93. Someone’s Attitude Toward Scandals

2024.01.01.

“Bring a woman before sunset.”

“Woman? What woman?”

“Anyone. Just not a black-haired one.”

“Good thinking, Clade!”

Unlike the flustered Lancelot, Eddie felt Clade had finally regained his senses completely. Immediately, he ordered his personal secretary, Sir Maxim, to bring several exceptionally attractive courtesans and shoved them all into Clade’s bedroom.

Sometimes there was just one, sometimes two, and at most, five.

Initially, women who wouldn’t even come for gold, terrified of being summoned to the monstrous crown prince’s castle, now began contacting them first—having heard rumors they could earn money by sharing a bed with a handsome member of the royal family.

But Eddie remained cautious, selecting only those who had long resided within the territories of Roxenhardt or Marquis Rev, and sent them into the Black Mansion.

Women who arrived just before sunset and vanished before sunrise—yet somehow, word spread among the servants, and their expressions remained consistently grim.

Especially Head Chef Ralph, who would spit on the ground behind women leaving the estate, clutching a pouch of gold and riding away in a carriage bearing the Roxenhardt crest.

The loud footsteps echoed every morning, accompanied by grumbling that seemed to vent resentment toward a master now leading a dissolute life.

But Clade remained completely unmoved.

If anything, his demeanor only grew more dangerously decadent, fitting the rumors of his debauchery.

Lancelot tried to voice objections about this reckless lifestyle, but fell silent upon hearing Clade’s cold, calm opinion, backed firmly by Eddie.

“Igor Euphris doesn’t want to see me living as a normal man. He’d much prefer the rumor that I’m not a monster locked in the Black Castle, but a deranged fool wandering outside, unfit for society.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Let them say Crown Prince Clade Euphris, once cured of his illness and with his face cleared, began roaming the entire territory chasing women. Let them add that he even boldly sought a title so he could pursue women in other territories. That’s the reputation I want.”

While Lancelot stood dumbfounded, Eddie’s reaction was enthusiastic.

He welcomed Clade’s method of erasing every trace of Yuan Pelliese.

He also welcomed the idea that this licentious nightlife would ultimately lower the Emperor’s guard.

He had previously raged, claiming Clade’s judgment could no longer be trusted—yet now, he completely changed his stance as if that never happened.

Even Lancelot, though worried, could do nothing but allow Clade and Eddie’s actions to continue.

After all, the Emperor must have already heard—and heard enough—about the estrangement between the Crown Prince and his wife, yet had not uttered a single word.

The eyes and ears circling the Black Mansion would have immediately reacted to suspicious rumors.

The Emperor didn’t need to personally hold a title-granting ceremony. After all, inheriting titles was a noble’s inherent right.

Yet the Emperor summoned Clade to the Imperial Palace and personally conducted the ceremony to actively support Clade’s social reentry—for only one reason:

“He wants to see Clade with his own eyes.”

Lancelot narrowed his eyes, furrowing his brow.

It was obvious how Clade would behave at this invitation.

The crown prince, freed from his curse and turned into a reckless rogue.

This was the perfect opportunity to fully claim that title and gain the freedom to move freely across the Empire.

A lowered level of imperial suspicion would be far more advantageous for Clade.

If Clade’s goal wasn’t merely to step outside, but to take Igor Euphris’s head, staying within the territory alone wouldn’t suffice.

Lancelot felt sympathy for the tragic state of Clade and Yuan, but if Clade was determined to erase his wounds—even by spending nights with other women—and pursue his desired path, then he was ready to support him.

After all, hadn’t this very strategy successfully crushed Bolonico Euphris’s malicious schemes at once?

Lancelot turned his gaze toward Clade, who deserved to savor this victory without hiding his rising smile.

“Clade?”

Contrary to his expectation that Clade would issue cold, inhumanly detached instructions about the next plan,

Clade, surrounded by piles of newspapers and gossip sheets hastily gathered, was unnervingly still.

His gaze was fixed on the sensational headlines decorating the gossip magazines—stories of love triangles involving himself, Bolonico Euphris, and Yuan Pelliese.

Lancelot Rev’s eyes narrowed.

The past few weeks had been chaotic for the Rev brothers.

While Eddie scoured the entire territory to summon courtesans to the Black Mansion, Lancelot gathered official documents Clade had missed and delivered them to him.

Eddie, usually buried in paperwork, wasn’t accustomed to hunting down courtesans, while Lancelot, more skilled at document sorting than Eddie, still took time—making the brothers twice as exhausted.

It would’ve been much smoother if they had swapped roles, but at the time, Lancelot was skeptical about bringing other women to Clade, and Eddie disliked Lancelot’s hesitation.

