Die Melusine - Chapter 30

It was late at night, and for the first time in a while, the curtains of the Grand Duke’s office were fully drawn.

The Marquess of Hesnal sat across from Kieron, sipping whiskey, while occasionally glancing at Iain, who stood like a wall behind Kieron. The man with his tightly bound, wavy silver-white hair was a giant of a figure, his robust build unchanged since his days of accompanying the late emperor through countless battlefields.

“Does he bother you? If you prefer, I can have him leave,” Kieron offered.

“No, no. I know better than anyone the relationship between the Earl of Luthern and Your Highness,” the Marquess replied smoothly. “I hear you’ve already met Estelle.”

At the Marquess’s low, meaningless chuckle, Kieron responded with a slight nod.

“It’s been three years, hasn’t it? That child has been looking forward to this Harvest Festival for so long… though I must admit, I didn’t expect her to rush so eagerly to meet you. She’s quite innocent, isn’t she, Your Highness?”

The Marquess’s white eyebrows and mustache framed eyes that crinkled with the practiced warmth of a man who had mastered the art of feigned goodwill.

Kieron had known the Marquess since he was barely old enough to walk. As a child, he found him easier to approach than his cold and distant older brother, often confiding in him about childish worries.

But the following day, without fail, his brother would summon him for punishment, admonishing him for weakness. And the Marquess, standing nearby with an expression of feigned regret, would later tend to the wounds on Kieron’s back himself. That mask of pity remained vivid in Kieron’s memory.

“I see,” Kieron murmured, watching the Marquess carefully.

It was obvious why the Marquess had sent Estelle ahead of him—to gauge the mood of the Grand Duke’s household and subtly broach his agenda.

If the late emperor had been a predator who charged forward with raw force, the Marquess was a sly hyena, simulating loyalty while securing his own gains.

Kieron swirled the amber liquid in his glass, the movement slow and deliberate, the absence of ice allowing the whiskey to slosh freely.

Yet, for now, Kieron needed the Marquess and his daughter.

“I assume you came ahead of the banquet to discuss something,” Kieron said, feigning generosity.

The Marquess coughed lightly, setting his glass on the table and straightening his posture.

“Does Your Highness perhaps have a preferred timing in mind?”

As expected.

The topic was treason—the plan to usurp the throne.

The Marquess was no doubt frustrated by Kieron’s repeated insistence that the timing wasn’t right. He couldn’t proceed without the Grand Duke’s cooperation, as Kieron was not only the emperor’s brother but also the keystone of the plan.

“Let me ask you instead,” Kieron said, his tone calm and measured. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

He already knew the answer but wanted to hear it from the Marquess himself.

“Well, most of the nobility already favor our side. Once the new imperial palace is completed this winter, the atmosphere will be chaotic—an opportune moment to strike…”

Lies.

The truth was transparent: the Marquess wanted to finalize the coup before Estelle’s marriage, ensuring his only daughter ascended the throne without blemish.

“There’s little difference in timing from an internal perspective. But with the empress due to give birth next spring, it might be wiser to minimize backlash from neighboring nations to ensure a smoother transition,” Kieron countered.

Kieron’s cautious nature was legendary. He never moved until every piece was perfectly in place, meticulously preparing for all contingencies, even in urgent situations.

People often assumed the Grand Duke, with his record of unbroken victories, was a hot-blooded warrior like the late emperor. In truth, he was the exact opposite—calculating, deliberate, and impossibly patient.

Kieron was a man who could be cold to his core, his victories meticulously achieved through rational analysis and unflinching composure.

The Empire couldn’t afford to appear unstable from within. Even observing the drawn-out, chaotic succession wars in neighboring kingdoms over the past two decades was enough to see the risks. Stirring internal unrest could invite external threats, and Kieron had no intention of letting that happen.

“Your point is valid, but we’ve been preparing for this a long time. I’m beginning to worry about potential leaks if we delay further,” the Marquess countered.

He wasn’t entirely wrong.

There was widespread dissatisfaction with Emperor Edvard, who had engaged in reckless and fruitless foreign wars under the pretense of projecting imperial strength. The resulting financial strain on the Empire had only fueled the resentment.

The Marquess’s plan to depose the immature and ill-suited emperor gained significant momentum with Kieron at its center.

While common citizens might mistakenly view the Grand Duke as a warmonger, the nobles understood the internal dynamics. Kieron’s strategic engagement to Estelle had further consolidated support for the Marquess’s cause.

However, as the plan dragged on, even the initial supporters among the nobility began to grow restless.

Last year’s grand engagement ceremony between Kieron and Estelle, held not at the Grand Duke’s castle but the Imperial Palace itself, was an attempt to quell any suspicions of hesitation.

“I’ll consider it,” Kieron finally said.

“I am deeply grateful, Your Highness.”

A sly smile curled the Marquess’s lips as he achieved the outcome he had sought.

