* * *
There was nothing more to see.
Karl Rooster closed the report.
“Shall I place someone inside the household?”
“Who would want to work for a penniless viscount?”
If he provided direct financial support, it would be too obvious.
Who could be useful in this situation?
“Leak information about the Duchess to Timothy Cavern.”
As he recalled the alpha who had been at the party, a smirk curled Karl’s lips.
There was no better candidate for this task than that reckless fool.
His violet eyes sparkled with amusement.
No matter the circumstances, it had been Sylvian himself who first let his pheromones spill out.
That alone was justification enough.
“Yes, sir.”
“And make sure he understands—if he wants to win over the viscount, he’ll need to use money.”
Tap. Tap.
Tap.
Karl’s fingers drummed steadily against his desk.
“How many of our men are inside the Graham estate?”
“About five.”
“So many have died…”
The gentle expression Sylvian had worn as he praised Karl soured into something menacing.
Even without issuing direct orders, every so often, they were simply… wiped out.
“The Duchess is our top priority. More than anything else, our goal is to infiltrate the estate even further.”
At Karl’s command, his subordinate bowed and exited the room.
There was so little information to work with that it was laughable.
A smirk played on Karl Rooster’s lips.
“You rejected the wife I prepared for you? That’s too much.”
Marquis Rooster recalled the face of Zeroth as he confidently escorted the Duchess into the banquet hall.
Zeroth took care of the Duchess without a single care for the gazes surrounding them.
“His Majesty is far too soft.”
Several nobles worked to sway the Emperor.
It wasn’t proper for a Duke, a representative of the Empire, to remain alone.
Even the Emperor seemed to agree.
Yet, when it truly mattered, he was of no help.
The Emperor, too, could not afford to discard Zeroth Graham.
“Shall I build a friendship with the adorable Duchess?”
Rooster waved a letter filled with excitement in his cold hands.
The faint trace of pheromones lingering on it fluttered as if pleading for attention.
“I sincerely hope it’s love.”
If Zeroth Graham had truly fallen in love, then when the ground beneath him crumbled, he would fall even deeper.
Rooster imagined the Duke’s face twisting in despair when something he had taken for granted as his own slipped from his grasp.
“You took everything from me, so it’s only fair I take at least a small piece of yours.”
He had no love to give, but just like the Duke, he could certainly pretend.
That cold-hearted man was incapable of love.
A half-witted wife brought in just to avoid the Emperor’s proposal wouldn’t hold any importance to him.
Marquis Rooster stood up and tossed Sylvian’s letter into the fireplace.
The unlit hearth, devoid of even a single ember, swallowed the letter in an instant.
As he turned away, his gaze landed on the green plant in the vase by the window.
He recalled the green eyes that had looked up at him and felt his mood sour.
His pale hands ruthlessly plucked the delicate leaves.
After his first party, Sylvian began exchanging letters with other nobles.
Most were noblewomen, though some were titled men who could be of benefit to the Ducal household.
‘You said he was normal!’
As the weather grew colder, the maids’ excessive concern had left Sylvian bundled in a thick sweater and woolen pants, even in the warmth of the indoors.
He frowned as he read a letter.
That bastard. Seriously.
“Is the letter difficult to understand?”
“I can’t even tell what these words are.”
Whisen leaned over from the sofa at Sylvian’s complaint, glancing at the part his slender fingers pointed to.
It was yet another letter from Marquis Rooster—mostly trivial greetings and summaries of economics books.
Why was he discussing economics in a letter meant for the Duchess?
Whisen frowned as he skimmed through it.
“This is quite difficult to read, even for me. Does the Marquis always send letters like this?”
“Sometimes? Occasionally, he even sends summaries of novels.”
Sylvian, trying to show the letter more clearly, leaned in so close that he was practically draped over Whisen.
Though his pheromones were no longer detectable, a faint, sweet body scent lingered near Whisen’s nose.
Whisen took a step back and spoke coldly.
