Chapter 36

Chapter 36

The teacup with floating ice looked refreshing just by sight alone. The color of the tea, somewhere between pale yellow and light green, was beautiful.

Lady Mason, her dim eyes squinting, peered into the teacup before closing her eyes and taking a sip.

The first thing that hit her tongue was the crisp, tingly taste of mint. Then came a sweetness like that of candy.

After removing the teacup from her lips, Lady Mason smacked them thoughtfully. Finally, a subtle nuttiness and an unfamiliar yet pleasant aroma lingered in her mouth. It mellowed the otherwise sharp minty flavor, enriching and refining the taste and scent.

As the cold tea slid down her throat and settled into her stomach, the back of her neck tingled slightly. But it wasn’t unpleasant. Rather…

“It’s delicious…”

Lady Mason said seriously.

In contrast, Chloe’s face lit up like someone had turned on a light.

‘Yes! I did it!’

Chloe was thrilled that she had managed to protect the teacup—and even score some points with Alphonse’s relative.

“What kind of tea is this?”

At Lady Mason’s question, Chloe responded promptly, as if she had been waiting.

“I brewed strong green tea, added sugar, then poured it over fresh peppermint and let it sit for a while. It’s a beverage often enjoyed by nomads from the southern regions.”

Chloe had noticed peppermint candies on Lady Mason’s table, the kind elderly ladies often liked. From that, she guessed the older woman would enjoy mint and sweet flavors.

This refreshing and sweet blend of green tea and peppermint was known in her previous life as Moroccan mint tea, a drink commonly enjoyed by Moroccan nomads.

“Nomads usually drink it hot, but since it’s a warm day, I prepared it cold.”

“Nomads, is it? You certainly know all sorts of things.”

Lady Mason said, in a tone that was hard to tell if it was praise or sarcasm. Regardless, she seemed to like the Moroccan mint tea, because she murmured to herself as she finished her cup.

“It’s good, really good.”

The teapot was soon emptied. After drinking all the tea, Lady Mason let out a sigh and sank deeper into her armchair.

“Drinking something cold like this… I feel like I can finally breathe.”

Chloe rang a small bell to summon a maid to clean up. After the maid carried away the tray, Lady Mason groaned slightly and said,

“I’m sorry about the last time.”

“Pardon? No, it’s quite alright, Lady Mason. It was a misunderstanding anyone could have had.”

But Lady Mason shook her head.

“No, don’t try to comfort me. I know I was being oversensitive. I thought you had the maid deliberately mess with me.”

She sighed again.

“An old woman like me… ever since my husband was poisoned, I’ve become so suspicious of everything.”

Ah, so that’s what happened. Chloe nodded, beginning to understand why Lady Mason acted the way she did.

There was a pause. Then Lady Mason asked again,

“How is married life with Alphonse?”

“Pardon…?”

The unexpected question caught Chloe completely off guard. No, more than surprised, she was flustered. The confident woman who had just eloquently explained the tea’s origins had vanished, replaced by one whose face turned bright red and voice stumbled.

“Ah… i-it’s good! Really! T-The Duke is very kind too.”

“Is that so? I’m glad to hear it.”

Lady Mason glanced at Chloe with a meaningful look. But Chloe was too flustered to notice.

“Take good care of Alphonse. To me, he’s like a son.”

That surprised Chloe. Like a son?

“Um… If I may ask, did you raise His Grace yourself, Lady Mason?”

“Yes, I did.”

Chloe hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not to ask the next question. But her curiosity and growing interest in Alphonse won out.

“Then… His Grace’s biological parents are…?”

“They passed away long ago.”

For some reason, Chloe felt solemn. She had never imagined that someone as strong and composed as Alphonse had such a backstory.

Lady Mason seemed to be lost in thought for a while. Then, breaking the silence, she said,

“…You are Alphonse’s wife, the Duchess of Battenberg, so I suppose you have the right to know.”

Chloe instinctively sensed what Lady Mason was about to say.

Somehow, she felt like she should stop her. Even if Lady Mason was like a parent to Alphonse, she was still technically an outsider. No one likes hearing their past from someone else’s mouth.

But even so, even though guilt tugged at her, Chloe wanted to hear it. She wanted to know more about Alphonse. About who he was, what kind of life he had led.

In the end, she couldn’t stop Lady Mason.

In the heavy silence, Lady Mason began her story.

