22.

“So much to say, huh?”

Leofric made sure his words were loud enough to be heard, and just for good measure, he let out an exaggerated sigh—so dramatic that it likely carried all the way outside.

Only then was Count Zellered finally allowed to step into the room.

The count’s face flushed an ugly shade of red, but he forced himself to smile—though the way his lips twitched made it look more like a grimace.

“It is quite difficult to have an audience with you, Sir.”

“Then why not simply avoid it altogether?”

Zellered ground his teeth at the blatant indifference.

His clenched fists dug his own nails into his palm, but he refused to let his anger show.

“…We have conducted an investigation on our end and have come to report the results.”

“A pointless waste of effort. I suppose when one has excess time and money, one feels the urge to squander it.”

Leofric lounged back in his seat, looking even more arrogant than he had when the knight had come earlier.

He didn’t frown or sneer—on the contrary, he was too calm, too composed—a dignified predator waiting for the perfect moment to tear into its prey.

Seated in elegance, yet giving off the unmistakable air of a beast pretending to be human.

“The royal family has issued an identity verification request. Look here. The royal seal is affixed, is it not?”

Count Zellered laid a document from the palace on the table.

It was not handwritten by King Wintran himself, but the official royal seal had been stamped upon it.

“……”

“So, now, carry out the order. Or do you intend to defy it?”

“Defy?”

At Leofric’s sharp gaze, Zellered flinched, his earlier confidence wavering.

“If we’re going to talk about defiance—what crime do you suppose applies to someone who swaps out a royal bride mid-process? Treason? Embezzlement?”

“Embezzlement sounds like a reasonable charge.”

Jinpetsu added flatly, without even a flicker of expression.

Zellered couldn’t bring himself to glare directly at Leofric, so he settled for staring daggers at the Vice-Commander instead.

“That bastard Leofric may have monstrous skills and ducal blood, but even that worthless subordinate of his dares to mock me…!”

“But really, what a tragedy,” Leofric mused, feigning deep sorrow. “Losing a bride like this… I may end up growing old and dying as a lonely bachelor.”

“That would be a disaster indeed. The hero’s bloodline cut off—what a great loss to the kingdom.”

Zellered’s jaw practically dropped.

They were openly rejecting a royal decree, yet they spoke as if they were deeply regretful about the whole situation.

As if they had wanted to follow orders but simply couldn’t.

The audacity was infuriating.

“Regardless, I appreciate the effort, but I find it hard to believe. We’ll conduct our own investigation. As you can see, the number of knights stationed at Baron Zellered’s estate is quite limited, so it is taking longer than expected. Once our examination is complete, we will let you know at our leisure.”

Count Zellered had to bite back the furious retort rising in his throat.

He forced himself to recall the orders he had received separately.

“He’s as good as dead anyway. He has no idea what’s coming to him.”

“Keep laughing while you can, Leofric. When you fall into ruin, I will be there—watching from the front row.”

His mouth itched with the urge to say more.

He wondered—just how twisted would that arrogant face become?

Delivering Wintran’s official decree was unavoidable, but there was no longer any need for him to be particularly enthusiastic about it.

“…Very well, then.”

Count Zellered turned abruptly and strode out, his knights following behind him.

The moment the door shut, Jinpetsu spoke up.

“He’s leaving quicker than expected.”

“Indeed. What a shame.”

Leofric let out a short, amused chuckle.

He had planned to toy with him a little longer.

After all, he already knew that Princess Ateira was, in fact, the real princess.

He had only used the investigation as an excuse—a means to stall for time and irritate Zellered.

But he had left too cleanly.

It felt… off.

Leofric leaned his chin on his hand, absentmindedly tapping the armrest of the sofa with his fingers.

Tap, tap.

* * *

Count Zellered strode down the hall at a hurried pace.

Without so much as requesting permission, he shoved open the door and entered Ateira’s chambers.

Officially, he was here to pressure her into moving faster.

But in reality?

He wanted to vent his frustration.

By rushing her to kill Leofric, he hoped to soothe his bruised pride.

Upon seeing the man barge into her room, fuming with anger, Ateira’s expression stiffened.

At first, shock and disgust flickered across her face.

But soon, only disgust remained.

“…….”

“Princess Ateira, do you even intend to proceed with the plan? We don’t have time!”

