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Chapter 247
The letter had never actually reached him, but the Archduke skillfully twisted the truth with lies.
Perhaps he had already suspected as much—Richard didn’t show a flicker of surprise.
The Archduke continued in a calm tone.
“That’s what it said. That Teresa’s daughter is alive. That she sent the child to her real father.”
He spoke as if he had truly read the letter, his expression drifting into reverie.
But in truth, what surfaced in his mind was more fantasy than memory.
In his imagination, Teresa sat quietly, carefully pressing each letter onto the page, longing for her young daughter, Iona.
At the end, she wrote a plea—one that entrusted the girl to him because she believed in him. A request to please, please take good care of her.
Maybe the Archduke genuinely believed it to be true.
Because if he didn’t… there was no way to rein in this relentless longing.
“I’d like to see that letter.”
“It no longer exists. I burned it the moment I read it.”
“Then how can I believe something with no proof?”
“You came to me because you believed there might be proof, didn’t you?”
Richard frowned at the Archduke’s confident retort.
He was practically glaring now.
“I’m more curious why you kept this story a secret all this time.”
“Because she’s also the child of the man who killed my sister. I had no desire to even look at her.”
“So when things turned against you, you tossed her out without hesitation? To save your own son?”
The sneer in Richard’s voice lit a fire in the Archduke.
He may have opened the door to that misunderstanding himself—but to be called a coward by the man who kidnapped his son?
The Archduke shot to his feet, pointing a trembling finger and shouting with fury.
“You brazen, ragged little mutt! Don’t you dare—dare speak to me in that insolent tone again! Unless you want to accompany my son as a souvenir to the underworld!”
His roar echoed so loudly, it seemed it might carry beyond the hall and out the building.
Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—their location was exceptionally well soundproofed. No one outside would hear this revealing outburst.
“Would you be fine if the entire kingdom found out your whore of a mother brought some bird-brained charlatan into the Imperial Palace? If your father went down in history as a weak fool, swayed by the skirts of a woman because he couldn’t even seize the throne himself? If not, then maybe learn to think before you flap that vile tongue of yours. Got that?”
“……”
“If you want evidence from me, bring me my son first. If I don’t get confirmation that he’s alive, I’ll run a blade through you myself!”
The Archduke’s face had turned crimson, veins bulging at his neck as he issued his threat.
His finger trembled close enough to touch Richard, but he didn’t so much as blink.
In fact, Richard seemed to regain his composure while the Archduke was busy raging.
Whether it was to calm the Archduke or center himself, his voice came out steady and cool.
“Your son isn’t here. The Imperial Palace is full of watching eyes and listening ears.”
“But he’s alive, yes?”
“Of course. A corpse might fetch a decent price too, but that would mean burning bridges with you forever, Uncle.”
He clasped his hands and interlocked his fingers with an air of audacity.
“Besides… we’re still blood, aren’t we?”
Coming from the son of the very couple who destroyed that family, it was an utterly shameless thing to say.
The Archduke clenched his shaking fists tightly, trembling with fury.
At this point, he wasn’t sure anymore—was he a born actor, or had Richard simply trained him through torment to perform like this?
Gritting his teeth, the Archduke growled,
“I’ll keep quiet about your parents’ disgrace for the rest of my life. I’ll sign whatever document you want. Just bring my son back.”
“I’ll let you confirm that he’s alive first. But as for handing him over—that comes after a few... nuisances are dealt with.”
“If you’re stalling for time, I won’t sit idly by.”
“You brought this mess on yourself. Things got complicated after you reached out to Her Majesty the Empress, not me.”
Richard’s face grew serious with thought.
He tapped his knuckles against the back of his hand and spoke.
“There’s something you need to be very careful about before this deal goes any further. Listen closely: this nonsense about Iona possibly being my aunt’s daughter—whether it’s a theory or not—it cannot exist in this world.”
His gaze turned cold, eyes unfocused, sending a chill down the Archduke’s spine.
His job was to keep suspicions away from Iona until she could safely rescue his son—but that creeping anxiety drove him to blurt out impulsively:
“...Are you planning to kill her?”
To the Archduke, the easiest way to bury Iona’s origins was to kill her.
Even if someone tried to use her royal blood for some twisted fantasy, they couldn’t resurrect a corpse.
Just like Teresa had died, her suffering swallowed by the past, Iona’s secret could be buried too.
But Richard only laughed, as if it were a dark joke.
With an odd smile still clinging to his lips, he looked at the Archduke and said,
“Don’t worry. I’m doing this to protect her.”
If locking a beloved bird in a cage counts as protection, then that’s exactly what he intended to do with her.
***
“It feels just like the first time we met.”
At Leroy’s remark, Iona paused, thoughtful, before asking back,
“When I was a child?”
“That was my mistake—I meant the time we met again.”
“You mean when we ran into each other in the Crown Prince’s palace, with Sir Jonas?”
“No, even earlier than that. Back when I recognized you, and you didn’t recognize me.”
It was a small miscommunication, understandable considering how many “first” meetings they’d shared—each one easily mistaken for the real one.
Leroy smiled softly, recalling the moment he first saw Iona guarding the Crown Prince at a public event.
Iona, however, simply furrowed her brows in confusion, clearly unable to recall.
So Leroy offered a hint.
“You were wearing this same uniform then.”
Iona looked down.
For the first time since leaving the capital, she was dressed again in her knight uniform.
It was a ceremonial version worn for formal duties—marked by a deep crimson jacket that covered the entire upper body.
It was also the very same uniform she’d worn the day she died.
Almost unconsciously, Iona raised her right hand and brushed her lower abdomen.
The spot where the blade had torn her open and blood had gushed was now completely healed.
Well—technically, it wasn’t healed. It had returned to a state as if it had never been wounded at all.
Leroy watched her for a long moment, his smile gentle, before his voice turned cautious.
“Isn’t it dangerous?”
“I’ll be fine. If something can be used, it’s best to use it fully—no matter how humiliating the past it’s tied to.”
She was referring to the years she had spent as the Crown Prince’s loyal right hand.
And Iona never hesitated to weaponize that past, if the situation called for it.
Just like now, wearing her old uniform without the slightest hesitation.
“But doesn’t the Crown Prince know you’ve changed sides?”
“He wouldn’t have told anyone else.”
“And how can you be so sure?”
“Because admitting it would mean admitting something he doesn’t want to face.”
Iona spoke with certainty.
Her voice carried the kind of unwavering confidence that left Leroy without a comeback.
Their master-and-retainer dynamic may have collapsed, but Iona’s attitude toward Richard still held a belief that went beyond mere loyalty.
Not belief in the Crown Prince’s goodness—but belief in her understanding of how he thought.
Put another way: every time Iona predicted how Richard would act, he fulfilled that expectation almost to the letter.
This tendency had only become more pronounced after she confirmed his feelings for her.
Naturally, Leroy wasn’t thrilled about that.
Because from a husband’s perspective, it was hardly pleasant to know his wife could see straight through another man’s heart.
One of Leroy’s eyebrows arched sharply upward.
“Say it in a way that makes me less jealous.”
---The End Of The Chapter---
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