MTO C59

Chapter 59

“The funeral for your lord father is not yet concluded! And moreover, if you are to inherit the title, the proper formalities must—”

“I will not inherit the title.”

“Pardon?”

“That means House Eglence ends here.”

Young Master Kaidan’s words, spoken as Lawrence tried to hold him back, were cruel. His face even seemed faintly relieved, which cut Lawrence to the quick.

Lawrence could not understand. House Eglence was a great northern duchy; who in this world would refuse such glory? Perhaps the young master had already been granted a new title for his military merits. Perhaps he had been given fertile southern lands to govern. Had he not long left the North, returning only to bury his father? If he left again now, he would never come back.

Lawrence had no means to bind him to the castle. He was a mere servant—one who must endure blows in silence, hide breath when brutes ransacked the halls, and not even groan at the sight of comrades dead overnight. He had no power.

Therefore, he needed the young master.

“That cannot be.”

“Listen.”

“Please, do not abandon us.”

All he could do was bow his head and beg. And beg he would, to the end. If the young master left, Lawrence’s life would be a candle in the wind. Not only his—every soul bound to House Eglence had their fate in the young master’s hands.

“Everyone in Eglence Castle—and in Valois—has been waiting for your return. If you truly must leave, then cut my throat here first.”

“…What has happened in my absence?”

That day, Lawrence poured out a long account. It was a one‑sided lament, yet the young master listened until the very end. He asked for time to consider. Lawrence’s heart quailed, but there was nothing more he could do—save withdraw and pray. By grace, no carriage departed the castle that day.

He did not leave before the funeral concluded. And on the last day, Kaidan challenged the black knights to duels.

He won them all, brilliantly. The black knights vanished from the castle.

The lawful proceedings for succession commenced.

Young Master Kaidan became the new lord of Eglence.

“Surely you did not intend to make me the only one you work to death.”

When the newly invested Duke handed Lawrence the castle’s master key, Lawrence swore to serve him and his house until death.

Lawrence adjusted his attire meticulously, not a thread out of place, and knocked at the study door.

“My lord, Lawrence.”

“Enter.”

He bowed on stepping inside. Despite only just returning to the castle, the Duke was already buried under paperwork—matters piled up during his absence.

“You sent for me.”

“Mm. The guests—did they settle into their rooms?” the Duke asked without lifting his eyes from the documents.

“Yes. They must be tired from the long journey; baths are being prepared.”

“Before the bath, send something light to the Saint’s room. He hardly ate during supper, what with the children.”

The Duke’s lips even tilted in a small, wry smile. It was so rare that Lawrence was quietly taken aback. He made a note to check which documents lay before his lord.

“Yes. Anything further?”

“In spring, we’ll host a banquet. Invite the nobles.”

“…A banquet, my lord?”

Lawrence slipped—repeating words was unlike a competent butler, who should comprehend at once. But it was so unexpected. Banquets had once been frequent here, but after the late Duke took to bed, the nobles’ footsteps ceased.

Lawrence had long wanted to hold a banquet to announce the new Duke’s rule. His lord had refused—perhaps too long on campaign—disliking dances and feasts unlike other nobles.

“Yes. Since the Saint’s advent was proclaimed, they have hounded me from all sides. Left alone, they’ll soon bring their knights to abduct him. Prepare the guest list and the budget.”

“…What budget shall I set aside?”

“As much as needed. House Valois’s Saint must not seem trifling.”

Lawrence’s heart hammered. Family trees, alliances, provisions, decor—all clicked rapidly into place in his mind. Spring was not far, and the Great Hall’s current state was grim; time would be tight. He would pour all his skill and passion into this.

“I will prepare to the utmost.”

“I leave it in your hands.”

With that, the headache born of wrangling troublesome orphans washed away.

He was about to depart when something made him pause: a stack of parcels piled carelessly in one corner of the study.

“Viscount Casnile has sent a portrait of his second daughter,” he ventured.

Annoyance flickered over the Duke’s calm face. He flipped papers with a sharp gesture.

“Draft a polite refusal.”

“…And the portrait, my lord?”

“Toss it anywhere. I’ll deal with them all later.”

So the portraits sat, making a wall of parcels. Likely the Duke would never know they were the images of notable ladies—and sometimes young lords—from all over.

“Will you not need a partner for the banquet night?”

He should have withdrawn; his lord had given orders. Yet, inexplicably, Lawrence spoke once more. The Duke, who had not lifted his eyes from the documents since Lawrence entered, frowned and raised his head.

“The star of the banquet is the Saint. If I need a partner, it will be him.”

“…When spring comes, invitations for balls will arrive from other houses as well.”

“I’ve enough with my duties. I’ve no time to dally at leisure.”

“The Casnile family controls an ice‑free port, my lord.”

Lawrence regretted it at once. He had crossed a line. The Duke’s eyes flared, black fire that could have burned Lawrence to ash. The room’s air grew harsh; Lawrence’s throat tightened.

“Forgive me. Punish me as you see fit.”

“No, well said. Now I know exactly how little you think of me.”

“My lord—”

“Break with the viscount and winter sea lanes freeze. Valois has few fishermen but many merchants. Winters, already hard, would grow worse.”

Lawrence opened his mouth to plead, but the Duke did not permit it.

“I do understand how nobles operate. If Casnile owns an ice‑free port, Eglence owns mines and forests. It would not be only us who suffered should ties fray.”

Though he spoke from his seat, Lawrence felt as if he were being looked down upon from a height. Since his investiture, the Duke had never raised a hand to the servants, yet discipline never slackened. His presence alone set him above all.

“Do not worry. At least in my own hall, I’ll play the jester properly.”

The tension eased in an instant; the Duke’s expression looked almost bitter.

Lawrence realized his words had been taken in the opposite sense he intended. But he was not allowed excuses. He bowed his head.

“This wretch’s wit is poor.”

“Go. Your bath water will chill.”

Dismissed, Lawrence withdrew. Only after the door closed did he wipe the sweat from his brow. His knees had nearly buckled; he had almost disgraced himself at his lord’s feet.

In the late Duke’s day, a servant’s defiance was unthinkable. His word had been law. If such an exchange had occurred then, Lawrence would not have walked out.

This did not mean he despised the current Duke. On the contrary, he was far more devoted. That was why he had spoken out of turn: his lord needed a partner to share the burden and a haven to ease his toil. Political marriages rarely bred tenderness, but a wise Duchess would lighten the governance.

In truth, Lawrence bore guilt for being the one who had bound his lord to the North.