Eddie probably thought that if Lancelot handled it, he’d once again start preaching about ‘love’ and动摇 Clade’s resolve.

Each morning after the women left, Clade sat at his office desk with a rigid, expressionless face, reading and signing the documents Lancelot placed before him.

Over time, the servants’ grim expressions gradually turned into resignation.

Having seen it all, they reached the point of simply pretending not to notice the mistress leaving and the stream of women entering the mansion daily.

Eddie went a step further, deliberately giving them free time and encouraging them to go out.

Though the servants were tight-lipped, some rumors inevitably leaked out.

And there was no reason to stop them. Those vulgar rumors would ultimately make Clade safer.

Vivid firsthand accounts, passed through servants’ mouths, had already spread beyond the iron fence of the Black Mansion and across the entire territory.

Voices complained that their master, freed from the curse, now ran wild like an untamed colt.

Eddie occasionally intervened to shape the rumors precisely to his desired extent and range. Once the rumors reached a certain level, he began commuting directly to the mansion every day, supporting Clade in every possible way.

Since Yuan Pelliese had left,

as far as Lancelot knew, Clade Euphris had not once stepped outside his office.

Even when bringing strange women into the mansion, he only received them in his office or the adjacent resting room.

Clade’s expression had remained utterly calm ever since, and the office atmosphere had always been peaceful—until now.

“Clade, what’s wrong?”

Thus, Lancelot Rev immediately sensed the strangely chilling atmosphere.

“Even Clade must have a lot on his mind, going to the capital. Receiving a title from Igor Euphris himself. That title originally belonged to your aunt, yet he’s pretending to grant it himself by holding a grand ceremony. Clade must be furious.”

Was that really it?

Yet such an event was undoubtedly one of the scenarios Clade had anticipated.

“Don’t worry, Clade. This time, they won’t be able to openly show their suspicion. They’ve invited you to the palace—what would they gain by killing you or humiliating you? It would only put them in an awkward position. They already caused a scandal at the debutante ball—another one like this? If trust in the Imperial Family drops any further, they won’t be able to expect loyalty from the nobles.”

Eddie, who had been confidently echoing Clade’s arguments as if they were his own, roughly tidied the newspapers, looking quite satisfied as he stood up.

“Just as they’re watching us closely, the Emperor is too. But we can’t predict what Bolonico Euphris might do, so we should prepare thoroughly. Increase the guards and organize the procession. We’ll need to hurry to be ready by next week.”

“Fine.”

“Go wild at the title ceremony, Your Highness the reckless crown prince.”

Eddie replied to Clade’s brief answer with a cheerful step as he left the office. Left alone with Clade, Lancelot slowly lit the lamps in the darkening room.

Looking around the sparsely lit office, Lancelot quietly watched Clade, who was now leaning against the window.

The cool breeze from the wide-open window repeatedly tousled and smoothed Clade’s golden hair.

His jewel-like eyes, fixed and emotionless, stared blankly outside.

Whenever the sun set and the moon began to rise, Clade Euphris would always stand there, gazing outward.

Lancelot slowly approached and followed Clade’s line of sight. There, the garden—completely transformed after ten years—lay before them.

Neatly trimmed greenery was interspersed with vibrant flower beds blooming in clustered zones.

The crisp, characteristic air of Roxenhardt carried the sweet scent of spring, settling gently between Lancelot and Clade.

Only before their very eyes did spring bloom vividly, against the backdrop of the White Forest, which forever held winter’s cold gaze.

“Are you mentally prepared to go to the Imperial Palace?”

Lancelot carefully broached the subject.

Eddie might not have noticed, but Lancelot was slowly realizing why Clade seemed subtly different from usual.

While Eddie rejoiced over Clade’s childhood portrait crushing Bolonico’s scandal,

while even Lancelot himself couldn’t hide his rising smile,

he had finally guessed where the protagonist Clade’s gaze had truly been directed.

A faint sound of breath escaped Clade’s delicate nose tip.

His lips showed only a dry, humorless smile, not lifting at the corners.

“What kind of preparation is needed?”

“It’s your title-granting ceremony. If you’re determined to ruin it, anyone could jump in.”

“Bolonico?”

A faint smile flickered across his marble-hard face.

It looked remarkably composed. Clade answered as if weary.

“Did I really need to prepare my heart just to meet Bolonico Euphris?”

His slightly gaunt but perfectly chiseled jaw lifted arrogantly.

Clade swept back his golden hair, slightly disheveled by the wind.

At the sight of Clade—pale, flawless, like a divine creation itself—Lancelot voiced not admiration, but concern.

“Not Bolonico. I’m asking if you’re ready to face the lady who’ll be with him.”