Chapter 25: Cedric after avoiding divorce.

Three days had passed since Amelia spoke the word “divorce.”

In the study of the Gilbert ducal residence, Cedric sat at his desk, but the quill had long since stilled.

He could not erase the image of her face that night:
the tense, brittle mask when she forced out “Let’s divorce.”
He had known immediately: someone had poisoned her ears.

Knock, knock.

The sound snapped him back to the present.

“Enter.”

“Pardon me.”

The man who entered was the head of intelligence: a capable subordinate Cedric had personally hired after inheriting the title.

“I have the report on the matter you requested.”

“Proceed.”

Cedric leaned back deeply in his chair and laced his fingers.

The man produced documents from an inner pocket.

“Here is the full guest list from the recent tea party Her Ladyship attended, along with every conversation we were able to reconstruct.”

Cedric’s gaze sliced across the papers spread before him.

Rows of names.

Countess Harton, Viscount Winston, Baron Layton, Viscount Foster…

(These are the ones.)

He mentally circled the houses that had always kept a cautious distance from Gilbert.

“There was one exchange in particular that stood out.”

The subordinate continued in a flat tone.

“Viscount Winston and Viscount Foster were speaking privately in the lounge. They said—”

That Cedric had been forced into marriage at fifteen.
That a wife five years older was unworthy.
That divorce was surely on the horizon.
That they would gladly offer their own daughters.

As the report went on, the temperature in the room began to fall.
Magic seeped from Cedric unconsciously.

“…I see.”

Quiet.
Yet the subordinate felt the murderous fury coiled beneath that calm.

“Those two houses have been prospering lately, haven’t they?”

“Yes. Viscount Winston especially has profited greatly from a new trade venture. Viscount Foster is similar.”

“And the ages of their daughters?”

“Several in each family: all between sixteen and eighteen. The same generation as Your Grace.”

Cedric smiled faintly.
The subordinate’s spine turned to ice.

“They believed marrying into a ducal house would let them soar even higher.”

His fingers drummed lightly on the desk:
tap, tap, tap.

“So they decided Amelia was an obstacle.”

A final, hard thud, and his hand stilled.

“Dig up everything.
Business dealings, partners, vulnerabilities: every last detail.”

“Understood.”

“If any ventures compete with ours, crush them.”

The subordinate swallowed once.
Cedric’s eyes held no mercy whatsoever.

“…It will be done.”

After the man withdrew, Cedric leaned back and stared at the ceiling, exhaling softly.

(Anyone who wounds Amelia will never be forgiven.)

To him, she was treasure beyond price.

He had met her at fifteen.
At first he had been on guard, convinced the rumors were true: that she was exactly the wicked woman they painted.

But she had been nothing like that.

When fever burned through him, she nursed him.
Made him porridge.
Held his hand.
Studied beside him, laughed with him, stayed.

Everything he was now existed because of her.

(And yet she herself refuses to see it.)

That was the true problem.

She undervalued herself far too much:
because of her past flirtations,
because she was five years older.

None of it mattered.

All that mattered was that she remained at his side.

(Lately I’ve been trying to close the distance bit by bit…)

Touching her hair, holding her hand, pulling her into embraces:
little by little, trying to convey his feelings.
Yet it still wasn’t enough.

“I need to be far more direct.”

The words slipped out.

He had planned to wait until graduation,
or until she truly loved him back.

But at this rate she would slip away.
That alone was intolerable.

Cedric rose and looked out the window.
Clear blue sky. Almost time for the academy.

(I have to keep going today, too.)

Both as duke and as student:
everything, so he could stay with Amelia forever.

That afternoon.

Cedric sat through lessons at the academy.
Third year, his final year.
Everyone was busy with graduation theses.

Between ducal duties and studies, he should have been the busiest of all,
yet his own thesis was already nearly finished.
Only final revisions remained.
Even here his brilliance stood out.

When classes ended, he headed to the library to polish the last details.

As he walked the corridor, two figures approached from the opposite direction.

Noah Ashbel, same year, and the transfer student, Emilia Crown.

(Noah… with someone?)

A flicker of surprise.

Noah was almost always alone.
Three years in the same class, and they had barely spoken.

A quiet young man with violet hair.
Good grades, but never conspicuous.

To see him walking with the transfer student was strange.

The moment they passed, Emilia beamed.

“Good afternoon, Lord Cedric!”

Her voice bright, her smile dazzling: almost too much.

Cedric hesitated, then replied.

“…Good afternoon.”

He still remembered her words from before.

