Chapter 157
Brisa quietly nodded as she stole glances at the Grand Duchess, who lay sprawled across the bed as though dead, completely overcome by the sleeping draught.
The man immediately took the coat hanging on the wall and walked out.
Only then did Brisa feel as though the pressure crushing her chest had eased. She drew a long, deep breath, when suddenly she heard the faint rustling of fabric nearby.
Startled, she lifted her eyes—and nearly screamed at the sight of the Grand Duchess slowly pushing herself upright.
No one knew how long she had been awake. The woman regarded Brisa with perfectly clear eyes for a long moment before swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
Frozen stiff, Brisa hurried to her side.
"Your Highness, you mustn't get up. You need to remain in bed until the medicine has completely worn off..."
"Move."
The cold, commanding voice made Brisa flinch as she instinctively stepped back.
The Grand Duchess stood barefoot upon the floor without even putting on her slippers.
Unsure what to do, Brisa stamped her feet in panic before hastily bending beneath the bed to retrieve at least her shoes. It was then that she caught sight of the Grand Duchess limping toward the fireplace.
'...She wasn't trying to go outside?'
Wearing a bewildered expression, Brisa hurried after her. The Grand Duchess's legs were still weak—what if she stumbled into the flames?
"Your Highness, if you're cold, I'll prepare a hot bath immediately. Please sit here for now..."
"You're annoying."
The woman brusquely brushed away the hand trying to support her and bent before the hearth.
She reached for the poker leaning beside the fireplace grate and used it to drag out a half-burned bundle of parchment from °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° the flames.
Horrified, Brisa tore off her apron and frantically smothered the burning document, striking it over and over until the crackling flames finally died.
Only then did the Grand Duchess bend down and pick up the parchment.
Brisa watched awkwardly as she unfolded the scorched document with both hands, carefully examining the pages that had been blackened in places.
What on earth was she supposed to do in a situation like this?
She vaguely felt that she ought to stop her, yet no words came to mind.
While she stood there helplessly, not knowing whether to intervene or remain silent, the Grand Duchess slowly swept her cool gaze across the blotched parchment before tossing it back into the fire.
The flames instantly roared to life again, painting her gaunt face crimson.
Brisa swallowed dryly.
For a fleeting instant, the woman's face looked as though it, too, were being consumed by the fire.
What could possibly have been written on those pages to make her wear such an expression?
Her eyes wandered curiously between the Grand Duchess's pale face and the burning parchment.
Then, without warning, the woman turned around and quietly lay back upon the bed.
After hesitating for a moment, Brisa cautiously approached and gently pulled the blanket over her thin shoulders.
Then she suddenly froze.
Tears were silently streaming down the woman's face.
Seeing her weeping without a sound, wearing an expression that seemed to have abandoned every last hope, made Brisa's heart sink.
Without thinking, she hurriedly spoke.
"...P-Please don't lose heart, Your Highness. After some time..."
She stopped herself before saying it will get better.
Even to her own ears, those words sounded unbearably hollow.
The Grand Duchess showed no reaction whatsoever to her presumptuous attempt at comfort.
Brisa gazed at her helplessly for a long while before finally lowering her head, unable to think of anything else to say.
* * *
"If things continue like this, war will be unavoidable."
Kailias, one of the elite knights of the Roem Knights, leaned over the table as he spoke heavily.
Varkas, reclining against the back of his chair while reading through the report the man had brought, let out a cold, mocking laugh.
"So they claim this wasn't done with the intention of starting a war?"
Recognizing the ridicule in his voice, the knight flushed red as he defended the Emperor.
"His Majesty has done everything possible to mediate the conflict."
Varkas offered no reply.
Taking his silence as disagreement, the man continued in a more agitated tone.
"Surely Lord Siorcan knows better than anyone how relentless the members of the Imperial Assembly are. The conservative faction refuses to see the existing order disturbed. Meanwhile, the hardliners insist that the dignity of the Imperial Family and the authority of the Empire must be restored at any cost. His Majesty merely sought to accommodate both sides."
"And the result is that he has achieved neither."
The knight looked ready to argue, but instead his shoulders sagged as he raked a hand through his disheveled hair.
"Isn't that simply what politics is? Everyone chases their own righteousness and their own pride until practical interests are thrown to the dogs."
