Chapter 52. I Know My Wife Better

2023.11.21.

Bollonico whispered to her without blinking even once.

“But with Ariesta Grand Duchess around, how could Bollonico possibly favor you? There must be a reason, a justification. Only if Bollonico knows a secret so deeply buried that the entire family hides it could he ever consider making you the protagonist. Try giving Bollonico such a reason, Lady Regina.”

The rumor that First Prince Bollonico had a ‘hidden’ lover was already widespread.

If Bollonico chose Ariesta Grand Duchess as his partner for the ball instead of Regina, Regina would be utterly humiliated.

The attention focused on Bollonico and Regina would be entirely different from that surrounding Dreykub Treloni.

One thing was certain—this was the best choice she could make.

With the imperial debutante ball less than a month away,

cornered beyond escape, Regina finally spoke:

“…There is a side room in Father’s study.”

A brief piece of information about a space that even Garrett Pelliese had never allowed Frederick or Regina herself to enter began to emerge.

Her bright blue eyes gleamed sharply as they curved.

***

“An estate inspection?”

“Yes. Not the entire estate, of course. Just a taste. Even just this Central Roxenhardt.”

This suggestion came from Lancelot, who had been closely observing the miracle of Clade personally reviewing reports—

a face now much closer to normal.

Clade’s frequency of taking headache medicine had noticeably decreased, and his previously sensitive behavior had visibly calmed.

It was only natural that Lancelot hoped Clade would gradually resume the duties he himself had been carrying.

“Even though Roxenhardt technically belongs to Marquis Rev’s territory, once you’re granted the title of Count Roxenhardt, all rights belong to you, don’t they?”

The Black Mansion was located at the far northwestern edge of the Euphris territory, within Marquis Rev’s domain—

an officially recognized estate known as the “County of Roxenhardt.”

This vast land, densely forested in patches, had belonged to Clade’s mother, the late Empress Eleonore. Upon her death, the title and estate naturally passed down to Clade.

Although it fell under Marquis Rev’s jurisdiction and thus required tax payments, due to the Marquis family’s consideration, only a minuscule tax was levied, and it flowed directly into Clade’s coffers each quarter.

“Is there even anything worth seeing? Ten years ago, there were barely any people there.”

“There is. It hasn’t slummed yet, but many people from the capital and nearby estates who tried hard to survive but failed end up migrating to such remote areas.”

This was due to Emperor Igor’s tyranny, which made life increasingly difficult with each passing day.

Obsessed with hunting and indulgence, he neglected state affairs entirely, allowing powerful noble families who shared governance to rise in power.

However, the Emperor’s reign of terror was so severe that even royal authority remained unshaken.

It was an era where everyone walked on thin ice.

“I heard you even visited our family cemetery? After ten years, if the lord finally shows his face, aren’t you curious how the people will react?”

“Not really.”

The reason people quietly trickled into Roxenhardt was simple.

Though Clade had withdrawn from governance for the past ten years, he had never raised taxes even once. And anyone who reclaimed barren land could lease it long-term. As long as one worked hard, there was still hope of scraping by.

While the nation maximized tax burdens, naturally, regional lords followed suit aggressively.

But Roxenhardt remained slightly outside that norm—so even though the crops from its barren soil were meager, it was still better than having everything taken away elsewhere.

Thus, many people came.

Naturally, their feelings toward their lord, the ‘monster’ exiled prince, were far from hatred or contempt.

He existed, yet gave no news—so while not quite reverence, the general sentiment was that their lord was at least better than others.

Lancelot, having heard that Clade had begun leaving his bedroom more frequently, hoped that this opportunity would somehow lead Clade to tend to his land outside the mansion.

Privately, it was the wish of a friend who didn’t want him to hide away any longer. Publicly, it was the hope that Clade would one day speak out against the Emperor, who ruled with terror—just as his brother Eddie Rev wished.

But whether or not he understood Lancelot’s feelings, Clade wore an indifferent expression at his cousin’s suggestion to tour his land.

Lancelot narrowed his eyes at the predictably apathetic response and murmured:

“I heard your wife has never left White Forest either—except when visiting the Rev family cemetery.”

“What? She’s busy every day going to the chapel or somewhere.”

Clade lightly gestured toward the window with his chin.

Yuan was chattering as she joined the line fetching water.

Unable to visit her sister’s grave frequently in reality, Yuan often went to a small chapel where she kept a memorial tablet, praying for her sister’s peace.

Lancelot studied Clade’s expression—clearly displeased at his wife going out—for a long while, then slowly lifted the corners of his lips.

Ah, so that’s it.

“She must be feeling ‘suffocated,’ I suppose. It’s about time this mansion feels ‘suffocating’ to her. How many months has it been since she arrived? She keeps using the chapel as an excuse to go out—she probably just wants some fresh air. You suffocating fool. You don’t understand women at all.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“At least when it comes to women, I understand them better than you.”

Clade, watching a supply cart cross the iron fence into White Forest, tossed the documents on the table toward Lancelot’s lap as if throwing them.

“Maybe you understand women in general, but I know my wife better.”

“Oh? Wife?”

Lancelot’s face flushed rapidly, his smiling lips stretching wide to both sides.

“….”

“Wife? My wife? Not long ago, you called her something like a ‘sick crow’… ‘annoying’… something like that, and told me to take her away. Now it’s ‘my’ wife?”

“Shut up. Get out.”

