AWLITEB Chapter 7

A guard entered the mansion, and Rosalie rushed toward him with desperate urgency.

"Well? Did you find her?"

The guard shook his head, his expression troubled.

Rosalie swayed on her feet. Ethan reached out to steady her.

"This is all your fault!"

Rosalie shoved his hand away, her voice cracking into a shriek. Tears already brimmed in her wide eyes, threatening to spill.

"You should have stopped! You should have known when to draw the line! What were you thinking, whipping her so hard she ran away?"

"Jesus Christ, I barely even started! That bitch threw a tantrum and bolted—what the hell was I supposed to do? You're the one who needs to get your temper under control!"

"What? Are you seriously trying to pin this on me?! She ran because you don't know when to quit, you crazy bastard!"

"Everyone, enough."

Martha's heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, her voice cutting through their argument like a blade through silk.

"Continue the search. She's malnourished and weak—she can't have gone far. Check the nearby orphanages too. Every single one."

"Yes, ma'am."

The guard bowed crisply and left the mansion.

Rosalie ran to Martha like a child seeking comfort, collapsing into her arms.

"If Isabella ruins my marriage, I'll kill her. I swear to God I'll kill her."

Rosalie ground her teeth together, tears streaming down her face.

Ethan crossed his arms, his expression souring into something bored and familiar. Here we go again.

"Don't worry, darling. That won't happen. I'll make sure nothing tarnishes your marriage—not a single thing. You have my word."

"What are you staring at?! Get lost!"

Rosalie screamed at Ethan, her hand shooting out as if to claw at him.

Martha caught Rosalie's wrist. Ethan glared at his sister with poorly concealed irritation.

"Keep this up and you'll kill me before you get to her, Rosalie."

"If that's what you want, I'll gladly oblige."

"Excuse me?"

"What exactly do you do for this family, brother? Fight in battles and earn glory? Govern our lands? I'm engaged to a Grand Duke—I've elevated the White family name. But you? All you do is go hunting with mediocre noble brats. Isn't that right?"

Ethan strode forward, jabbing his finger toward her face. His lips trembled, every muscle in his body taut with the effort of containing his rage.

"Watch your mouth, Rosalie White. I've hunted with Grand Duke Genos, the Second Prince, even the Crown Prince."

"You think I don't know those were one or two token appearances for diplomatic relations? You're the one who needs to watch it. Once I'm Grand Duchess, I'll have you shipped off to the most dangerous border first—since you're so useless here!"

"Oh really? But if I kill you before the wedding, you'll never become Grand Duchess, will you?"

"I said enough."

Martha sighed, pulling Rosalie more firmly into her arms to create distance between the siblings.

"Isabella running away won't affect us in the slightest. There's no need for this pointless bickering, children."

Martha mediated with practiced ease, patting Rosalie's back in soothing strokes.

"Darling, I told you not to worry. And you shouldn't say such things to your brother."

"I'm sorry, Mother. But—"

"No excuses. And Ethan, you too. When your sister lashes out because she's upset, you should be understanding and persuasive, shouldn't you?"

"I'm sorry, Mother."

"Now, make up."

Martha's voice took on that coaxing tone she'd perfected over the years.

The siblings reached toward each other. Their hands clasped, and somehow their eyes had already softened into warmth as they gazed at one another.

"I'm sorry, brother."

"No, I'm sorry. My beloved sister."

Martha watched her children with a contented expression. The siblings pulled each other into a tight embrace.

"They're insane."

Isabella's voice cut through the room.

She still looked shell-shocked by the word marriage, but she wasn't going to let that stop her from speaking her mind.

"Those three people in the White family—they're beyond comprehension for any normal person."

"So, you won't marry me? Too afraid of stealing Rosalie's position?"

"No. That's not it."

Isabella grimaced, shaking her head.

She couldn't pass up an opportunity to stab the White family in the back.

"Then what?"

"You said... after we're married in name, you'll use a witch's power to become Emperor, correct?"

"That's right. Refuse, and I'll send you back to the White family immediately."

Go back and die. The message was clear—refusal had never been an option.

Isabella flinched, but she'd already guessed as much.

"Then promise me you'll protect me completely. Even after I'm no longer useful, promise you won't send me back to the White family or kill me. Give me enough money to live comfortably and let me leave the empire."

"Do I look stupid and inefficient enough to kill people just because they've outlived their usefulness?"

Not killing people because it's inefficient. Charming.

Isabella Bella felt like she was getting to know Grand Duke Genos better with every passing moment. Not in a good way.

"How long have I known you, Your Grace? How would I know if you're inefficient or not?"

The words escaped before Isabella could stop them. She clapped a hand over her mouth. Damn it. It was the Grand Duke's own instruction to find her real personality—her mouth had opened without permission.

"It's fine. I'm the one who told you to act that way."

"..."

"I said it's fine."

"But what if I slip up in front of others? ...Don't tell me you're planning to keep me locked in the mansion forever, so it doesn't matter how I speak?"

"No. Our marriage will be announced publicly, and you'll need to move with me at the front lines. Obviously you'll need to go outside."

"But you're saying I don't need to watch my tone? When I'm marrying into the imperial family?"

"A timid attitude will hinder your ability to wield a witch's power, so it's best to avoid that. But when you leave the mansion, you'll have to act."

