RODH Chapter 12
by Brie12.
The night sky, adorned with stars, and the faint glow of a red planet illuminating the vast darkness.
Looking into Grand Duke Kirias’s eyes, I couldn’t help but think of the rarest rubies, the ‘Pigeon Blood’ gems, of which no more than twenty are found in a year.
Is this what they mean by perfect beauty?
I found myself staring at him for what felt like ages, entranced, until a sharp ‘clang’ of cutlery snapped me out of it.
The sound came from Seor, seated opposite Kirias. He had slammed his spoon down with enough force to rattle the tableware.
“There’s a limit to making a fool of me, Ian Pearl Ruben. You are someone who will soon become part of the imperial family.”
“Your Highness, please calm yourself. Ian is simply childish and naïve. I’m sure there was no ill intent behind his actions,” my mother pleaded on my behalf.
I turned to Seor, my tone sharp.
“Yes, Mother is absolutely right. Unlike some people, I wasn’t raised to be composed and dignified.”
“Ian.”
My father interjected, stopping me before I let my temper get the better of me.
Had it not been for him, I might have yanked that bastard’s hair out. Or, better yet, jabbed him in the head with the dessert spoon in my hand.
Imagining the many ways I could retaliate against Seor lifted my mood slightly.
What truly amazed me, though, was how Grand Duke Kirias sat through this entire ordeal without showing the slightest discomfort.
I’d heard that northerners had remarkable patience, and it seemed true.
Still, with this being the second awkward incident of the evening, I felt compelled to apologize to the Grand Duke.
“I apologize, Your Grace. My behavior was inappropriate. Such actions must seem equally rude in the North, wouldn’t they?”
Since I planned to live in the North eventually, I figured it was wise to learn some basics.
Grand Duke Kirias answered my question graciously.
“In the North, staring directly at someone’s face for too long is considered a challenge to fight.”
“That wasn’t my intention. I was simply…”
“I understand,” he said before I could finish.
“I’m sorry,” I added anyway.
“There’s no need to apologize further, Lord Ruben.”
With that, Grand Duke Kirias offered me a faint smile.
It was subtle, like something half-hidden behind the snowdrifts of Perrost. Neither as conspicuous as the eye-smiles of southerners nor as animated as the verbal expressions of high society, his smile was unique and understated.
Despite its subtlety, I found myself liking him even more.
His words earlier had been a thoughtful gesture to ease my discomfort.
‘He’s more considerate than I expected.’
My opinion of Grand Duke Kirias rose significantly.
“…Imperial Year 1432: A White Dragon rampages in the North. Grand Duke Kirias and the Grand Duchess perish in battle, leaving their only son, Nevan Nik Kirias, behind.”
I was pouring over a record left by my great-great-grandfather (with an absurdly long name: Berkisto Mencio Ruben). My eyes burned as I traced each line.
1432… That meant Grand Duke Kirias was only nine years old at the time.
“So, he lost both parents then….”
According to the records, from 1433 to 1438—a span of five years—the elders of House Kirias managed the dukedom in rotation.
“Then he must have reclaimed his position at fourteen, when he became a swordmaster.”
I tried to imagine the life Grand Duke Kirias must have led.
In the North, no one could escape the threat of the monster waves.
To be born into House Kirias was to be perpetually prepared to battle monsters.
I pictured an eighteen-year-old boy standing on the frontlines—terrain choked with snow, rocks, and swarming with monsters.
It must have been a lonely existence.
Perhaps the reserved nature of northerners stemmed from the constant injury and death surrounding them.
“Will I even succeed in business up north…?”
Truthfully, now wasn’t the time to be worrying about Grand Duke Kirias.
I had to focus on annulling my engagement and escaping to the North. Yet, I couldn’t help but wonder if my plan to start a compote business there would even work.
Even if I secured a steady supply of berries, transporting the product to the central or southern regions seemed like a logistical nightmare.
“Maybe I should consider getting involved in Father’s mining business instead of chasing the compote idea.”
I felt I needed a better understanding of what the North had to offer, so I continued reading through Berkisto Mencio Ruben’s records.
The preface to his writings read:
[“History is the record of the victor.”]
“Bain? Are you outside?”
After sending Bain away earlier, claiming I could settle in for the night myself, I had spent about an hour engrossed in my books.
Naturally, hunger crept in, so I called for Bain, thinking to ask him for some tea and dessert.
But there was no reply.
I opened the door and peeked around the hallway, but it was empty.
“Where did he go? Did he go to sleep?”
Bain rarely slept early; he usually stayed up into the small hours to align with my schedule. It didn’t make sense for him to have turned in already.
