Chapter 32
Sensing Cyrone’s mood, Reiffers rolled a chess piece gently between his palm. The finely crafted piece felt smooth and solid in his hand.
“You don’t play as well as you used to, Sir.”
Cyrone, moving a chess piece in the silence, soon laughed bitterly. Reiffers smiled good-naturedly, raising his hands in surrender, admitting he had no chance of winning this game.
“It seems I can no longer keep up with Your Highness’s feet.”
Cyrone leaned back in his chair, clearly bored of the petty act. Watching such foolish pretense quickly drained his interest.
“Duke Reiffers, get to the point.”
Cyrone spoke first, prompting Reiffers to smirk wryly. He didn’t expect Cyrone to be fooled by his friendly smile. Cyrone was blunt to the point of being crude.
Reiffers composed himself and answered.
“Your Highness, when do you intend to grant the seal?”
Reiffers grew anxious despite himself after hearing that the marriage talks with the Damon family had been ongoing for so long yet the seal had not been bestowed.
Cyrone, propping his chin, absentmindedly toyed with a piece and replied.
“Is there any need to rush?”
Reiffers frowned in surprise at the unexpected answer. Cyrone gazed down at him with a composed expression.
“Well…”
Reiffers quickly regained his composure. He had to be careful not to reveal that this marriage meant far more than just marriage. Yet Cyrone’s simple retort momentarily deflated him.
“I only hope my daughter finds stability soon. We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”
Reiffers said smoothly, his expression sharp and cold like a venomous snake’s gleam in the dark. His quick change of expression showed the skill of a long-standing noble head, the leader of Hyposis, the alliance of powerful families.
Cyrone slowly raised his head to look at Reiffers. Like a snake hiding deadly venom, Reiffers’s relaxed and deliberate gaze met him. Cyrone’s face gave no emotion.
“You say wasted time…”
Cyrone smiled faintly, folding his eyes. Wanting to end the game completely, he slammed a chess piece hard onto the board.
“Do you have other thoughts, Duke?”
Cyrone lightly tapped the chessboard and asked. Reiffers narrowed his eyes slightly, unsettled by how quickly the game had turned against him. No matter how many moves he tried, Reiffers had no way to escape defeat.
“Other thoughts, Your Highness?”
Reiffers set down the chess piece he’d been holding. Enjoying power and honor envied by many, Reiffers was a man full of composure. Even when suddenly forced to admit defeat, he rarely revealed his true feelings so easily.
“What do you mean by that…?”
He mulled over the weighty meaning behind Cyrone’s words.
Did the boy remember that night on the last day of a waning moon, when his mother was dragged away bound in chains to the abyss?
Reiffers, who had led the army that day, still recalled it vividly. The boy, who watched silently as his mother coughed up blood and was dragged away, had grown so much since then.
Reiffers’s lips tightened for a moment.
“Duke is truly interesting.”
As Reiffers’s expression shifted like a striking snake, Cyrone let out a low laugh. Reiffers, who had deliberately kept his energy low, suddenly looked sharply at Cyrone.
“You resemble your mother quite a lot, Your Highness.”
Forcing a faint smile, Reiffers spoke. It was an unspoken warning for all to hear: Cyrone, your fate will be no different from your mother’s, locked away in the iron tower.
Though he surely understood the hidden meaning, Cyrone answered with his usual indifferent expression.
“I thought I resembled Duke more.”
Like the chess game that was already lost, Reiffers felt his position slipping further away. Struggling to hide his displeasure, his face stiffened as he heard Cyrone’s cryptic words.
“Oh, such flattering words…”
Just as Reiffers struggled to suppress his emotions and speak, the chamberlain’s voice broke the silence. Someone entered.
The footsteps approaching closer shattered the stillness. Cyrone whispered quietly, barely audible to Reiffers.
“Perhaps it’s because you’re overly greedy.”
Reiffers looked at Cyrone, puzzled by the cryptic remark. But Cyrone had already turned his gaze elsewhere, watching something. Slowly, Reiffers followed his eyes.
“…Elia?”
Seeing the figure standing there, Reiffers bit his lip. It was his daughter, Elia.
Who could have called her? Could it have been Cyrone? The thought sent a chill down Reiffers’s spine.
‘Overly greedy,’ Cyrone had said—those were heavy words indeed.
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