Episode 55

#10. Reunion

“Excellent! I like it.”

“Thank you.”

Marcus had wanted to close his eyes for some time now. Standing before him was none other than Evenia Bellona—the Duchess of Bellona.

The King desired the World Exposition to be grand and splendid. To that end, he offered the royal hunting grounds—untouched for generations—as the site for its construction. The problem was, no one seemed capable of designing a proper exposition hall on the modest forested plot just outside the capital.

From the start, the King’s pickiness was the real issue. No one dared to take on the task of pleasing his exacting taste. Eventually, the King extended the design contest even to the middle class. Only then did the top artisans begin to step forward, one by one—but the King shook his head at every single submission.

Then came a set of blueprints sent by Evenia Bellona.

They had been drawn by an artist she sponsored, and they instantly captured the King’s heart. The design featured a high, open ceiling. A movable ceiling, no less! Everyone whispered in doubt—“Is that even possible?”—but experts all agreed, “It can be done.” The detailed schematics showed every single one of the cranes and mechanisms required to link the glass and steel structure with precision.

What pleased the King even more was how well the building utilized the surrounding landscape.

One side of the structure was entirely glass, positioned to let in light from the side—bright, yet never stifling. And best of all, visitors inside would still be able to gaze out upon the beautiful royal hunting grounds, famed for their scenery.

Overjoyed, the King summoned the Duchess of Bellona to the capital to discuss the construction.

Naturally, key nobles—including the heir to the wealthy Hanger family—were also invited. Watching the Duchess conversing casually with the King, Marcus felt a chill crawl across his chest. Her fair, smooth cheeks, sapphire-like eyes, blood-red lips, and jet-black curls—she looked exactly the same as she had three years ago.

And yet, Marcus found himself wondering if he had ever truly loved her. That was how indifferent he felt now.

Fluttering her long lashes, the Duchess responded to the King’s remarks.

“The artist I sponsor is deeply interested in spatial design. They do not paint or sculpt, so calling them a builder feels inadequate—we refer to them as an artist.”

“I see. Just looking at these blueprints is like admiring a fine miniature. I didn’t know such art existed.”

The Duchess covered her mouth with a faint laugh at the King’s praise.

Marcus frowned. Did she ever laugh like that before? In his memory, the Duchess rarely smiled. At best, she’d offer a sneer or a cold smirk. But perhaps even the Duchess couldn’t help herself before the King...

Just then, Marcus realized she was watching him. She offered a light greeting.

“Sir Hanger. My apologies for the late greeting. It’s been a while.”

“You two know each other?” the King asked.

“How could I not?” the Duchess retorted with a smile.

“I attended Lord Hanger’s wedding in Cliff.”

“Oh?”

The King perked up with interest.

Marcus immediately felt his mood sour. She sounded as if she were mocking him.

In truth, the story of Marcus’s marriage was no longer even gossip-worthy among the aristocracy. Everyone simply accepted it as fact: Marcus had married, grown cold toward his wife, and—mindful of the King’s will, which he had co-signed—banished her to the countryside, keeping himself absent from society ever since.

[Where would that playboy have gone? He never cared for nobles or even commoners—he’s probably sneaking around with peasant girls again.]

That is what they whispered behind his back.

The Duchess surely knew all of this, and now she was taunting him with it. Marcus remained silent, his brow furrowed. Responding would only make things worse.

The King, however, seemed to be enjoying the exchange.

“Someone actually saw the wedding? I thought it was an urban legend—passed down by word of mouth!”

Considering how desperately Marcus and his father, Archibald, had hidden the bride—claiming illness and keeping her from the capital—it was a pointed jab. The white-haired King twisted his mustache and chuckled.

“Well, go on then. Tell me—does Elouise Hanger actually exist?”

“Your Majesty,” Marcus began in a low voice.

But the Duchess was quicker.

“But of course. She’s quite beautiful, with eyes the color of pale blue. Sir Hanger, how is Elouise these days?”

“…I didn’t realize you were close enough with my wife to be on a first-name basis,” Marcus replied sharply.

The Duchess smiled with narrowed eyes.

“I wanted to grow close. I still do, actually. So? Tell me—how is Elouise lately?”

The surrounding nobles, led by the King, chuckled quietly. The Duchess tilted her head as if entirely oblivious to the atmosphere.

Marcus replied in a sigh.

“She’s unwell.”

“Oh dear! Truly?”

“Yes. She’s convalescing.”

“What happened to her? I remember Elouise as delicate, yes, but not so sickly she’d need three years to recover.”

Three years. Marcus immediately caught the implication.

The Duchess clearly knew the rumors circulating in society. His displeasure deepened. As it was, just seeing her dredged up memories of his time with Elouise—memories that hit him like waves. Every time he looked into the Duchess’s sapphire-like eyes, he couldn’t help but think of a softer, warmer pair he once knew.

If he was honest, it was because of the woman in front of him that he’d met Elouise at all. Marcus tried to console himself with that thought as he spoke again.

“She has a respiratory illness.”

“Oh my. I hope she recovers swiftly.”

Sensing the awkward turn, the nobles began to murmur amongst themselves, trading bits of small talk. Marcus fell silent once more, nearly boiling over with frustration. Every time he said something, the Duchess let out a quiet, amused laugh—like she simply couldn’t help finding him ridiculous.

But that wasn’t what made Marcus so angry.

What he couldn’t stand was himself—that even with the Duchess standing right there, he found himself aching for someone else. That he missed Elouise so deeply and yet could do nothing about it.

The experts now turned their attention to the technical details of the design.

They debated the use of layered, refractive glass and how few craftsmen had the skill to link the glass with the steel frame. Most of the discussion centered on whether the blueprints could realistically be brought to life, until the arguments became heated.

“This is absurd!”

“We just need to apply heat!”

“Even if high-heat treatment works, how do you expect to finish on time?”

As the debate grew more intense, the King finally spoke.

“Bellona.”

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“The one who drew up these plans likely understands the structure best of all. Would it be difficult to bring them here?”

The Duchess shrank her shoulders slightly before replying.

“I’m afraid it would. The artist resides far away, in my territory…”

“Then bring them,” the King said simply.

“…They are unwell.”

The King clicked his tongue.

“Whatever could be wrong with them?”

The Duchess rolled her eyes ever so slightly, then answered.

“A touch of respiratory illness…”

“…A lot of sick people lately, hmm? Seems this kingdom of mine is in the midst of a coughing plague.”

The King sounded annoyed. Someone nearby let out a stifled laugh, then quickly silenced themselves. Marcus, too, was dumbfounded.

Respiratory illness? She had the gall to use the same excuse?

And then it hit him—he had used the exact same lie himself. And somehow, that only made him feel worse.

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