123. The First Bride

2024.01.31.

Empress Marilyn wore a thoroughly disgusted expression toward the men of the Euphris royal family.

“Men. No matter how many times they disgrace themselves by indulging their lower desires, they never learn. Even noble blood is no exception.”

She didn’t seem to expect a particularly enthusiastic response from Yuan. Empress Marilyn leaned back in her chair, pressing a wrinkled servant for more wine. Then, suddenly catching sight of Tasha, she smiled brightly.

“In that sense, our Noel is truly a mutant.”

Unaware of Tasha’s forced smile, Empress Marilyn sank deeper into her seat, narrowing her eyes.

She had been unusually irritable lately, burdened by lingering fatigue and mental exhaustion.

Then, suddenly recalling what Emperor Igor had once said about Yuan—that she was “delicious”—her eyes snapped wide open.

She stared fixedly at Yuan, who was sipping wine absentmindedly.

Truthfully, aside from Emperor Igor’s lewd gaze, her impression of Yuan up to this point hadn’t been bad at all.

In fact, if Yuan’s family had been of higher standing and she had been unmarried, Empress Marilyn had even daydreamed that she might make a suitable match for the quiet Noel.

The fact that Yuan knew about Noel’s condition—a secret even Tasha didn’t yet know—and still treated him kindly had earned her significant favor.

Yes, Yuan Pelliese was a mutant too.

If Yuan were truly the infamous seductress rumored to have entered the palace to ensnare Emperor Igor and the rest of the royal men, she wouldn’t have followed the Empress on her journey—she would’ve stayed behind in the palace.

But she hadn’t. That alone was enough to dissolve the last remnants of Empress Marilyn’s suspicion.

And wasn’t that precisely why Bollonico had allowed Yuan to remain undisturbed in the Empress’s quarters?

Because the Emperor couldn’t openly bring a woman there.

When you thought about it, there was no place safer and further from the Emperor’s gaze than the Empress’s residence.

But as soon as this thought occurred to her, Empress Marilyn began to feel humiliated.

To be free from the Emperor’s gaze and safe meant the Empress’s quarters were outside the Emperor’s interest.

Feeling her fingertips grow cold, Empress Marilyn scrutinized Yuan’s pale face again and again.

‘She doesn’t resemble Eleonore.’

But that was fine.

Empress Marilyn understood Igor’s tastes better than anyone.

But had he ever been picky about tastes when taking a woman?

Distorted by unpleasant thoughts, Marilyn soon stiffened and abruptly snapped back to her senses.

Shaking her head, she admitted to herself that she was drunk.

She couldn’t possibly hate the former Crown Princess Consort so suddenly, when they had previously gotten along passably.

No—truthfully, she didn’t want to see anyone’s face right now.

As Empress Marilyn left for her bedroom with the elderly servants under the excuse of drunkenness, Yuan pressed her sweaty palms against her clothes to dry them and clenched her fists tightly.

Her entire body was trembling.

Unlike Tasha, who had collapsed into unconscious sleep the night before, Yuan hadn’t slept a single proper wink.

She had hidden the bag containing her sister’s letter beneath the bed, and spent the night staring blankly into the air, as if watching the rise and fall of her own breath in the darkness.

She was dazed by the fact that she had to face Clade again here, when she thought their paths had ended forever. But no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, the old servants’ reports that Clade had spent countless nights since arriving in the south, indulging wildly with dozens of women, made her tremble so violently she had to wrap her arms tightly around herself.

Eventually, not long after Empress Marilyn had left, Yuan rose from her seat and headed toward her room.

As Eugene Kimfri followed close behind like a shadow, Yuan’s tension reached its peak.

“Lord Kimfri, surely you haven’t fully recovered from your fatigue. Is it really necessary to stick so closely to me even here?”

Yuan, who normally accepted her guards silently, responded sharply as she climbed the dark staircase. Eugene Kimfri replied calmly.

“If you refrain from acting suspiciously on your own, there will be no need for me to follow so closely.”

“Suspicious behavior?”

“You’ve been hiding your physical condition and even inhaling strange medicines, haven’t you?”

Yuan froze mid-step as the reply came the moment they entered the corridor.

It wasn’t particularly suspicious behavior, but Yuan had deliberately avoided drawing attention, quietly coughing up blood and snorting medicine through her nose in silence.

It was clear now—the man had been watching her intently, not just on that carriage ride, but in other places as well.

Yuan had willingly come south with the Empress to escape Bollonico’s watch and plan her next move.

Yet now, she was constantly under Eugene Kimfri’s gaze from the outside, and Tasha’s watchful eyes from within. Her plan to review her books and her sister’s letters during the journey south had completely fallen apart.

Yuan concluded she had every right to voice her frustration to Eugene Kimfri.