“I told you—if you can’t be affectionate at night, at least treat her well during the day. And now you seem quite close. You should admit my advice was quite effective.”

Still grinning, Lancelot struggled to suppress his upturned lips. He turned to Clade, who had abruptly turned his head away as if refusing to listen, and spoke again.

“You received a gift from your wife, didn’t you? If something comes in, something should go out.”

He was referring to the west wing annex.

Seeing the faint redness now creeping into the back of Clade’s neck—silent in response—Lancelot smirked and left the bedroom.

Judging by the reaction, there seemed to be no need for concern.

As Lancelot exited the mansion, he instructed a loyal subordinate waiting outside the fence to always check whether the exiled prince’s consort had any discomfort or needs at the chapel, then swiftly mounted his horse.

Suddenly, glancing back at the distant Black Mansion, a strange feeling stirred in his heart.

Though only a tiny corner on the left, the fact that one part had regained its red color brought a flickering hope, like waves splashing at his ankles, that something might change from now on.

****

That afternoon, during lunch.

At an unexpected proposal waiting for Yuan after her return from the chapel, Yuan’s eyes widened to the size of bowls.

“An estate inspection?”

Her busy hands, arranging newly gathered herbs in the west wing courtyard, slowed slightly.

“An estate…”

As Yuan murmured blankly, Clade quietly said:

“So don’t go fetch water tomorrow.”

“An estate inspection…”

“Since the mistress keeps singing ‘mistress, mistress,’ why not act like one for once?”

“So… is this like our first date… or something?”

Clade’s flustered gaze met Yuan’s eyes, which had begun to softly sparkle.

Her flushed face looked up at him, filled with anticipation.

…A disaster.

***

Yuan chattered all day about the estate inspection.

Clade, who had only ever seen her quiet or annoyed, now silently watched her, mouth closed, as she wore this flushed, expectant expression for the first time.

Yuan Pelliese seemed to have even greater hopes for his estate.

“I’ve actually never been into the village before. Last time I rented a carriage, I only picked it up at the forest entrance leading to the village—I didn’t even get to see it. And even if I could have, I probably wouldn’t have had the mind to look…”

“Do you really need to be this excited? It’s just a village tour.”

Yuan blinked her large eyes.

Hesitating at his indifferent reaction, she soon lowered her gaze.

“I’ve never done anything like a village tour before.”

The courtyard of the annex fell silent as her chattering voice disappeared.

Clade stood sideways, arms crossed, looking down at Yuan fiddling with the herbs she had already laid out.

“I’ve been in the Pelliese mansion since I was very little. The closest thing to a village tour was when Marquis Companni briefly stopped in a village to buy me earmuffs and gloves because I looked cold when I came here. That, and briefly staying at an inn there.”

Yuan scratched her cheek, recalling the day she’d arrived, nearly lifeless after Louise’s death, carried like an object.

Clade gave no reply.

Though he had secluded himself in the Black Mansion for ten years, Clade had traveled across the nation from childhood, accompanying the men of the Rev family and occasionally his father, the late Emperor.

After entering the academy, he had traveled neighboring countries every holiday with Lancelot Rev.

Even after ten years of shutting himself away, the landscapes and people he had seen as a child hadn’t vanished from his memory.

The monsters pushing down from the north.

The vast wheat fields in the east.

The endless desert in the west and the warm coastline in the south.

Even buried in this Black Mansion, fragments of those small and large memories occasionally brightened his heart.

Of course, over the past ten years, those same memories had sometimes turned into hellish recollections—but mostly, they remained.

“…It’s nothing special.”

At the low voice cutting through the rustling sounds, Yuan lifted her head to look up at him.

“They’ll probably say, ‘If you’d just stayed home, you wouldn’t have had to suffer like this,’ and want to return.”

A faint trace of sorrow flickered in her large, dark eyes.

Clade, puzzled by why his clumsy comfort made her feel sad, fell silent for a moment, staring at her eyes welling up with tears.

“But I still want to go…”

The woman, trembling her lower lip and holding back tears, answered in a choked voice.

“Don’t leave me behind. Please take me. You said you’d take me.”

A faint tone of reproach.

Clade slowly blinked, then finally exhaled a weary sigh rising from deep within his chest.

At that sound, the woman—perhaps interpreting it in her own way—remained crouched, lowering her head again.

Her pale fingertips, fiddling with the herbs, trembled slightly.

Clade suppressed a low chuckle slipping through his lips, wiped his expression clean, then reached out and gently pulled Yuan’s wrist upward.

Yuan, limply rising, lacked the courage to meet his eyes and instead buried her face deeply into his broad chest.

Instead of pushing her away, Clade made a suggestion.

“Tell me what you’d like to do outside.”

Her buried face pressed even deeper into his chest instead of answering.

Clade gripped both her shoulders, pulled her closer, and gently urged again in a low voice:

“If you’re too embarrassed to say it, write it down.”

After rubbing her flushed eyes against his chest for a long moment, Yuan gave a tiny nod.

Once more, a short, slow breath whispered over the top of her clean, smooth scalp.

A low vibration originating from Clade’s chest gently tapped her cheek.

Yuan held her breath for a moment, then slowly lifted her head to look up at him.

Clade was smiling faintly.

It was no accident.

Nor was it mockery.

For some reason, he had briefly smiled—because of her.

Like a child caught doing something wrong, Yuan buried her face in his chest again.

‘His Highness… smiled.’

Her face burned, her neck itched—she felt unbearable.