***

Ludwig Battenberg, Alphonse’s biological father and former Duke of Battenberg, was the epitome of nobility.

He was competent, arrogant, and proud. His posture was as straight as if measured with a ruler, his gait exuded dignity, and his elegant face never so much as twitched a brow in any situation. Among the people of the territory, rumors spread that the Duke of Battenberg had cold, blue blood running beneath his skin.

And Ludwig expected Alphonse to be as noble—no, nobler—than himself.

Alphonse, who inherited his father’s blood, matured quickly and was intelligent and composed. But Ludwig was never satisfied.

Alphonse began learning noble etiquette, politics, history, and the arts at the age of three. At four, he started horseback riding and fencing. His lessons began at sunrise and continued late into the night.

Still, Ludwig didn’t think it was enough.

‘Alphonse, showing emotion is a disgrace for a noble.’

He often said,

‘Never show your inner thoughts. Regard personal emotions as shameful. Restrain and endure—that is how you elevate your dignity.’

Alphonse would reply,

‘Yes, Father.’

Whenever Alphonse showed emotion, Ludwig imposed strict punishments. He would do anything to suppress and eliminate his son’s emotions.

Alphonse’s self-control was driven to the extreme. Not crying when beaten, not getting angry when insulted—these were taken for granted. He learned how to stay awake for three days and nights without showing tiredness. He learned to eat soup slowly and elegantly even after four days without food.

He learned all of this to survive. If he failed to meet his father’s expectations, he was punished. Canes were mild. Leather belts and horsewhips were used. Flesh was torn, and blood splattered. Dozens of lashes were routine. The day he told his first lie, he received over a hundred lashes in interrogation. Yet Ludwig always stopped short of causing permanent injury, after all, a cripple couldn’t walk like a noble.

There was never a day when Ludwig’s cane was not stained with blood.

As a child with an undeveloped sense of self, Alphonse blindly followed his father, believing he must be right.

But as he grew, so did his awareness—like a seedling rising even underfoot.

‘I don’t understand why I have to live like this, Father.’

Ten-year-old Alphonse once said.

‘It’s natural for people to smile when happy and feel hungry when starved. No matter how many history books I read, I can’t find a precedent of any noble household raising their child like this. Your educational methods are unacceptable. I no longer wish to be treated this way.’

‘I see.’

Ludwig, not even looking up from slicing his steak, replied,

‘Do you have no regrets about saying that?’

Alphonse swallowed hard. The fear ingrained in him chilled his skin, but he didn’t yield.

‘I do not.’

After finishing his meal, Ludwig ordered the servants to lock Alphonse in the closet at the far west end of the mansion’s fifth floor.

As Alphonse screamed and resisted, Ludwig looked down at him with icy eyes and said,

‘Reflect deeply in there. You won’t be let out until you’ve repented completely.’

The closet was barely a square meter, with not a single ray of light. Ten-year-old Alphonse was imprisoned inside. A lock was put on the door, and he was given only three meals a day and a chamber pot.

At first, he banged on the door and shouted for mercy. In the first month, he begged for release. By the third month, he apologized and asked for forgiveness. By the fourth, he promised to do anything if only he could be freed. By the sixth, he stopped saying anything at all. He simply curled up on the floor and stared blankly into the black void.

Eleven months later, Ludwig finally gave the order for him to be released.

Servants bathed him, cut his hair, dressed him in clean clothes, and brought him before Ludwig.

Even after seeing his son for the first time in nearly a year, Ludwig’s eyes were just as cold as ever.

‘Have you reflected sufficiently?’

‘…’

Alphonse, who had inherited his father’s good looks and had been strikingly handsome since childhood, now had a face as pale as a corpse. His perfectly shaped eyes were unfocused. Not a word came from his dry lips.

As he observed his son, Ludwig spoke.

‘If you believe you’ve repented enough and are ready to obey my words from now on, kneel. I will forgive you.’

Hesitantly, Alphonse knelt down. The boy’s knees touched the mirror-like marble floor. Only then did Ludwig, satisfied, turn away without another word and go about his business.

From that day on, there was no emotion left in Alphonse’s heart. The only things he knew were rage and resentment—violent enough to consume his enemy and scorch even himself—aimed at his father, Ludwig. But he could not show it. The superhuman patience Ludwig had instilled in him was enough to keep the fire in his chest hidden.

