Lysian had shamelessly declared that he needed a rest too and followed him down. These days he shuttled between the capital and the duchy as if it were his own front door, being a nuisance as ever. Truly, a man of no help whatsoever to his life and more irritating than anyone alive.
...Well.
As Cesare's eyes slid thoughtfully sideways, his fingers tapped lightly against the table.
It's not that he's completely useless, though.
The palace intelligence that bastard carried back with him was useful enough to be worth putting to work. Cesare changed the subject with perfect composure.
"How goes the struggle for the throne in the capital?"
At Cesare's sheer audacity in steering the conversation, Lysian let out a deflating snort of laughter.
"Ah. That, you mean..."
In an instant, all playfulness vanished from Lysian's face. With his voice sinking low, the air in the dining hall froze cold in a heartbeat.