Curious and slightly annoyed, I wandered the corridors in search of him. Then, sensing movement, I glanced out the window.
Whoosh!
In the moonlight, a massive figure moved with frightening agility.
His broad back muscles bulged as if in anger, his silhouette cast by the moon revealing a striking set of defined abs whenever the shadows shifted.
“Wow.”
I marveled at how someone could move with such ease, almost defying gravity. But as I observed closer, my eyes narrowed at the scars or markings etched across his body—what looked like tattoos.
Like a flawless gemstone marred by scratches, the sight gnawed at me.
Then, as the moonlight illuminated his silver hair and sharp, crimson eyes, I realized who it was.
It was Grand Duke Kirias.
What on earth was he doing at this hour?
From the looks of it, he seemed to be training in the courtyard. But why now, so late at night?
Curiosity got the better of me, and I quickly made my way toward the training ground.
However, by the time I arrived, Kirias was nowhere to be seen.
“Where did he go?”
Just as I turned to scan the area, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“Ah!”
Kirias had appeared out of nowhere, silently standing behind me.
Startled, I stumbled backward, legs tangling beneath me as I lost my balance.
This felt oddly familiar—like the time I had nearly collapsed in Seor’s office after being terrified by Peter’s sudden presence.
Back then, fear had made me dizzy, but now I was tripping over my own feet like an idiot.
Instinctively, I flung my arms out to shield myself as I braced for the fall.
But instead of the cold, hard ground, I found myself wrapped around something warm and solid—Grand Duke Kirias.
His body was damp. Was it sweat?
“Are you all right, Lord Ruben?” he asked with concern.
The moment I registered what had happened, I leaped back three steps, emitting a series of awkward sounds.
“Ah, ugh, ahhh!”
My heart pounded like it was about to explode.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Suddenly, Lucian’s irritating words echoed in my mind.
‘One sign of love is a heart racing like a mad horse, Lord Ruben.’
Ridiculous. Utter nonsense.
Shaking my head to dispel the thought, I said to Kirias, “Thank you for helping me. I didn’t expect you to appear so suddenly….”
“I was washing up at the water spout,” he replied simply.
“In this cold?”
As if to emphasize the chill, a gust of wind swept through the courtyard.
I crossed my arms, hunching slightly to ward off the cold.
Kirias, however, stood there, bare-chested and still damp, seemingly unaffected by the icy breeze.
The “tattoos” I had seen earlier were actually scars. His pale skin had made them look like intricate markings from a distance.
“The weather here is similar to a normal day in the North. Perfect for training,” he said.
“Ah, I see.”
“…”
“…”
The silence stretched unbearably. Could someone please rescue me from this awkward situation?
I had so many questions about the North that Kirias could undoubtedly answer, yet I couldn’t bring myself to say anything.
After standing there for a while, longing for the warmth of tea, I finally spoke.
“Please wait here. I’ll go prepare some tea.”
“Lord Ruben—”
“It’ll only take a moment!”
Without waiting for his response, I turned and dashed toward the kitchen.
After Ian dashed off somewhere, a figure emerged from behind the shadows of a tree.
It was a northerner, a man with a prominent scar running across one of his eyes.
“Your Grace, it’s quite late,” the man said.
“Klain.”
“Are you really going to sit and have tea with ‘that person’?”
“Leaving without returning would be impolite. Besides, waiting in weather like this isn’t unpleasant.”
“It was sweltering earlier today. And, Your Grace, be cautious. That person isn’t from the North.”
Klain was one of the few northerners who could offer Nevan sincere counsel without fear.
Nevan acknowledged this and nodded slightly.
“I’m aware.”
“I just can’t help but think of the late Grand Duke and Grand Duchess….”
“Klain.”
“Apologies, Your Grace.”
Noticing Ian approaching in the distance, Klain quickly retreated behind the trunk of the tree once more.
Ian returned shortly, carrying two metal cups, his steps light and deliberate.
“This is tea made from orange blossoms,” he explained as he handed one to Nevan.
“Thank you.”
Nevan took the cup and, sensing Ian’s anticipation, took a sip.
“It’s fragrant.”
“Do you have floral teas in the North as well?” Ian asked, his curiosity evident.
“Yes, we often dry goldenberry flowers to make tea.”
“I should have prepared something else,” Ian said, disappointment flickering across his face.
Nevan reassured him, “It’s perfectly fine.”
“Actually, Your Grace, if you don’t mind, would you share a little about the North?”
Ian’s eyes sparkled with intrigue as he made the request.