Calix's patience frayed like old rope.
He could feel himself being drawn into a pointless performance—Philip's wheedling voice circling the same hollow sentiment again and again. His gaze turned glacial, and he fixed the man with a look that could freeze fire.
Philip shuddered, then hastily added, "Oh, I understand completely that Your Highness wishes to keep the sisters together. Truly, I do. But you must understand my position as well. My eldest daughter has married and departed her father's home. And now, as a father, it pains me deeply to send away my second child so soon after. I beg your understanding."
Raizen, standing at the prince's shoulder, made no effort to conceal his disgust. The meaning beneath Philip's words was transparent: *I want more.*
*Revolting.* The steward's lip curled with contempt. *He speaks of her as though she were livestock at auction. Is this truly a nobleman? There is no honor in him. No dignity. Nothing remotely human.*
His thoughts turned darker still. *I shouldn't have merely thought about severing his hand. A head so full of rot deserves to be removed entirely.* He regarded Philip with profound loathing. *The Chartreuse family has been catastrophically unlucky. What madness possessed Lady Adele to entangle herself with such worthless refuse? She should have abandoned the very notion of this marriage. Is this truly how the glory of a legendary house must end?*
Meanwhile, Philip continued his performance, words tumbling over one another in an endless stream of false sentiment and barely veiled greed.
"**Enough.**" Calix's voice cut through the air like a blade.
Philip's mouth snapped shut.
"Raizen." The Archduke did not raise his voice. He didn't need to. "Prepare all necessary documents. Ensure that every right he is relinquishing is explicitly stated at the beginning. Leave nothing ambiguous." A pause. "And add the price for his consent. Ten times the original sum."
Philip's eyes bulged. His jowls began to tremble, quivering like disturbed pudding. The shock was so complete that his jaw hung slack, unable to close.
Calix's cold, perfect face was reflected in those disbelieving pupils.
"**Sign.**" The command was quiet. Absolute.
Raizen produced the documents with practiced efficiency. The figure written at the bottom of the final page was so astronomical it seemed like a mistake—a number from a fever dream. Philip's body barely obeyed him as he reached for the pen. His fingers shook so violently that the quill rattled against the inkwell.
The moment the nib touched parchment, Calix turned away.
The carriage windows were enchanted with magical stones, designed to shield passengers from prying eyes. But this protection did not extend to the carriage's owner. As Calix's gaze swept toward the vehicle, it met Asella's directly.
He saw those frightened eyes for only a heartbeat. Wide. Blue. Luminous with terror.
And suddenly he felt like a monster—a predator circling its prey, waiting for the most convenient moment to devour her whole.
He didn't like it.
He *truly* didn't like it.
"Your Highness." Raizen's voice drew him back. The steward tucked the signed documents into a leather satchel and presented it to his master.
Calix accepted it without looking. "I'm going to the palace. The paperwork requires completion." He swung onto his horse in one fluid motion, gathering the reins. "You will proceed to the principality with the carriage."
Raizen hesitated, a frown creasing his brow. "You're going to the palace? In person?"
For common families, renouncing guardianship required only written consent. But noble houses were different. The process was stringent, layered with bureaucracy designed to limit the growth—and dissolution—of aristocratic lineages. Official approval from the Emperor himself was mandatory.
For Calix Benvito, of course, this was merely a formality.
Still, Raizen had expected to receive that approval tomorrow, through proper channels.
"But Your Highness—it's far too late." He gestured toward the horizon, where the sun had long since vanished. Twilight had deepened into true night. "The palace gates closed hours ago."
"Then we'll have to try *very* hard to greet His Majesty," Calix replied, a cold smile ghosting across his lips.
In truth, the Emperor had sent a message days ago expressing his desire to meet in person following the wedding. Naturally, Calix had intended to ignore the summons entirely and return to his domains immediately. But under the present circumstances, that was no longer acceptable.
"I'll rejoin you once my business is concluded." He turned his horse toward the distant glow of the capital. "Select a few of my most resilient guardsmen to accompany me."
