Beguiling the Enemy’s Patriarch - Chapter 120

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 120
Auredhian Belgot pressed the small body back down onto the swing just as it was about to spring up. As he lowered his head to kiss her, Yerenika pushed his shoulder away with her hand. She seemed more bothered by this than she’d expected, her voice brimming with grievance.
“Do you know how unsettled I’ve been these past two days? I keep feeling like I’ve done something wrong, like I’ve committed some terrible act…!”
“It is a terrible act, technically.”
“It is a terrible act, technically… Go away!”
“Really?”
If Yerenika truly despised him, there would be nothing he could force upon her, but through experience, Auredhian Belgot had come to recognize such words as nothing more than her endearing petulance.
“Can’t I kiss you?”
Yerenika was always weak to such questions. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, she seemed particularly susceptible to permissive phrasing. As he touched her slender chin and asked, both her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, not a trace of white remaining. Yerenika’s fingers fidgeted with the swing’s rope as she murmured.
“That’s unfair.”
“What is?”
“Your face, and attacking me with words like that.”
“I haven’t attacked you.”
Auredhian Belgot replied slowly. His gaze had long since fixed itself upon her reddened lips. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to hold her. The caution he’d exercised these past two days, fearful of burdening her, had transformed into an entirely different desire.
“Why… why are you looking at me like that…?”
He’d never considered himself someone with particularly unusual inclinations, yet watching this lovely face contort and crumble because of him was quite gratifying.
It was a face only he knew. An expression she showed only to him. Yet he didn’t truly wish to see that face twisted in bitter, wailing tears.
Auredhian Belgot suppressed the impulse that threatened to burst forth and spoke as though sighing.
“I think it’s severe.”
“…?”
“Perhaps it’s a side effect of being apart for too long?”
“What kind of side effect?”
“Something like that exists.”
If Yerenika were to lay bare her innermost self for him to examine, she would surely be horrified. Since he couldn’t force anything, he could only cling desperately. By his own reckoning, he stood somewhat apart from tenderness, gentleness, consideration, and carefulness.
There was only one reason he wished to take Yerenika to Belgot. To keep her within the reach of his eyes and hands, to ensure she couldn’t touch anything dangerous. That suffocating Imperial Palace would become a sanctuary more comfortable than anywhere else in the world, simply because she existed there. What she thought about it hardly mattered. Only then could he find peace of mind.
It’s too late to regret after you’re hurt. Self-recrimination after death serves no purpose. It’s better to erect defensive walls beforehand, even if she dislikes it, than to regret belatedly. But Yerenika had said she didn’t want that… She refused to shift all the burden of danger onto him, even unto death.
But if danger is shared, does it become half? Doesn’t it double instead? Was he the selfish one, or was it Yerenika?
“…I’m not sure myself, Yeni.”
Setting aside all those worries for now, he still bore the guilt of failing to control his emotions two days ago and ultimately making her cry.
In the end, Auredhian Belgot decided to satisfy himself with a light kiss today. After a clean, understated kiss, he straightened his posture. Yerenika looked up at him with a bewildered expression.
“What is this?”
“What?”
Yerenika tilted her head and smiled enigmatically. The face that had been too embarrassed to meet his eyes moments before was gone, replaced by the familiar countenance that made physical contact with him without hesitation.
“I didn’t say I disliked it. Why are you stopping here?”
Her following words were much the same. While his attention was briefly captured by that beautiful smile, the Flower Swing, which had been still, began to sway. As Yerenika rose from the swing, she drew closer. A petal or two drifted down softly. A quiet whisper reached his ears.
“I’m sorry for saying strange things. Just know that it wasn’t my true feelings.”
“…I know.”
The conversation ended there. Lips meeting again were as scorching as the summer breeze that blew between them.
* * *
Brizni returned safely to the Duke’s Residence. Tezebia sternly scolded her daughter, whom she’d nearly lost in the vast expanse of the Royal Palace.
“Brizni. Didn’t I tell you not to wander about the Royal Palace carelessly?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“It’s still far too vast for you to navigate alone. You must always go with your Nursemaid.”
Brizni nodded brightly with a cheerful smile. Yet Tezebia, who knew her daughter’s curiosity burned fiercer than that of her peers, found herself unable to relax.
“What would have happened if Yerenika hadn’t found you? You would have hidden away in some place no one could reach and started crying, wouldn’t you?”
“Bri doesn’t cry.”
Brizni answered with crisp precision, seemingly unaware she was being scolded. Tezebia exhaled a shallow sigh and pressed a kiss to each of her daughter’s cheeks.
“And how on earth did you make it all the way to the Secondary Palace….”
“Bri knows now. Where the swing is.”
“The swing?”
Brizni nodded with crystalline innocence. Tezebia paused, wondering where this swing could be, then recalled the flower-adorned swing beneath the ancient sprawling tree in front of Yerenika’s Western Palace. Her young daughter hadn’t merely wandered in front of the Secondary Palace—she had ventured all the way to the Western Palace and returned.
“Where Auntie lives. Where the pretty older brother is!”
Tezebia brushed away flower petals clinging to her daughter’s clothes, then lifted her gaze.
“Pretty older brother?”