Without either agreeing or disagreeing, Varkas turned to the final page of the report.
His vision remained hazy, as though covered by a thin veil, so reading took him rather longer than usual.
Even so, grasping the essence of the report presented little difficulty.
Its conclusion was unmistakable.
All the groundwork he had painstakingly laid throughout the previous winter was on the verge of collapsing.
Varkas accepted that fact calmly and set the bundle of reports down upon the desk.
Throughout the entire winter, he had mobilized every connection House Siorcan possessed, approaching the members of the Northern League one by one in an effort to win them over.
His objective had been to isolate House Heimdal—the heart of the rebellion—from within the North itself.
However, once the Imperial Family began large-scale intervention, Valto had begun to unite once again.
Their premature military threats had only heightened the North's sense of crisis.
"As the report states, the northern nobles Your Grace had persuaded have already begun distancing themselves. Even those who remain are afraid of being branded traitors to their own people. If this continues, rebellion truly will break out."
"Then we'll suppress it. There's no helping it."
With a weary sigh, Varkas rose from his chair.
"Tell His Majesty that we must march on Amasek before the North makes its move. The sooner, the better."
At his calm response, not only Kailias but even the retainers gathered inside the meeting chamber stared at him in astonishment.
The knight hurriedly stepped forward, refusing to let Varkas end the discussion so easily.
"I came to ask that Your Grace personally negotiate with House Heimdal. Some members of the Northern League still remain neutral. If we cooperate with them and pressure the ducal house, it may still be possible to salvage the situation..."
"We've already passed the point where anything can be salvaged."
Varkas answered flatly.
"His Majesty ignored my advice and assembled the Imperial Army as far as Sevron. You know perfectly well that region is the North's principal breadbasket. Did he threaten starving beasts by taking away their food, then expect them not to bite?"
"My lord! Please mind your words. Such disrespect toward His Imperial Majesty cannot be tolerated—!"
"Sir."
Varkas cut him off coldly.
"I am no longer a knight of the Roem Knights. I am the Grand Duke of Siorcan now. It is you who should remember proper etiquette."
The man's face immediately turned pale.
Watching him silently, Varkas continued in an even tone.
"I'll have a room prepared for you. Rest well before taking my telegram back."
"And... what shall it say?"
"I intend to inform His Majesty that I will dispatch an additional three thousand cavalry to the Berta Plains to assist in suppressing the rebellion... Is there some problem with that?"
The knight abruptly sprang to his feet.
"If war truly breaks out... His Majesty will undoubtedly wish for Your Grace to assume overall command."
"Then I should add one more sentence asking that His Majesty kindly abandon that expectation."
Speaking as dryly as ever, Varkas strode toward the entrance of the meeting chamber.
Kailias hurriedly stepped into his path.
"And how do you intend to answer the telegram His Majesty sent?"
Varkas turned his cold gaze upon him.
Through the fog clouding his thoughts, he suddenly remembered that this man had always been one of Aila Roem Gwirta's most devoted admirers.
Come to think of it, he had also presumptuously confronted him once over the decision to marry Talia.
And now, once again, the man seemed to have forgotten his place.
Lifting his chin stubbornly, determined to receive an answer no matter what, he spoke clearly.
"His Majesty said that if Your Grace wished it, he would gladly sign a decree of divorce. He admitted that forcing such an unjust marriage upon you in the first place was—"
"It seems His Majesty believes my marriage to be some kind of joke."
Even to Varkas's own ears, his voice sounded disturbingly chilling.
Sensing the instinctive danger, the knight unconsciously stepped back.
Following that movement with his eyes, Varkas spoke slowly.
"Since you appear so curious, I'll answer you personally. This is what I intend to tell His Majesty."
Resting one hand against the pillar behind the knight, Varkas leaned close enough to speak directly before his face.
"I am not the sort of man who throws away his wife like a pair of worn-out shoes. Therefore, I ask His Majesty to refrain from concerning himself with this disloyal subject's family affairs."
The knight's face turned deathly pale.
Varkas lightly patted his bloodless cheek twice with the palm of his hand before asking gently,
"Has your curiosity been satisfied now?"
The man glared at him with a rigid expression before biting down on his lip and lowering his eyes.
Varkas observed him quietly for a moment, then turned and walked unhurriedly out of the meeting chamber.