“This is rather impolite.”
Sylvian’s eyes widened.
It was improper to send letters that disregarded the recipient’s level of understanding and interests.
Whisen sighed, brushing back his hair as he met Sylvian’s questioning gaze.
His grip on the letter tightened.
Every time it became painfully clear just how little Sylvian had been taught, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
His hands itched to personally deal with the Viscount’s household.
“Shall we lodge a formal complaint?”
“A complaint? To Marquis Rooster?”
Sylvian quickly shook his head in alarm at Whisen’s fierce glare.
“I always ask a lot of questions, so he’s just being kind by answering them!”
He didn’t understand why Karl kept sending such letters, but his tone had always been polite.
At first, Sylvian had assumed Karl was mocking him, but no one would be foolish enough to do so in a letter that could end up in the Duke’s hands.
“Reading the books he recommends makes me feel smarter.”
“I’ll find you a proper introductory text.”
“Then, can we go to the library now?”
At the Duchess’s words, Whisen immediately opened the drawing-room door.
Sylvian stood up as if he had been waiting for the invitation.
The Duchess loved reading.
He devoured books as if trying to make up for lost time, and eventually, the Duke had relented and granted him access to the library.
Whisen believed that, had Sylvian not been ill, he would have grown into a much sharper and more knowledgeable person.
“I’ll bring you something suitable to read, so please take a seat.”
Whisen gestured toward the sofa upon reaching the library.
As he disappeared between the bookshelves to make his selection, Sylvian ignored the instruction and began browsing for books himself.
‘Are there any books on architecture or landscaping?’
He had already memorized maps of the empire and topographies of different regions.
Though he had never formally studied before, he had proven to have a decent memory when memorizing the nobility almanac.
“Hm.”
If he only chose books that would aid in escaping, it might raise suspicion.
Perhaps he should pick out a novel or two as well.
Before long, he had two or three books in his arms.
If he added the one Whisen picked out, he would have enough reading material for a few days.
“The Use of Omega Pheromones?”
Sylvian’s eyes caught on an intriguing title.
He was too lazy to climb the ladder, but if he stretched out on his toes, it seemed within reach.
‘Got it—’
“Ah?!”
His balance wavered as he tried to grab the book while holding onto his pile of heavy tomes.
Damn it.
If he got hurt, Zeroth would throw a fit.
Thud.
“Are you alright?”
As his body tipped sideways, he was caught firmly by a solid frame.
Sylvian, who had shut his eyes tightly, hesitantly cracked them open to see who had saved him.
“Whisen, thanks.”
At the unguarded smile of pure trust, Whisen’s heart wavered.
If you knew what I’ve done to you, you wouldn’t be able to smile at me like that.
“You need to be more careful, Sylvian.”
He reached out, trapping the Duchess between his arms.
As his broad frame surrounded him, Sylvian’s eyes widened.
There was no pheromone release, no aura exuding dominance, yet something about the situation triggered an instinctual wariness.
His small frame pressed flat against the bookshelf.
“You were taught to call for me if you ever faced danger, weren’t you?”
“Y-Yeah. That’s right.”
“Good. Should I remind Duke Zeroth of that?”
Vigorous head shakes.
Sylvian frantically shook his head.
That bastard.
Why would he go stirring up trouble?
As Whisen’s face inched closer, Sylvian’s pupils darted around in a panic.
Was he—was he going to kiss him?
Just like that? He had been trying to seduce him, sure, but he hadn’t expected it to happen in such an unexpected place.
He wasn’t at the stage where he needed that kind of favor, but maybe… he should offer his lips?
Bracing himself, he squeezed his eyes shut.
But nothing happened.
Flick.
A gentle flick landed on his forehead.
“Call me when you need help next time.”
Whisen, his tone frosty once more, snatched the books from Sylvian’s arms and plucked the one from the shelf.
Sylvian, lips slightly parted, let out a silent complaint.
* * *