“Speaking of which, the closing dance at the masquerade ball will be performed by Your Highness and my daughter, I hear. It makes this old man’s heart race with excitement,” he added, his tone almost theatrical.

The Marquess’s expression was far brighter than when he had entered the room, buoyed by the notion of his daughter dancing with the Grand Duke at the highlight of the Harvest Festival—the grand masquerade ball.

In the Empire, tradition held that the pair who removed their masks and shared the final dance of the ball were destined for lifelong happiness together.

Typically, high-ranking noble heirs or engaged couples carefully choreographed their entrances to create a dramatic and romantic spectacle.

A ball.

Kieron drained his glass in one go at the mere thought of it. The burning sweetness of the alcohol scratched down his throat, reminiscent of her scent.

Melusine.

Since that night, the cloying sweetness of her body and the echo of her soft cries had invaded his thoughts.

Even now, he could vividly recall the absurd irritation that had seized him when he first saw her sprawled helplessly in the marketplace.

Despite the insomnia and headaches that had resurfaced since then, he hadn’t summoned his fish.

He simply let everything run its course.

That was his way. Whenever something unfamiliar threatened to encroach on his carefully maintained life, he severed it at the root. He refused to be swayed by meaningless, unidentified thoughts.

As for the inexplicable discomfort that had begun with her, Kieron had no desire to understand it—not now, not ever.

***

The Harvest Festival at the Grand Duke’s castle followed a unique theme each day. While it was challenging for Melusine to remember and follow everything, spending time with Anne helped her get swept up in the festive atmosphere.

Monday, the Day of Roses, was marked by the sharing of sweet desserts and gifting candies to passersby. Not knowing much about these customs, Melusine had gone to the garden, picked a few fragrant flowers, and offered them to Anne, who had been so touched that she teared up. She explained that giving flowers on this day carried a very special meaning.

Tuesday, the Day of Oil, was dedicated to indulging in rich, greasy foods. The entire castle was filled with the smell of roasting meat and sizzling oil. Even Melusine, who didn’t eat meat, found herself curious about the distinct aromas wafting everywhere.

Wednesday, the Day of Offerings, was a day to express gratitude for the year’s harvest. The Empire’s clergy, loyal to the crown, conducted grand ceremonies to honor not only the divine but also the late and current emperors.

Thursday, the Day of Abstinence, was a day of fasting, meant to cleanse the excesses of the previous three days. While only water was officially allowed, Anne had secretly brought Melusine a few raw fish to stave off her hunger.

Finally, Friday, the Day of Masks, arrived—the most anticipated day of the festival.

On this day, everyone dressed in their finest attire, adorned themselves, and wore masks. The castle buzzed with parties, and merchants and farmers alike joined in the revelry. The streets were alive with music and laughter, drunken confessions, and fleeting romances that transcended status for one night.

Even in the main castle, the mood was no different.

Since morning, the sound of flutes filled the air, enchanting Melusine, who remarked in wonder that it sounded like birds singing.

“Miss Mermaid! Should I add more feathers here?” Anne asked, still fussing over Melusine’s outfit. She had been at it for hours, wearing a bright yellow dress with a dramatically puffed skirt, a far cry from her usual maid uniform. Melusine chuckled at how cute Anne looked as she flitted about.

“And the ribbon? Coral, to match the dress?”

“Isn’t this… too much?” Melusine asked hesitantly.

“Oh, Miss Mermaid! This is nothing for a day like today,” Anne replied, exasperated.

After all, the noble ladies invited to the masquerade ball at the castle would undoubtedly be wearing far more extravagant outfits. If they weren’t encrusted with jewels from head to toe, it would be a miracle.

Anne meticulously dusted shimmering powder along Melusine’s collarbone and the curve of her neck, her face glowing with satisfaction. Tonight, her Miss Mermaid would surely be the center of attention.

That is, if she were invited.

Melusine hadn’t received an invitation to the ball in the main castle. It was only natural—she wasn’t a noblewoman, and her master hadn’t made any special mention of her attending.

Still, Anne had put so much effort into dressing Melusine because she held onto the faint hope that, perhaps, at the last moment, one of His Highness’s attendants might summon her.

The sun was already dipping below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the sky. Nightfall was approaching, and the festivities would soon begin.

Standing behind Melusine, who awkwardly adjusted her elaborate dress and hair, Anne’s heart ached.

She swore to herself it wasn’t out of a selfish desire to witness the grand ball or sneak into such an exclusive event. It was because she couldn’t bear to see Melusine, who had been quieter and more withdrawn throughout the festival, waiting for something—or someone—that she couldn’t name.

Anne knew all too well what—or who—that was.

Suppressing a sigh, Anne picked up the brush she had used all day to perfect Melusine’s hair and ran it through once more.

Then, there was a knock at the door.

Knock, knock.