The Price of Saving A Wicked Beast
Translator: Rae
Late afternoon. A ball was in full swing outdoors under the warm spring sunlight. The host of the courtly event was none other than Fabian.
It was the so-called Memorial Ball.
Fabian required all attendees to wear black. As a result, despite the lively noise and bustle, from a distance the ball looked almost like a funeral.
Fabian never bothered to explain what this gathering was meant to commemorate. Yet everyone knew. Under the pretext of mourning, the young Grand Duke was trying to make someone’s d*ath an accepted fact.
“Do you think Marquis Brundell might really have orchestrated it? You all heard it back then, didn’t you? What he said to the Crown Prince.”
Whispers about the Marquess of Brundel spread through every small gathering. Ironically, the Crown Prince—who had dismissed the marquess’s daughter’s death as an accident—met the same fate.
In fact, if one were to compare misery, the Crown Prince and Crown Princess fared worse. Unlike her, they fell from a cliff, and their bodies were never even recovered.
“May that cold composure of yours never waver.”
The image of the marquess staring straight at the Crown Prince as he uttered that warning lingered vividly. By coincidence—or not—he had been the first to arrive at the scene of the accident. Naturally, rumors spread.
“Either way… the Grand Duke’s life is certainly dramatic.”
Born as the former emperor’s son, he had been pushed aside from the position of Crown Prince. Yet through a twist of fate, he was now once again closest to the throne. With the rapidly shifting political landscape, the nobles’ maneuvering intensified.
From those who originally supported the North, to those seeking to defect from the Crown Prince’s faction, to those who still refused to accept his death. The memorial ball had become less a social event and more a grand arena of political discourse.
As opinions flowed endlessly beneath the surface, Fabian’s expression remained utterly composed. Welcoming guests as host, he had to struggle to suppress his amusement each time he overheard their whispers. After all, he was ostensibly hosting a memorial. The openly smiling face would not suit his cultivated moral image.
Just as Fabian was fully enjoying the ball, one of his subordinates rushed toward him with a grave expression. Seeing the urgency, Fabian excused himself from his guest and stepped away. In a quieter corner, the subordinate leaned in and whispered.
“Your Highness, Milnyme has disappeared.”
In an instant, the subtle smile vanished from Fabian’s face.
“Milnyme Disappeared? What do you mean?”
“Exactly as I said, Milnyme is gone.”
Fabian’s expression hardened.
"No way."
Reading his thoughts, the subordinate shook his head.
“That’s impossible. If the Crown Prince were alive, there’s no reason he would allow things to progress this far without revealing himself.”
With that, the subordinate handed him a letter.
“It was left at Milnyme’s residence.”
Fabian quickly tore it open. It was unmistakably Milnyme’s handwriting. The letter stated that his hideout had been suddenly attacked, and he was fleeing.
"Attacked?”
Fabian frowned. A sudden attack—by whom? As Fabian struggled to process it, the subordinate offered a cautious thought.
“Perhaps the marquess’s daughter’s maid let something slip. Marcella.”
Very few people even knew of Milnyme’s existence, and if limited to those outside the grand duchy’s household, the number was even smaller. Even the close ally, the Marquess of Brundel, did not know the exact location where he was hiding.
The subordinate’s reasoning made sense. Marcella, that maid had learned of Milnyme while delivering the forged letter imitating Count of Afort’s son’s handwriting. If information had leaked, there was no one else more likely.
But that also meant Killian had learned about Milnyme long ago. Fabian rubbed the back of his neck.
“Then that b*stard knew all along and just pretended not to.”
Had he been preparing since then? The thought of Killian feigning ignorance even after seeing Viscount of Romeo’s notices sent a chill down his spine.
Fabian surveyed the ballroom. Among the attendees were several nobles from the Crown Prince’s faction. Yet a strange tension lingered between them because they were no longer united as before. It matched reports that their faction was fracturing over differing beliefs about Killian’s survival.
The reactions of those who met his gaze were starkly divided. Some smiled obsequiously to try currying favor, while others glared as if they wanted him dead on the spot.
Fabian’s tense breathing gradually steadied. Yes Just as his subordinate said, Killian couldn’t be alive. The attack on Milnyme’s hideout must have been the work of one of Killian’s lingering followers. He muttered to himself as he looked away.
“Even if Killian is dead, they can’t accept that the throne will fall to me—is that it?”
It didn’t matter. That was all those vermin were capable of anyway. Fabian turned back to his subordinate.
“The item?”
“We found what was hidden along with the letter. Fortunately, it was untouched.”
Fabian nodded quietly. This was what mattered—the seal. As long as he had it, Milnyme’s life was irrelevant. In fact, his death would make things even cleaner.
“If he escaped the attack, he’ll make contact first. Keep searching just in case—and if you find him, eliminate him.”
“Of course. We’ve already sent people to track him down.”
Fabian gave a faint smile at the competent reply.
At that moment, someone called for Fabian from afar. Spotting the figure beside Duke Bildem, Fabian raised his hand in greeting.
He whispered quietly to his subordinate.
“Handle the minor matters yourself and go. I already have enough to worry about.”
Leaving the bowing subordinate behind, Fabian walked toward Duke Bildem. As chairman of the nobles’ council, the duke was crucial to Fabian’s plans.
However, someone else had already caught his eye.
What a catch. Suppressing a smile that threatened to escape, Fabian extended his hand.
“You must be deeply grieved, young Count of Afort.”
At Fabian’s warm gesture, Count of Afort’s face stiffened. Grinding his teeth, the gaunt count looked hollow-cheeked, his exhaustion impossible to hide even in formal attire.
“Thank you for your welcome, Your Highness. My mother could not attend today, but she sends her gratitude.”
Unable to respond, Roem answered in his father’s behalf as he stood to his side.
Fabian nodded, wearing a generous expression as if he understood their situation.
“It’s only natural at a time like this. Her Highness the Crown Princess would surely wish for the countess to find peace.”
At the deliberate mention of Adelaide, the count’s face darkened. His eyes reddened as he pulled his hand from Fabian’s and turned away.
“My apologies… I don’t think I’m ready for this gathering yet.”
As Count of Afort hurried away, Duke Vilethyme gave an awkward smile.
“Ah… it seems he still needs time to heal.”
“That appears to be the case. It must have been worse than a nightmare for them.”
Fabian studied Roem carefully. Though clearly uncomfortable under his gaze, Roem did not look away.
“What about you, young count?”
“Pardon? Me?”
“Yes. I recall hearing that you intended to leave for Clayton with the Crown Princess before her wedding. You seemed quite close to your sister.”
At those words, Roem’s fist clenched, the bones in his hand protruding.
After a long silence, biting his lip, Roem finally spoke.
“You are correct, Your Highness. Adelaide was my precious sister. That is precisely why I opposed the marriage. If it hadn’t been the Crown Prince… she wouldn’t have died.”
Roem’s voice trembled with anger, heavy with resentment. At his answer, Fabian covered his mouth. He tried to conceal the smile he could no longer suppress.
***
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