"Excuse me?"

Was he serious? This was absurd. Irresponsible.

"What if my acting fails?"

"If your madness shows—dancing in front of corpses and all that—we'll gain troublesome enemies. People will dig into why I married you. Eventually they'll discover you're a witch. And then we die."

Genos delivered this cheerfully.

Isabella couldn't think of another person who would discuss death so calmly.

"You've prayed at every meal for the power to annihilate the White family, haven't you? Your wish came true miraculously and you gained power—shouldn't you do your best to get revenge?"

"...Yes. You're right. I'll do it. If I can get revenge on the White family, I'll do anything."

"Then why do you look so gloomy? Something's bothering you."

Isabella glanced at Genos and swallowed hard.

His perception was terrifying.

"I want to ask you something."

"What?"

"About the story that witches can't stop until they've slaughtered a thousand people. Does that mean I'll soon be killing people I don't even want to kill?"

"Ah, that."

Genos shrugged lightly.

"It's all lies."

"...I'm sorry?"

"A lie spread by the imperial palace. Ninety percent of what's known about witches is false."

"What do you—"

"I need to visit the palace."

Genos rose from his seat, gesturing toward Isabella's still-full plate.

"Finish eating. I'll see you tonight."

Genos left the dining room before Isabella could even stand to curtsy.

Isabella slumped forward, resting her cheek against the table with a soft thump.

She pinched the back of her hand absently.

Pain bloomed, sharp and real.

"Genos!"

Phyke's face lit up as he rose from his golden chair, embedded with massive ruby ornaments.

His features bore an uncanny resemblance to Genos's. He was slightly shorter but built like a boulder—massive and solid. His black hair and brown eyes were identical to Genos's.

The White family's desperate efforts to maintain their bloodline were nothing compared to the imperial family's commitment to tradition.

Phyke wore a sword at his waist even in his study, and gave off a faint metallic smell of blood that only Genos could detect.

Not content with gilding the entire palace after his coronation, now the chairs too.

Genos felt his usual disgust at Phyke's need for display.

"Your Imperial Majesty."

Of course, Genos's expression showed nothing but respect and affection for his Emperor.

"State affairs have kept me from seeing my dear brother sooner. It's been quite some time since you arrived in the capital."

"Now that the war's over, I find myself a soldier of no current employ, Your Majesty. Naturally I must accommodate your schedule."

"Ha! How charming."

Phyke patted Genos's cheek with a laugh and guided him toward the central sofa.

Genos followed, swallowing the humiliation that rose in his chest.

"I heard you visited your fiancée yesterday?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Well? How was it, seeing her after so long? The public announcement isn't far off—you must be excited. Ah, youth is wonderful!"

Phyke laughed heartily. Genos arranged his features into something troubled.

"Actually, I came today to speak with you about my engagement, Your Majesty."

"Is there a problem?"

"I can no longer marry Lady Rosalie White."

Genos didn't soften the blow.

Phyke's expression immediately twisted.

The White family was the perfect match. As a baron's family, they posed no threat while being acceptable for an imperial marriage.

They were wealthy beyond measure and had no political ambitions. What more could he ask for?

What wind had blown through his docile youngest brother's head?

Phyke studied Genos carefully.

"I know this wasn't a love match. But it's a marriage that benefits the imperial family—can't you accept it as a sacred and glorious duty?"

Phyke's expression turned benevolent as he placed one hand on Genos's thigh.

Genos looked down at his brother's thick hand, then raised his eyes to meet Phyke's gaze.

Two pairs of identical eyes regarded each other.

"Your Majesty. You know the White family has a youngest daughter."

"A youngest daughter? Ah, yes, I remember now—one son and two daughters. What about her?"

"I've fallen in love with her."

Phyke stared at his brother, momentarily speechless.

But Genos held the Emperor's gaze steadily, as if he'd be content to die right here for this.

"I want to marry her. Fortunately, since we haven't yet publicly announced my engagement to Lady Rosalie, if Your Majesty grants permission, I wish to marry Lady Isabella instead."

Phyke studied him in silence for a moment, then clapped his hands together and burst into loud laughter.

"I never knew my brother was such a romantic!"

He shook his head in admiration, chuckling.

"It's still the White family, so there's no real loss. Besides, the family can hardly object. She may be adopted, but she's still a White daughter."

Phyke didn't know Isabella was the family's abused scapegoat. His reaction was natural.

Whether Genos married the eldest or youngest daughter made no difference to Phyke. As long as they were from the White family, it was enough.

Furthermore, Phyke had secretly worried that Genos might resent having his marriage arranged without input.

But now his brother was asking to marry a woman from the same family—someone he'd truly fallen in love with.

It was the perfect opportunity. Phyke could appear generous to Genos while still securing all the benefits of the White family alliance.

"Have you informed the White family?"

"Lady Isabella feels terribly guilty, so I haven't yet. The truth is, I pressured her into this marriage. I'm waiting for the right moment."

"Ha! Really? Well, well. My brother has this side to him. Reckless in love, aren't you?"

"Then, may I consider this Your Majesty's permission?"

Phyke nodded as if the question was unnecessary. Then he pulled Genos into a firm embrace.

"Of course. I grant permission for your marriage to Lady Isabella White. My dear brother."