And then, Ludwig Battenberg died the year Alphonse turned fourteen.

It was an accident. A carriage driven by a drunken coachman ran over the Duke of Battenberg and three of his attendants. All of them died on the spot.

It was a senseless death, especially compared to the depth of Alphonse’s resentment.

When his father died so suddenly, the deep emotions that Alphonse had kept buried lost their direction. Emotions without purpose need fuel. Eventually, all those feelings turned inward. They consumed him as fuel, leaving only ashes behind in his heart.

“When that child, newly orphaned, was entrusted to me—his only living relative—I was completely shocked. Back then, Alphonse wasn’t even human. He didn’t seem like a person at all…”

Lady Mason sighed deeply as she spoke.

Having lost her husband in a power struggle between noble families and running the household alone, Lady Mason felt overwhelmed when she was tasked with caring for a distant relative. But before long, the maternal instinct she didn’t know she had sprouted like seeds in spring rain. She raised Alphonse with devotion for four years, until he became an adult.

Through her efforts, Alphonse recovered to the point where he now resembled a human being again, at least in appearance.

Except that he remained emotionally numb.

When he came of age, Alphonse returned to the ducal household and became the new Duke of Battenberg.

***

Alphonse lifted his pen from the document he had been underlining.

He couldn’t concentrate. His mind was a mess. It was the first time something like this had happened, and it made him uneasy.

He placed his nearly burnt-out cigar on the ashtray and loosened his tightly knotted tie.

‘Maybe I should handle something else first. It’s not an urgent matter anyway.’

Thinking that, the first thing that came to mind was Chloe. Coincidentally, there was a business matter he wanted her opinion on. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to talk to her about it, and perhaps enjoy a cup of tea together as well.

With that thought, Alphonse went to Chloe’s bedroom, but she wasn’t there. When he asked a servant, he was told that Chloe had gone to see Lady Mason, who had summoned her.

Alphonse headed to the guest room where Lady Mason was staying. Just as he was about to knock…

“…When that child, newly orphaned, was entrusted to me—his only living relative—I was completely shocked.”

His hand stopped just before touching the door.

“Back then, Alphonse wasn’t even human. He didn’t seem like a person at all…”

Alphonse was perceptive. He instantly realized what Lady Mason and Chloe were talking about.

The long conversation eventually came to an end. Chloe politely bid Lady Mason farewell. As she turned toward the door, she felt like a heavy stone had settled in her chest.

She had expected Alphonse to have some kind of painful past. But she hadn’t imagined anything like this.

The strength that seemed to have been with him since birth was actually forged in agony—like a red-hot piece of iron, hammered into shape through relentless pain.

Chloe felt that pain as if it were her own. Her heart ached, as though she were once again a small child standing beside him. She wanted to comfort him, to embrace him. This overwhelming urge couldn’t be explained by something as simple as ‘he’s my husband’ or ‘someone I know.’

How scared he must have been. How… lonely he must have felt.

“…!”

As she shut the door behind her, Chloe flinched in surprise. Alphonse was standing there.

He heard it.

Chloe thought.

Alphonse was staring at her expressionlessly, his thoughts unreadable. Chloe bit her lip.

Without a word, Alphonse gestured for her to follow.

He led her to his office. Once the two of them were inside, the door was shut. 

Chloe spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Alphonse, his back turned to her, replied. Chloe hesitated and said,

“Your Grace, I…”

“Please, don’t say anything.”

Alphonse hadn’t wanted Chloe to learn about his past.

It wasn’t because he was ashamed or because he didn’t trust her. Not at all.

His impression of Chloe from their time together had been this: a woman with a heart as delicate as glass. A woman whose clear laughter seemed untouched by misfortune.

He didn’t want to burden someone like that with his pain. He didn’t believe she could bear it. Though Alphonse was often indifferent to others, he wasn’t thoughtless. Forcing another to carry one’s sorrow benefits no one, neither the bearer nor the one who listens.

He had never felt the need to share his past with anyone anyway. It had dulled into just another memory.

Thinking that, Alphonse sighed and said,

“I told you not to speak, and now you’re crying—what am I supposed to do with that?”

He turned around. Chloe was covering her face with both hands. Tears spilled between her delicate fingers and fell, drop by drop. 

Her sobs were stifled, but faint sounds still leaked out like shards of pain.