So This Is Love

An eerie silence hung over the room.

After Cesare, worn down by exhaustion, had sunk into a deep sleep, only two remained within it: Lysian, and the infant in the cradle.

Lysian moved slowly toward the cradle. In a darkness so deep that even the moonlight barely filtered through, he gazed down in silence at the child's hair. His eyes, which never blinked once, were chillingly still.

So it's imperial blood...

Deducing the father of the child Cesare had tried so desperately to hide was no great challenge for Lysian. Narrowing down the men who had crossed paths with Duke Valois amid the social season's recent upheavals left only a handful of candidates. First, he himself had never spent a night with the man—cleanly ruled out. That left exactly two: the Crown Prince, already dead and rotting, or the blood-soaked new Emperor who had brought the entire world to its knees at his feet.

"As I thought... the Thirteenth Prince does seem the likelier bet."

Lysian's red eyes glinted coldly as he murmured the words. Leoneld. He recalled the man's strange movements—the moment he'd taken the throne, he had turned the whole empire upside down trying to hunt down Cesare. If the reason for that frenzied pursuit was the bloodline lying in this cradle, then everything fit together perfectly.

It still didn't sit well with him. An unbearable displeasure came boiling up.

Lysian's long fingers reached slowly into the cradle. His large hand cast a shadow over the child's nape, its skin immaculate and slender. After holding his breath for a moment, Lysian mercilessly clamped the baby's small mouth shut and seized its neck hard with his other hand.

Not even a whimper escaped between the baby's pressed lips. The sensation of the fragile little bones beneath his fingertips was vivid enough to raise gooseflesh. A little more pressure, and the neck would snap, cutting off the child's breath for good.

Watching the baby's face flush gradually red from lack of oxygen, Lysian found himself seized by a strange euphoria that surged beyond all control.

Do you know what love is?

Cesare's icy question, once hurled at him in the past, struck through his mind like a bolt of lightning. Since that day, Lysian had lain sleepless, thinking and thinking. Love. He simply could not arrive at the essence of that noble, romantic emotion—the kind countless people in high society kept on their lips, the kind that existed only in print. For a man who had lived his entire life in deprivation, such a feeling belonged to an unknown realm, something that simply did not exist.

And yet, paradoxically, there had been one moment when the answer was cruelly revealed to him. The very day he had finally tracked down Duke Valois—who had vanished without a trace from the capital—after a pursuit bordering on madness, and stood face to face with him at the ducal estate.

"And that... is what, exactly?"

"What else? A child."

A small, soft life nestled openly in Cesare's arms. The moment Lysian saw the tender look in Cesare's eyes as he cradled the child—as if it were more precious than his own life—something enormous twisted and exploded inside his chest.

I want to kill it.

That had been the first emotion he felt. Who was this child's father? What bastard had he tangled bodies with? Why that man and not me? Why had he never once looked at me that way, while carrying on toward that little bundle of blood as if he would hand it the whole world?

Jealousy and hatred, possessiveness and murderous intent, all churned together into one vicious emotion. This ugly, terrible frenzy that made him want to destroy everything just to bind the man to his side, that drove him to thrash about in desperation to erase every trace of another. Yes. This, precisely, was love.

The grip in Lysian's hands began to tighten further. The child's tiny limbs trembled in the air with pain. The very moment he looked down at that fragile life on the verge of shattering, the reason that had sunk so grotesquely deep within Lysian's red eyes suddenly flickered back to life.

If he killed this child now, Cesare would never again smile at the sight of him. He would loathe him for the rest of his life, watching for nothing but a chance to flee his embrace.

"...Hoo. Right."

Lysian slowly released his hold. The moment the hand left its mouth, the child coughed and gulped down ragged breaths. Lysian forced a hateful smile and carefully lifted the baby, its nape flushed red. The frantic pounding of the infant's heart carried straight into his chest.

"It's still too soon..."

Cradling the baby, Lysian gazed at the sleeping Cesare and smiled quietly.

Early in the morning, sunlight pried its way through the thin curtains and came pouring in, and Cesare's eyes snapped open. The first thing he saw upon waking was an empty bed. The cradle beside it was empty as well.

"...The baby...!"

His heart plummeted the instant he woke, and Cesare scrambled desperately out of bed. Rumpled shirttails flying, he raced down the villa's corridors like a madman.

He wouldn't have... done something to him, would he...!

He could feel his heart hammering. After tearing through every corner of the villa—Lysian's bedroom included—Cesare's next destination was the grand dining hall on the first floor.

