Holding Swan’s hand tightly, Sedilroy walked past Hussle and climbed the stairs. When they reached a bending corner of the railing, Swan turned his small head to look down. Then, he quickly averted his eyes upon seeing Hussle, who was still staring at him with beast-like eyes.

Swan was terrified of Hussle. Just being in the same space with him was unbearable. He vaguely knew what Hussle wanted, but he was too young to overcome his fear on his own.

Outside Duke Gloden’s bedroom stood the head steward who oversaw all the matters of the mansion. Servants were busy carrying silver bowls filled with medicine and water, and dry cloths in and out of the room.

Perhaps it was because of the chaos, but Sedilroy felt a sudden sinking feeling in his chest.

“No, Young Master! Your Grace!”

Seeing them, the head steward rushed over like a loyal dog. With an expression mixed with joy and worry, he looked at Swan and then bowed respectfully to Sedilroy. When he raised his head, the wrinkles around his eyes were red.

“Please come in. The master is awake. He will be happy to see both of you.”

Sedilroy said,

“Go to your father, Swan.”

The boy looked back at the opened bedroom with eyes filled with dread, a very different expression than when he was in the palace. Facing a dying father, whose complexion had so worsened that he was unrecognizable from his healthier days, was terrifying for the child.

It was a primal fear that came from watching the strong wall that protected him crumble, while he could only stand there helplessly.

Tears formed in Swan’s eyes as he saw a young servant of his own age carrying out a jar of medicine. He wrenched his hand free from Sedilroy’s grip and ran into the room.

“Father!”

From beyond the door, a voice mixed with tears sharply rang out. Sedilroy sighed deeply and looked at the head steward.

“I ran into Lord Hussle downstairs. I see you are aware of his visit.”

“Indeed…”

The head steward’s complexion darkened even more.

Sedilroy asked,

“Does he visit often?”

The steward hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

“Yes, he does. He says he’s visiting to pay his respects to the sick master, but…”

“That’s not his real purpose.”

Sedilroy cut him off, his voice tinged with sarcasm.
Baron Husle had long been eyeing the estate of Duke Glordon.

When the Duke fell ill and was confined to bed, it was Baron Husle who had gathered far more information than Sediloi or any other close associates concerned for him.

Calculating the chances of the Duke’s recovery and the remainder of his life, Husle impatiently awaited the day the Duke would finally return to the earth.

The Duke’s only child, Swan, and any young cousins were of no consequence to him. If Duke Glordon were to die, it was certain Husle would convince the judges to let him manage the Duke’s estate by any means necessary.

In such a case, Swan would be bound by Husle’s whims and suffer a lifetime of torment. Worst-case scenario, the possibility that Husle might harm Swan couldn’t be ruled out.

“Your Lordship worries too much. Your deep illness is further troubled by your concerns. The Count was already asking for you upon hearing you were in the capital, so it’s truly a blessing you came.”

Then it happened. A strenuous cough sounded several times from the bedroom beyond the door, followed by the patient’s hoarse voice.

“Sediloi.”

It was the Duke. The head servant stepped back and respectfully gestured towards the bedroom.

“Please enter, Your Excellency.”

Sediloi sighed deeply once again before entering the bedroom. The smell of medicine, the smell of sickness. All sorts of nauseating scents assaulted him, but he sat next to the bed with a faint smile as if nothing was wrong.

“Menaeo, you’re looking better.”

“Your Excellency, you grow more handsome day by day.”

As if he were addressing a close brother, Sediloi smiled and took the Duke’s hand with force. The hand was pitifully thin and frail, but he showed no sign of his sorrow.

“Swan.”

Upon the Duke’s call, a boy sitting on the opposite side who had been bowing his head raised it.

“Go to the kitchen and ask for chilled orange jelly.”

Swan quickly realized his father intended to send him away for a moment. When he obediently left, the head servant firmly closed the bedroom door, as if on cue.

Sediloi spoke.

“It seems you have something to say to me.”

The Duke nodded his head. When a cough erupted, Sediloi tried to help him take a sip from a small silver bowl at his bedside, but the Duke declined by pushing it away. He took a few heavy breaths, his head laid upon the pillow.

“Sediloi, I fear I won’t make it past this summer.”

“Don’t say such things, Menaeo. You’ll get better.”

The Duke weakly shook his head.

“No… I know my body best. I won’t ever rise under my own strength again. Soon, I’ll meet the end of my life on this bed. I have no regrets. It’s fine. But…”

Suddenly, Sediloi felt a burst of strength surge into the Duke’s hand he was holding. It was just a moment, but it was a strength filled with such unyielding will that it seemed impossible coming from a man who barely had the energy to speak.

The Duke said.

“I have a favor to ask of you.”