---
## — The Rose Garden —
The chamberlain escorted the Grand Duke through corridors of marble and gold, past tapestries older than most noble houses, until they emerged into a vast indoor rose garden.
Magical stones blazed from every alcove and archway, flooding the space with brilliant light despite the deep night pressing against the glass ceiling above. Hundreds of roses bloomed in impossible profusion—crimson, ivory, gold—their perfume hanging thick and sweet in the air.
Emperor Ferdinand awaited him at a small, exquisitely crafted marble table, a cup of steaming tea cradled in his hands.
"Your Highness." The Emperor's smile was warm and utterly false. "I hadn't expected you to come." He set down his cup with deliberate care. "To be honest, I was quite surprised to receive word of your arrival."
His gaze swept over Calix with poorly concealed curiosity—and something darker beneath.
"Tea?"
"No." Calix remained standing, his posture radiating controlled disdain. "There's no need for pleasantries."
*As always,* Ferdinand thought, his smile never wavering. *The same arrogant bastard.* But he had worn the crown for many years now, and he had learned to hide both his emotions and his murderous thoughts behind a mask of imperial grace.
"Well then. Apparently there is a pressing matter that compelled the Grand Duke to visit his Emperor at such an... unconventional hour."
Calix said nothing. He simply placed a sheaf of documents on the table between them.
Ferdinand's expression flickered—a flash of something pained crossing his features—before he schooled his face and began to read.
His eyes narrowed. "Changing Marielle Chartreuse's status to Marielle *Loctrin*?" A sharp laugh escaped him. "That's absurd. You cannot possibly expect me to sign this."
Calix didn't blink. Instead, his voice dropped to something soft and infinitely more dangerous.
"Let's not waste time."
The words hung in the perfumed air like a drawn blade.
Everything about the man—his stillness, his posture, the flat crimson weight of his gaze—made it abundantly clear that Ferdinand had no choice. There was no other person in the entire Empire who could challenge the monarch so effortlessly, so completely.
Rage flickered in the Emperor's eyes. Ferdinand was himself a father of grown children, a ruler who had survived decades of court intrigue and political warfare. The arrogance of this young Benvito was a thorn embedded deep in his pride.
But what infuriated him most was his own helplessness.
He could do *nothing* to this insolent pup. Not a single thing. Calix's power was the very foundation upon which Ferdinand's authority rested. The Benvito armies, the Benvito wealth, the Benvito *name*—without them, the throne itself would crumble. And yet that same power terrified him. He could never afford to make an enemy of this man.
In the end, Ferdinand had no choice but to deflect with humor.
"I heard you never met Lady Chartreuse before the wedding." His tone turned sly, probing. "Apparently, you liked the bride. Perhaps even more than you expected?" A knowing smile curved his lips. "Am I wrong?"
Calix's eyes became utterly opaque—flat red discs that revealed nothing and promised violence.
"I remember her mother, you know. Adele Loctrin. A renowned beauty." Ferdinand leaned back, warming to his subject. "Apparently, the daughter takes after her. But surely that alone wouldn't be enough to captivate our illustrious hero. Is there something *more* about her that—"
**_CRACK._**
The sound split the air like a thunderclap.
Ferdinand froze. His gaze dropped slowly, inexorably, to the marble table before him.
A fracture ran directly through its center—a clean, impossible line bisecting the stone as though it were soft bread. The table, crafted from a single block of Carraran marble worth more than most estates, had been *cut in half*.
The Emperor's blood turned to ice.
He knew, of course, that the Grand Duke was no ordinary man. The inhuman strength passed down through the Benvito bloodline for generations was legendary—the stuff of nightmares and children's cautionary tales. But knowing it and *witnessing* it were entirely different things.
Slowly, Ferdinand raised his head and met that terrible crimson gaze.
"You shouldn't discuss my wife." Calix's voice was soft. Almost gentle. "I find it... *unpleasant*."