BANG—!

He flung the door open hard enough to shatter it, and the grand dining hall—its enormous tables stretching in a long row—lay before him at a glance. Cesare swept the interior with a fierce gaze, breathing hard.

"Good morning, Duke Valois."

Seated at the head of the table, Lysian turned his head with perfect composure and smiled. In his arms was the very child Cesare had been searching for high and low. Nestled in Lysian's firm embrace, the baby wiggled its tiny fingers with a perfectly peaceful face.

Only after confirming the scene before his eyes did the breath caught in his throat finally ease. The relief lasted but a moment before a strange displeasure came welling up from somewhere deep in his chest.

Cesare strode over and snatched the child out of Lysian's arms—practically ripping him away.

"What exactly do you think you were doing."

His low voice carried a barely concealed hostility and wariness, honed to a razor's edge. Despite the menace in Cesare's eyes, Lysian merely smiled and raised both hands lightly, offering no resistance at all.

"What was I doing? Looking after the child in place of a duke who was dead to the world."

"It was rather tiring, minding him all night, you know. Since you wouldn't wake up no matter what, I simply brought him out with me."

It was a flawless, seamless account—but Cesare could not bring himself to drop his suspicion. Yet when he examined the child, there wasn't a single mark on him, and no sign he had cried from hunger. By every indication, Lysian really had cared for the baby through the night.

"...Fine. I appreciate the trouble."

"Not at all."

Lysian continued lightly. "Oh, right—come to think of it, the child seems quite taken with me."

Before Cesare could ask what that was supposed to mean, Lysian flicked his long fingers lightly toward the water glass resting on the table. In an instant, the clear water inside defied gravity and floated up into the air. Responding to Lysian's magic, the stream soon split into round, transparent droplets that began drifting above the table like soap bubbles.

"...! Oooh...!"

The eyes of the child in Cesare's arms sparkled in an instant. At the wondrous sight, the baby stretched both arms into the air, squirming to catch the droplets. Watching, the corners of Lysian's mouth curved into a pleasant arc.

Lysian extended a fingertip toward the largest droplet—the very one the child was just about to grab.

Tap.

The moment his finger touched it, the droplet burst silently in midair. As it vanished before his eyes, the baby's face promptly crumpled into a woeful pout, ready to burst into tears at any moment. As though the reaction were thoroughly amusing, Lysian chuckled softly and reached out to gently stroke the child's head. Miraculously, under his practiced touch, the baby quieted once more.

Having watched all this in silence, Lysian rested his chin on his hand and added playfully, "Wouldn't you care to share custody with me as well?"

At the absurd remark, Cesare's brow furrowed.

"Do you think I would?"

When Cesare cut him off with that single reply, Lysian shrugged, showing little regret.

"What a shame."

Lysian rose from his seat without a trace of lingering attachment. Then, turning his gaze toward the dining hall door, he changed the subject with practiced ease. "Ah, right. It's a bit late, but allow me to introduce the villa staff who'll be at your service during your stay. It would be easier for everyone if you at least knew their faces."

At Lysian's light clap, the mansion's retainers, who had been waiting outside, filed in and lined up before Cesare. The first to speak was the elderly butler, white-haired yet ramrod straight.

"It is an honor to receive you, His Grace Duke Valois. I am Oswald, head of the household staff, overseer of all matters in this villa."

Oswald bowed with flawless, courteous form. Next to him, the stern-faced middle-aged woman inclined her head.

"I am Marsha, the head maid. The attendants assigned to serve Your Grace have been handpicked and put in place, so please rest assured."

Cesare nodded silently, committing each of their faces to memory.

Lysian turned his gaze toward a corner of the dining hall, where the shadows lay deepest. "And finally... Sir Theon. Pay your respects."

At Lysian's summons, a man walked slowly out of the darkness. He stopped before Cesare and bowed with careful formality.

"Good day. I am Caleb Theon, Knight Commander, charged with guarding His Highness the Fourth Prince's villa."

A man with jet-black hair, unfathomably cold dark eyes, and a physique as solid as a keenly tempered blade. The moment he heard the name, Cesare's eyes went wide.

"...Did you say Caleb Theon?"

"Yes, that is correct."

It was, without question, a name he knew.

"...I see. I'll be counting on you."

Cesare answered with studied calm, feigning composure, while his mind raced round and round.

Why is he... of all people, here?

Caleb Theon. As far as he knew—having read the original novel countless times—this man had been one of Leoneld's comrades.