Chapter 78

“Leonhart Albert William.”

Leon bowed deeply before the Queen, his posture rigid. He kept both hands clasped firmly against his abdomen, an affectation intended to signal deference but designed, in truth, to shroud the jagged wound marring his left palm. The maneuver, however, proved futile against the Queen’s predatory perception. Her gaze descended, locking onto the blood-stained bandage with icy precision. When she clicked her tongue, the sound cut through the air like a whetted blade.

“I granted you leave to roam for the express purpose of broadening your horizons, yet your recent, unchecked self-indulgence has become impossible to overlook.”

A prudent man would have bowed his head in silence, accepting the reprimand with grace. Leon, however, had never been the sort to swallow his pride. He offered a negligent shrug, meeting her glare with effortless insolence. “Self-indulgence? How wounding, Mother. You are well aware of the vigor with which I have pursued the duties you entrusted to me. Why, I have spent these past months diligently inspecting raptors at the borderlands and surveying the most desolate of the frontier districts.”

“Ha.”

The Queen could only exhale, momentarily stripped of speech by the sheer audacity of his fabrication. It was true that she frequently burdened Leon with official mandates, yet these were mere pretexts—a thin veil to conceal the shame of a prince long past his marriageable age, aimlessly drifting across the realm while forsaking his duties at court.

If word reached her that Leon was gallivanting along the southern coast, she would dispatch an urgent order for him to oversee customs operations. If news arrived of him shuttering himself away in a university library to read, she would retroactively task him with cataloging archaic documents regarding the royal bloodline. Though the Queen despised inefficiency and ensured the work was genuinely vital to the state, she remained painfully aware that Leon complied not out of dynastic loyalty, but because the assignments satisfied his own erratic whims and curiosity.

“Then are you attempting to convince me that the recent fracas was also a result of a direct order?”

“That was…”

“If you possess the faculties of speech, use them. Are you truly ignorant of the fact that the smallest spill of blood at the border can ignite a catastrophic dispute between nations?”

Leon hesitated, the weight of his guilt momentarily stalling his tongue. Sensing the precariousness of his position, he pivoted toward histrionics, feigning a pathetic fragility. “Mother, do you not see the cost of that commotion? I was nearly maimed. I almost lost my left hand.”

“Your propensity for exaggeration is tiresome. I have already received a full account; it was a superficial nick at best. More importantly, have you considered the condition of the man you struck? The eldest son of the Duke of Rochefort nearly lost his life.”

When the appeal to maternal sympathy withered, Leon adopted an air of calculated brazenness. “In a duel between gentlemen, it is customary for the matter to be laid to rest, regardless of the injuries sustained.”

“And that is precisely why I am demanding to know why you saw fit to engage in a duel with a foreign noble at the border!”

The Queen’s wrath finally descended like a thunderclap. Leon, who since childhood had preferred the sting of open confrontation to the cowardice of excuses, reluctantly laid bare the truth. “The man was harassing and humiliating a female teacher in front of her pupils. I could not stand by and witness such indignity.”

That day, white-hot fury had surged through him, leading him to cast his glove at the man’s feet without a shred of foresight. He had beaten the wretch to a pulp, only to receive a telegram demanding his immediate return to the capital—a summons he was forced to heed. Who could have anticipated that the man he had dismantled was the scion of a neighboring duke?

The Queen’s features softened, the edge of her fury dulling. It was a situation that would have tested the temperament of any man of status. Sensing the shift, Leon pressed his advantage, framing his reckless violence as a manifestation of her own teachings. “You have always told me, Mother, that the royal family must possess the heart to defend the weak. I believed that opposing him was the only way to honor your will.”

“…”

“Had I known the man’s station, I would have proceeded with greater caution. Please accept my apologies for the distress I have caused.”

The Queen’s expression smoothed, though she offered a stern reprimand. “Regardless, Leon, you ought to have pursued a path other than a duel.”

“But did Your Majesty not command me to live without revealing my identity while I traveled? What other method could have served?”

Watching Leon feign humility only to parry with such sharp logic, the Queen sighed. The chill returning to her eyes triggered an ominous premonition in him. “That is a puzzle you must solve for yourself. It seems you also require time to contemplate the meaning of responsibility. I am assigning you another task.”

“A task? What are you implying?”

“The House of Rochefort is scouring the continent for the man who humiliated their heir. To prevent a diplomatic rupture, you must vanish. Follow this directive without complaint.”

Desiring no part in an avoidable war, Leon accepted the decree and set out for Savar. Still, his rebellious streak endured; the moment he crossed the sea, he eschewed the mines in favor of a month-long excursion, pretending to be occupied with matters of little consequence. He drifted toward the mining district only when the novelty of the exotic continent finally paled. He found it peculiar that no one had pressed him for his overdue inspection report.

“What? You have already submitted the first report?”

“My deepest apologies, Your Highness. Her Majesty kept demanding to know why no report had arrived and what you were doing, and we had no answers to offer. We organized the data as best we could and submitted it ourselves.”

Upon his arrival, he discovered the royal official in charge had finalized everything. There was even a letter from the Queen, teeming with praise for a report she attributed solely to Leon’s brilliance. Bewildered, Leon scrutinized the documents. The analysis was precise, detailing production volumes and costs alongside a masterfully efficient mining plan derived from the surrounding geography.

“This does not appear to be your work.”

“I provided the foundation, Your Highness… but I received assistance.”

“Whose?”

“That is… he is an outsider, but his expertise in mining is extraordinary.”

Under interrogation, the supervisor revealed that the benefactor was a Count who had recently begun developing a new vein nearby. To Leon, the coincidence felt deeply suspicious. While nobles occasionally funded overseas ventures, they rarely meddled in the management of mines they did not own. Why would a Count personally haunt this harsh, desolate landscape to oversee a rival operation? Did he seek to curry favor with the royal family by ingratiating himself with their interests, or was he digging for secrets? Leon felt the pull of the investigation. He turned to the supervisor, his expression grave. “I must meet this Count.”

Guided to the neighboring mine, Leon found not a stately manor, but a crumbling shack assembled from haphazard timber. Inside, a slender man adjusted his spectacles, greeting him with unsettling composure. “I hear you requested an audience. Welcome. I am Rupert Ernest Hetherton, Count of Ravenwell.”

That was the moment Leon first laid eyes on Elwin’s father, the Count of Ravenwell.