“What does that have to do with why you’re guarding me so zealously? I can’t help but feel this isn’t protection—it’s surveillance.”

“Whether you receive protection or surveillance depends entirely on Your Highness’s cooperation.”

His sharp yellow eyes lingered on her slightly flushed cheek—tinged with the effects of alcohol—then bowed formally before vanishing before her door.

Yuan glared at his retreating back.

‘A man whose allegiance is unclear—friend or foe.’

Once she confirmed he was the enemy, she would test her abilities on him instead of Bollonico—no matter what!

***

Already the 11th.

Lancelot kept jumping up and sitting back down, counting the women leaving Clade’s bedroom.

“He’s insane. Absolutely.”

“Just get used to it.”

“What kind of drug is he on? How can one man take so many women in a single night? It’s impossible.”

“How could we possibly understand the power of the great Swordmaster?”

Unlike Eddie Rev, who lounged comfortably on the plush sofa reading a newspaper, Lancelot sat stiffly at the edge of the opposite sofa, tensely counting the women descending the stairs.

He had repeatedly warned Clade how destructive this method of coping was to his own body!

Not only was he still taking sleeping pills he claimed to have quit, but after returning from the title-granting ceremony, he had started bringing women in again—women who had previously been quiet. Anxiety began to rise once more in Lancelot’s heart.

“I told you to focus your energy elsewhere, and now you’re spiraling into endless debauchery—”

Just as Lancelot considered shouting to stop this madness.

Federico Companni appeared in the parlor, accompanied by the townhouse steward.

Seeing both Rev brothers seated in the lobby, he flinched and glanced around nervously.

Behind him, three women destined for Clade stood veiled.

Lancelot, his face flushed red with boiling anger, strode toward Federico, who hesitantly approached.

Federico had been coming and going with women every day for the past few days—but only as far as the front of the townhouse.

He had never approached before, nor been invited. A man who used to send women in to meet Clade’s rumored preferences, yet never dared come near the townhouse itself—what wind had blown him inside today?

And how many was this now?

Even if the women came willingly, wasn’t this going too far?

“Today you’ve only brought three? Ah, but you’ve already sent over ten since dusk, so perhaps that’s why?”

“Good evening, Lord Lancelot.”

“If our lord isn’t trying to work himself to death, then why are you moving so swiftly?”

“Haha.”

The middle-aged gentleman, worn by fatigue, swept back his blond hair and accepted Lancelot’s rudeness with a smile.

Eddie Rev folded his newspaper, clicked his tongue, and stood up.

With the veiled women and the Rev brothers trailing behind, Federico climbed the stairs, constantly glancing around nervously as if worried someone might be watching.

Sweating profusely, he carefully observed the Rev brothers until the very last moment, took a deep breath, and knocked on Clade’s bedroom door.

Soon, a faint stir came from within, and one veiled woman opened the door, bowed deeply, and passed by them.

“Twelve…” Lancelot muttered, eyes blazing, and barged into the open bedroom.

This time, he intended to raid the place and confront Clade for his depraved, slovenly state.

But the room, expected to be hot and humid, was surprisingly dry—and even slightly cool despite the south’s muggy weather.

Clade, whom he expected to be lazily sprawled on the bed, was instead standing by the window, wearing a bathrobe, quietly sipping alcohol—just as he had been before the twelve women entered.

There were no discarded clothes or traces of women—neither on the bed, nor the armchair, nor the small table or sofa.

“W-what? What did you even do?”

Lancelot, now flustered himself, asked this despite having barged in uninvited.

Clade’s eyes, clouded with weariness, passed over Lancelot’s bewildered face and Eddie’s similarly confused expression, then settled on the respectfully standing Federico Companni and the three women.

“You’ve finally come.”

Clade’s eyes, previously dull and low, now sparkled with interest.

“I thought you’d skipped the greeting since you always run off right after dropping them off at the front.”

Federico flinched at the sarcastic tone and replied.

“Forgive my rudeness, my lord. Since Her Majesty the Empress has arrived at her family estate… I waited for the public’s attention to shift there. This seemed the most appropriate moment to pay my respects.”

The Rev brothers exchanged glances, puzzled by the apparent familiarity between Federico and Clade.

“Besides, this young lady insisted she must meet the Count in person.”

The woman in the center of the three stepped forward and stood beside Federico Companni.

“Once again, thank you for saving my daughter’s life, my lord.”

Federico Companni bowed halfway, his voice trembling with gratitude.

Then, as the woman removed her veil and lowered her head, the Rev brothers’ eyes widened in shock.

The woman standing beside Federico Companni was the first bride sent by the imperial family to Clade immediately after he turned twenty—the one whose engagement to Ariesta had been canceled.

The one reported to have died of an unknown illness—Lily Companni.