Chapter 67
The Baron trembled as he watched his wife humiliated in front of everyone. Her vacant, pale eyes revealed a woman who might never fully recover her sanity, even if this ordeal ended.
“Ernst? No, don’t—you have to hold back.”
Luina’s soft voice urged restraint, but Ernst gently brushed her aside and walked slowly toward Heinz.
With everyone watching or not, he placed a firm hand on Heinz’s shoulder just as he was fiddling with his pants, about to indulge himself further. Leaning close, Ernst whispered in his ear,
“Your Majesty, it’s unfair if you’re the only one enjoying yourself.”
Heinz’s eyes lit up with a crazed gleam, focusing on Ernst. Seeing his reflection in those dazed eyes, Ernst smirked, knowing Heinz would respond exactly as expected—this twisted freak was thrilled at the invitation, just as he always was.
Heinz had always been oddly infatuated with Ernst since they were children, grinning sheepishly whenever he saw him, clinging to him, even saying he didn’t mind being hurt. Supporting Heinz’s unsteady body, Ernst summoned the head chamberlain and ordered a drink of sherry, ‘especially the kind the late emperor preferred’.
The chamberlain’s eyes quivered, but at Ernst’s shrug, he lowered his gaze as if on the verge of tears and agreed to fetch it. Heinz babbled with childlike excitement, delighted that Ernst had agreed to join him, and soon the sherry the late emperor had favored was brought on a silver tray.
As the chamberlain took the tray, his hand trembled, his gray cuffs darkened with stains, as if unspilled tears had soaked through.
“Drink up, Heinz. Tonight, we’re having fun together.”
If Heinz was an erratic tyrant who couldn’t assert his authority, then he was another type of monster altogether—a child who never grew up, one who reveled in Ernst’s attention.
How else could he still fawn over him, even after Ernst had broken his wrist? Here he was, snuggling up like an overgrown child. It was exhausting.
All Ernst wanted to do was go home and see Julie.
Julie, Julie, Julie…
He’d returned just to be with her, and here he was, dealing with this nonsense instead.
After downing a few drinks, Heinz began nodding off as expected. Ernst nudged his head off his shoulder, shaking off the filth as if he’d touched something vile. Then, looking at the chamberlain who’d entered to attend to Heinz, he sighed and asked,
“How much of that sherry is left?”
The sherry left by the late emperor. Adding d***s or poison to the emperor’s drink is high treason, typically detected early. But gifts from the late emperor were an exception.
The late emperor, indulgent and incompetent as he was, had only taken one precaution for Heinz: mixing sleeping pills into the sherry. Damn it, if he’d gone to that trouble, he might as well have used poison.
“About two bottles remain, Your Grace.”
“If you see the need, just say I ordered it and bring it out.”
“But, Your Grace…”
Honestly, there weren’t many left for whom it mattered. Gifts flow from the top down, not the other way around. Few even knew of its existence, and technically, Ernst was only offering it, not drinking it himself.
After he was gone… would there even be anyone left? Well, then, no need to hold back—let Heinz drink until he’s done for.
He considered dumping it all down Heinz’s throat at once but stopped when he noticed Luina standing in the doorway. She certainly had a knack for sticking her nose in, as if she were setting up for a marriage proposal.
“Worried about becoming a widow?”
“No, I came to help if you got hit.”
Typical Luina. But honestly, if anyone were to save Ernst from a beating, it would be Luina Elva.
In a fair fight, even he couldn’t beat her bare-handed. It wasn’t that he’d go easy on her—she was just faster. He might have better endurance, but if she struck his vital points first, none of that would matter.
“Hey. Don’t go hitting Kainri.”
“What kind of nonsense is that. Do you think I’ve gone mad?”
As they stepped into the corridor, the Baron from earlier stood waiting. His wife was absent—she’d probably been carried off after fainting. The Baron clenched his fists, struggling to suppress his emotions, finally managing to speak.
“I will never forget this debt, Your Grace.”
His hands were covered in self-inflicted wounds from clenching his fists too hard. Next to him stood a young boy with swollen, tear-streaked eyes, around ten or twelve—probably the Baron’s son. Feeling sorry for the child, Ernst patted his small shoulder and said,
“Yes. Do not forget this.”
The usual response would have been, ‘Forget it,’ but instead, Ernst told him not to. The boy’s wide, teary eyes looked up at him, and he added dryly,
“Hold on to it for life.”
Let it fuel you. And someday, make them pay it back in full.
That’s how Ernst had lived—refusing to let things go, willing to go to hell and back to settle the score.
As Ernst turned to leave, the boy clutched his sleeve, his voice trembling as he introduced himself.
“My name is Dane… Dane Lofs.”
“……?”
“I swear, I’ll come see you again.”
To see Ernst? Was this child going to take revenge on him, not the one lying passed out? But… why?
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