Chapter 32
“This is Valerie Margot.”
“This is Richard Hawkins.”
“And this is Amon Draph.”
After greeting nearly thirty elite knights, the sun had begun to set. The day’s training was over, and it was time for everyone to return home.
“It’s about time.”
Frederick glanced at the sky painted in twilight hues, then turned his gaze to Grace.
“Did you see enough of the training?”
“Yes… I did.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to capture it in your painting?”
Frederick asked again, a little belatedly realizing that if she had come to observe for artistic purposes, cutting the session short might have been disruptive.
“I think… it’ll be fine.”
“Painting?”
The knights’ eyes widened. It was the first time they heard the duchess was painting.
“She said she wanted to capture today’s training on canvas.”
“Really?”
Their eyes grew round with surprise at Frederick’s explanation.
“I’m curious how you’ll portray it, milady.”
“I-I’ll show you… later.”
Grace blushed shyly as she replied. It always embarrassed her a little, but she also loved when people took interest in her artwork.
“Really? That would be an honor, milady!”
The knights responded with genuine excitement. Some even asked her earnestly to let them see it once it was finished.
Good people…
Grace’s heart swelled. She could feel the sincerity in their warmth toward her. She wanted to quickly draw them in all their glory and show them.
“Let’s end the training here for today.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Dismiss and return home.”
Frederick gave the order to the surrounding knights, who answered with a firm, “Yes, sir!” before heading back to their formation.
“We should go have dinner now.”
“Yes…!”
As Grace replied, she suddenly realized they were still holding hands.
“What is it?”
Frederick asked curiously when her expression went blank.
“It’s… it’s nothing.”
Grace gave him a sheepish smile. She couldn’t bring herself to say she was flustered, in case he let go of her hand.
And so, the two of them walked toward the dining hall, still holding hands.
Meanwhile…
“Your Grace, a letter for you.”
“Where’s it from?”
“The Imperial Palace.”
Frederick’s aide, Anthony, handed over a letter stamped with the royal seal. Frederick used a paper knife to cut it open.
“What is it?”
Anthony asked carefully as Frederick’s expression hardened while reading. Sensing something unusual, Anthony watched his master closely.
“He’s asking me to come back. Again.”
“Ah, His Highness is persistent as always.”
“No matter how many times I’ve told him I won’t get involved…”
Frederick sighed, picturing Crown Prince Rubens’s face. Most of the letter was filled with lighthearted updates and inquiries about Frederick’s well-being, but the final line was the true message:
“I need you, Frederick.”
It was the sixth summons since Frederick had returned to Winstaine.
The relationship between Crown Prince Rubens and Frederick wasn’t simply that of a royal heir and a noble duke.
They had fought side-by-side on the battlefield, and Rubens was the one person Frederick felt truly understood him.
With his warm and sociable nature, Rubens had broken through Frederick’s stoic, quiet exterior. The two had become close companions who leaned on each other.
After the war, Rubens had offered Frederick a key administrative position and asked him to stay at the capital. But Frederick had politely declined.
He knew all too well that the central nobles were wary of the Winstaine family, and he had no desire to expand his political influence at court.
Most importantly, the current emperor openly regarded him with suspicion. While Rubens liked him, the emperor feared that Frederick might use his military prestige to build a faction of power.
Caught in such a precarious position, Frederick thought it wiser not to meddle in central politics and risk being falsely accused.
That was why he had returned immediately to his estate, not even visiting the capital once.
But Rubens had not given up. Whenever some time passed, he would send another letter requesting Frederick to return.
At first, Frederick would send brief refusals in reply. But after the third letter, he stopped replying altogether.
“He really doesn’t know how to give up.”
“He is a bit… shameless.”
In that respect, he resembled the emperor. Frederick shook his head.
“I told you, I can protect you! No matter what my father or the others say.”
“There’s no need to go through all that trouble.”
When Frederick had expressed his intention to leave, Rubens had asked, confused,
“Don’t you feel wronged? This is your chance to reclaim what was lost.”
“No. I’m more at ease in the estate.”
Frederick had little interest in reclaiming the wealth that was once confiscated.
That had happened in his grandfather’s time. Even his father, the former Duke of Winstaine, had shown no desire to return to the capital.
Of course, compared to the lands controlled by powerful noble families in the capital, the northern estate was cold and barren. But Frederick, who had no passion for amassing wealth, found it more than enough.
“What will you do?”
“What else? Nothing.”
Can he really ignore a letter from the Crown Prince?
Anthony worried. This wasn’t the first time Frederick had ignored an imperial summons. He looked anxiously at his lord, but Frederick simply pushed the letter aside on his desk, expressionless.
At the same time, elsewhere…
Vincent, the crown prince’s secretary, was growing increasingly stressed by his master lately.
“Are you absolutely sure there’s no message from Frederick?”
“Yes, none.”
Here we go again… Vincent answered with a weary expression.
Lately, Rubens had been checking in with him daily about whether Frederick had sent any news.
“Are you sure he didn’t send a message and you’re just not telling me because you think I’ll be disappointed?”
“No, Your Highness. There has truly been no contact at all from the Duke.”
Vincent gave the same clockwork response. Rubens had become so persistent, it was like being nagged constantly.
“This is really upsetting.”
Rubens pouted. It had been nearly two years since he last heard from Frederick.
“He’s so cold.”
“……”
“What’s so wrong with coming to the capital to hang out a bit?”
That’s not really why you want him here… Vincent thought silently.
Regardless, Rubens clenched his fist with a determined look.
“It’s time to take real action.”
“Action?”
What more could there possibly be? The other party had clearly rejected him over and over again.
“I haven’t really tried to convince him yet.”
“I think you’ve tried more than enough already…”
“I haven’t shown enough sincerity. That’s why I need to move.”
So giving up isn’t even an option for him… Vincent swallowed back the words rising to his throat.
“You know as well as I do—he’s someone I need right now.”
Rubens’s expression turned serious.
“Well…”
Of course, Vincent knew what Rubens was referring to.
A few months ago, the Emperor’s health had sharply declined.
Now bedridden and unable to handle state affairs, the Crown Prince had to urgently step in.
Though Rubens had received a thorough education as heir, he lacked hands-on experience. His network with the nobility was still in its early stages, as he’d spent much of his youth on the battlefield.
In contrast, the second prince, Vladimir, had always remained in the empire. Using social events and games as pretexts, he had cultivated deep relationships with many nobles. His outgoing personality helped him widen his circle.
As a result, a significant number of court officials were aligned with Vladimir, whose vision for the empire also differed from Rubens’s.