“Three years… You’re not divorced?”

As though divorce were the natural outcome.
An indirect insult to Amelia.

Since then, he had found her presence grating.
Her innocence only made it worse.

Noah greeted him quietly as well.

“Good afternoon, Lord Cedric.”

But immediately added,

“Forgive the rudeness, but what exactly is your relationship with Emilia?”

Hostility glinted unmistakably in his eyes: wary, almost a glare.

(Why is he looking at me like that…?)

Cedric answered evenly.

“Nothing in particular. I merely exchanged greetings once when she was with Their Highnesses.”

Emilia cut in from the side.

“Yes, for now we’re simply acquaintances.”

The phrase “for now” grated on him,
as if she assumed they would inevitably grow closer.

(I have no such intention.)

Cedric denied it inwardly.
Noah looked dissatisfied.

“I see…”

He muttered lowly, still glaring for a moment before turning back to Emilia.

“Emilia, are you ready for the next class?”

“Not yet! Shall we go together, Noah-sama?”

“I’m not in your year, you know.”

“Oh, right! Ehehe…”

“I wouldn’t have minded being the same age.”

Listening to their exchange, Cedric understood.

The way Noah looked at Emilia:
it was the gaze one gives someone precious.

(Ah. So that’s it.)

Noah was in love with her.
That explained the wariness toward any man who spoke to her.

Yet,

(When did they become this close?)

A question rose.

Emilia had been a commoner until recently, only just adopted by a baron house for her magical talent.

Noah was the son of a marquess, originally from a neighboring kingdom: hence the rare violet hair.

They should have met for the first time at the academy.

Yet in less than two months since her transfer, they were already this intimate.

(Something feels wrong…)

But it was not his place to interfere.
Noah could have fallen in love at first sight.

“I’ll take my leave.”

Cedric gave a brief nod and started to walk away,

only for Emilia to call out.

“Wait, please!
Could we talk for a little while?”

Her smile was as blinding as ever.

Cedric opened his mouth to refuse,

when suddenly she seized his hand.

“—!”

The instant a woman who was not Amelia touched him, revulsion crawled over his skin.
He yanked his hand back on reflex.

“Let go.”

Ice coated his voice.

Emilia looked startled, then hurriedly released him.

“Ah, I’m sorry…! I heard you have trauma with physical contact…”

“…What?”

Cedric’s brow furrowed.

She continued, apologetic.

“I heard you dislike being touched by others. I didn’t mean to startle you…”

The air froze.

An instant later, an icy shiver raced up Cedric’s spine.

(How does she know that?)

It was true: once upon a time.

Right after being taken in by the ducal house, he had lost control of his magic and injured a servant.
After that, touching people had terrified him: afraid he would hurt someone again.

But,

(Amelia healed me.)

She had held his hand, hugged him, melted the fear away.

Now he had no issue with touch,
at least not with Amelia.

(Why does this woman know something she has no right to know?)

A chill gripped him.

He had never told anyone at the academy.
He had no close friends, and no reason to mention it now.

No one should know.

“I have no particular aversion to being touched.”

Cedric chose his words carefully.

“What are you talking about?”

Emilia’s face drained of color.

“Eh… No… why…”

Disbelief, as though an absolute truth had just crumbled.

(This woman is incomprehensible.)

Cedric’s wariness rose to its peak.

She might be dangerous.
She knew things she should not,
as if she had seen the past, or the future.

“…I’ll be going.”

He decided to end the conversation there.

He turned and walked toward the library.

From behind came Emilia’s small voice.

“I’d love to talk with you someday…”

He pretended not to hear.

He could feel her gaze on his back:
confusion, impatience, and something else mixed together.

(I don’t know what she is.)

And he had no interest in finding out.
But he would remain vigilant.

He sensed no hostility from her; if anything, almost affection.
And that was precisely what made her frightening.

Someone who knew the unknowable and directed fondness toward him.

(If she ever tries to harm me or Amelia—)

Cedric’s eyes flashed cold.

(I will show no mercy.)

No matter who she was:
royalty, noble, or commoner.

He would never forgive anyone who hurt Amelia.

He entered the library and opened a book.
But the words refused to register.

Emilia troubled him,
but far more than that, he was worried about Amelia.

(I should talk to her again, properly.)

He would never allow a divorce.
She was his.
He would never let anyone take her.
Not in life, not even in death.

(To make sure she can never escape… perhaps it’s time for that.)

Turning the page with that thought, Cedric’s lips curved into a faint, resolute smile.