“You should know that rushing something this delicate will only lead to failure.”

“That doesn’t mean you can sit back and do nothing!”

Ateira’s brows knit together.

Not even a full day had passed, and yet this man was already growing impatient.

So, after all—

It didn’t matter whether she succeeded.

Her suspicion solidified.

They didn’t truly care if she killed Leofric.

They wanted Leofric to kill her.

There was no need for preparation.

They likely wished she’d just grab a knife tonight and charge at him—get herself killed in the process.

“If you need anything, I’ll provide it. What do you require? A blade? Poison?”

“…Time. That’s what I need.”

Time—to get closer.

Time—to create an opportunity.

As she spoke, she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She had been in relaxed attire, her hair slightly disheveled—but even now, her movements were poised.

She refused to die meaninglessly, simply following their orders.

If she was going to try, she would try properly.

Even if it was a one-in-a-million chance, even if it was as unlikely as being struck by lightning in broad daylight—

She had no choice but to hold onto that hope.

Zellered’s face contorted.

“…That’s not possible.”

“But isn’t your goal his death?”

“Lower your voice!”

Zellered snapped in a hushed, threatening tone.

His gaze flickered toward the knights standing behind him.

Ateira followed his gaze, briefly glancing over her shoulder.

Among the knights present, there were both Zellered’s men and royal palace guards.

“He doesn’t want even his own knights to hear this.”

Or—perhaps—

He didn’t want the palace guards to hear.

“…Time is the most crucial factor in ensuring success. Just one week—would that not be possible? You’ve already waited so long. A few extra days won’t make a difference.”

“…No. Absolutely not.”

“…….”

His tone lacked conviction.

It was as if he didn’t even know the real reason himself.

Zellered was just a puppet.

A pawn.

Someone else was giving him orders.

Which meant—

Zellered did not have Dermin.

Someone above him did.

Who was it?

“If you’re stalling to pull some sort of trick, I suggest you drop the idea now.”

“…….”

“Count.”

A knight standing guard outside suddenly entered and called for Zellered.

Annoyed at the interruption, Zellered’s mood soured even further.

“What is it?”

“…You should come out and see for yourself.”

“…?”

Zellered narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“A guest has arrived.”

“A guest? …Who?”

Zellered was momentarily bewildered.

Who could have possibly come looking for him?

The only visitors he ever had were messengers carrying letters on his behalf.

If it was a guest for the Baron’s estate, there was no reason for him to personally greet them.

His eyes flickered with doubt.

Clearing his throat, he threw one last warning toward Ateira before turning to leave.

“Remember—Prince Dermin’s safety depends on you.”

Ateira did not respond.

She merely stared at him coldly.

Zellered ignored her gaze and strode out of the room, his pace quicker than usual.

There were already too many things spiraling out of his control.

And he did not appreciate this new variable.

“Who is this guest?”

“Well… It’s a woman.”

“A woman? What kind of woman?”

As the words left his mouth, he caught sight of her in the distance.

She stood gracefully, her back straight—exuding elegance.

Yet, her soft laughter and the way she teased the knights blocking her path carried an air of playfulness.

Something about the way she moved her fingers, the way she held herself—it was seductive.

Zellered narrowed his eyes and approached her in long strides, his voice sharp.

“Who are you?”

Judging by the quality of her hooded cloak, she was not of particularly high nobility.

And someone of truly high status would never have come here, of all places.

So Zellered spoke down to her, his tone commanding.

“Oh my.”

The woman covered her lips with a delicate hand, eyes widening as if truly surprised.

Then, in one fluid motion, she slipped off her hood and robe, letting them fall to the ground.

A golden curl—purposely left loose—rested against her exposed collarbone.

She smiled, eyes curving into deliberate charm, and gave a graceful curtsey.

Even that small movement dripped with flirtation.

“So, you must be the Count. The knights told me you were quite the remarkable man—and it seems they were right.”

“…I asked who you were.”

She was undeniably beautiful.

It took effort for Zellered to keep his expression firm.

“Lavinia, my lord.”

“And what business do you have here?”

“I’ve come to see a man.”

She answered smoothly, offering just enough information to invite further questioning.

“A man? What man?”

Lavinia smiled sweetly.

Her left eye dipped slightly, giving her expression a teasing, playful allure.

“Sir Leofric’s mistress, of course.”