Was there truly a knight at the Western Palace striking enough for Brizni to bestow such a title? Tezebia tilted her head in puzzlement. Ever since Yerenika had suddenly relocated to the Western Palace, claiming she preferred quieter surroundings, the number of attendants serving her had been cut precisely in half.
“I understood Fernandis was dismissed as well….”
Moreover, after Yerenika had released Fernandis from duty—something akin to parental leave—she had appointed no replacement guard. Save for Sergei Lebanon, she kept no men close to her. Yet Brizni spoke of an “older brother.” Tezebia held her drowsy daughter close, her eyes growing heavy, and asked the question.
“Who was Yerenika with?”
“Mm…. Secret.”
“Secret?”
“Bri won’t tell. Because they said ‘shh.’ And they even gave Bri a kiss…. I have to go tomorrow and the day after too.”
Brizni rubbed her eyes and murmured drowsily. Tezebia watched her daughter, who had begun nodding off in earnest with her chin resting on her mother’s shoulder, feeling oddly unsettled.
“A secret, she says.”
A secret meant there was something to conceal. And Tezebia found herself deeply troubled by her daughter’s final words.
“Shiny like Lari….”
Lari was Yerenika’s silver wolf cub. Shiny like Lari…?
“Duchess Lebanon.”
Yet before Tezebia could dwell further on this unease, someone called out to her. She patted Brizni gently and turned her head.
“Ah, you’ve arrived, Lisard.”
The figure draped in a deep black hood bowed elegantly toward her—a flawless display of Lebovni etiquette. Tezebia handed Brizni to the Nursemaid and offered a gentle smile.
“You’ve come rather early today. The Duke is likely in his Study. If you wait in the Reception Room, he should be down shortly. Would you care for some tea in the meantime?”
“…Thank you.”
The figure, swathed from head to toe in black fabric, slowly raised her hands and drew back the hood. Luxuriant waves of auburn hair cascaded down like flowing water. Half her face was concealed behind a black mask. Yet from the silhouette of her body visible beneath the heavy hood and the faint contours of her face glimpsed beneath the mask, one could discern the truth. Her true face was surely that of a considerable beauty. With this thought, Tezebia guided the mage employed by the Lebovni Royal Family toward the Reception Room.
* * *
Lebovni was a tiny kingdom situated in the central region of the Laigar Continent. Beyond its possession of the Glucaman Road—the straight path connecting eastern Belgot and western Azekhien—it possessed no particularly distinguishing features. A small kingdom, nothing more.
Yet Lebovni could not entirely escape the currents flowing across the continent. Even now, with tens of thousands of magical stones traversing the Glucaman Road between the two empires each month, it was difficult for Lebovni alone to maintain its steadfast magical dead zone.
It was Duke Lebanon who first broached this matter.
“Lebovni must now pursue reform, Your Majesty!”
Upon returning from his visit to Belgot two years prior for the Glucaman Tripartite Agreement, the Duke’s first words before the King carried this declaration. Lebovni must now earnestly dedicate itself to magical research and the cultivation of mages.
Until then, the only mages in Lebovni had been those from Azekhien or Belgot, tasked solely with defending the borders. Summoning them to the Capital to handle the intricate problems of the civilian populace, gradually integrating the existence of mages into the Capital, was hardly a matter of concern. It cost no additional funds, and Lebovni had never been a nation that rejected mages—merely one that had shown no particular interest until now.
The true problem, however, was the youngest Princess who had returned bearing an illness no one had ever heard of or seen before. The condition itself was called Mana Maladaptation—a disease where exposure to mana caused excruciating agony. With a remaining lifespan of less than five years and no cure discovered, it was a terrifying incurable affliction.
“It would be better to remain a small rural kingdom. I cannot kill my own daughter with these hands!”
With the precious youngest Princess suffering from such an illness, it was impossible to summon magicians to the Royal Palace and Capital in succession. Thus, the plan between the King and Duke Lebanon seemed destined to crumble. It had appeared that way until early this year—until the youngest Princess, Yerenika, demonstrated a perilous experiment claiming she could now endure a certain degree of mana.
“It’s fine as long as there are no magicians inside the Royal Palace itself. I was already thinking that if I utilized magicians somewhat, it would be more beneficial to national affairs… And now I can protect my own body well enough.”
Thus, beginning with the Princess’s words, Lebovni’s full-scale recruitment of magicians commenced. Of course, since magicians could not be brought into the Royal Palace, the Lebanon Duchy naturally took on all matters concerning magic.
“You haven’t encountered any difficulties?”
“No. The only issue is that the land itself lacks dense mana.”
Tezebia lifted her teacup lightly, observing the woman seated across from her. Lisard—a woman bearing an unfamiliar surname—was a magician whom Duke Lebanon had personally recruited from near the border earlier this year. I had heard she possessed far superior skill compared to the previously employed magicians and was handling nearly all of the Capital’s issues single-handedly.
“My husband relays your reports to me regularly. I am truly grateful for all your hard work.”
The woman with reddish-brown hair took a sip of tea. The response came a beat late.
“There is no need for gratitude.”
“Pardon?”
Tezebia, not catching the quietly spoken words, asked for clarification. The woman set down her teacup and offered a gentle smile.
“Your daughter is quite lovely.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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