Any other man would have been executed on the spot for such behavior toward a crowned sovereign. But Ferdinand felt no anger—only primal, visceral fear. His face remained composed through sheer force of will, but his veins ran cold, and his heart hammered against his ribs like a caged thing desperate to escape.
He felt as though he stood alone, utterly defenseless, before a wild beast that had not yet decided whether to kill him.
The servants flanking the table had gone corpse-white, their trembling barely suppressed.
"Well." Ferdinand managed a laugh that sounded more like a death rattle. "It was only a jest. A bit of harmless teasing. Please—don't take it seriously."
His pride screamed at the humiliation, but he forced himself to extend his hand first, palm up, in a gesture of conciliation.
Calix didn't move.
The man's presence pressed down on Ferdinand like a physical weight—suffocating, immense, promising annihilation. The Emperor felt as though he might be torn apart at any moment by invisible hands.
*This monster.*
The Benvito family had been founded centuries ago as a cadet branch of the ruling imperial clan. Over the generations, they had carved out a position utterly unique in the Empire. Formally, they were an aristocratic house with the corresponding titles and fiefdom. But the Benvito territories were so vast, so wealthy, so militarily formidable that calling them a mere *fiefdom* was laughable.
Their holdings exceeded the combined territory of several neighboring kingdoms. Their private army could match—perhaps even overwhelm—the Emperor's own forces. They were less a noble house than a sovereign power wearing the mask of vassalage.
A dagger pressed eternally against the throat of imperial authority.
Because of this immense power, the head of House Benvito had long been called the *Grand Duke*—even though the title was unofficial. Within the Empire, an Archduke served the crown. But in his own domains, Calix Benvito answered to no one.
He *was* the crown.
The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. Finally, Calix spoke.
"Lady Chartreuse no longer exists." Each word fell like a stone into still water. "She is my wife now. She is *Benvito*."
His murderous gaze settled fully on the Emperor, and Ferdinand felt his face drain of color to match his servants'.
"Of—of course!" The words tumbled out too quickly, too eagerly. "You're absolutely right. Now that she's married, she bears the title of Grand Duchess as well. Forgive my frivolity. A thoughtless slip of the tongue."
Calix showed no reaction to this hasty capitulation.
"So?" He tilted his head slightly—a predator considering whether its prey was worth the effort. His face remained perfectly sculpted, perfectly impassive. Only those blood-red eyes burned with dangerous light.
Ferdinand's gaze fell to the documents.
"Let's conclude this." Calix placed his hands flat on the ruined table. It was not a request. It was barely even a statement.
It was a threat.
*Damn him,* Ferdinand raged silently. *Damn this insufferable pup and his entire cursed bloodline.* But there was nothing to be done. He could not refuse.
At least the matter itself was straightforward enough. Marielle Chartreuse was a direct descendant of the Loctrin family through her mother. With all other Loctrins dead, she and her elder sister were the sole remaining heirs. Restoring the girl's maternal name was legally sound, even if the circumstances were... irregular.
Ferdinand clenched his fists beneath the table, fighting to contain his fury. Then, through gritted teeth, he ordered a servant to bring sealing wax.
This meant consent.
Only then did the crushing pressure of Calix's presence begin to ease.
The servant prepared the wax with trembling hands, heating it over a small flame until it pooled crimson and molten. Ferdinand removed his signet ring—the imperial seal, symbol of absolute authority—and pressed it firmly into the cooling wax.
A perfect impression appeared on the parchment.
The moment approval was granted, Calix rolled up the document, tucked it into his coat, and turned without a word toward the exit.
"Why do you need all this?"
Ferdinand's voice stopped him at the threshold. The Emperor had risen from his seat, curiosity and resentment warring on his features.
Calix paused. For a moment, Ferdinand allowed himself to hope the man might actually answer—might offer some glimpse into his inscrutable motivations.
It was a mistake.
"You don't need to know."
The Grand Duke stepped through the archway and vanished into the night, leaving behind a broken table, a shaken Emperor, and the lingering scent of roses.