The Search for the Duchess’s Husband - Chapter 34

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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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In Search of the Duke’s Husband – Episode 34

When no response came, Artia called out again.
“Excuse me, are you… not hurt?”
Her small voice, delivered from a distance she dared not cross, trembled with concern.
‘She speaks so well when she cannot see my face.’
Killian von Orpheus’s lips curved upward ever so slightly as he opened his mouth.
“I’m not hurt.”
His voice was rarely so low and husky, yet far softer than usual—almost as if it belonged to someone else entirely.
As expected, Artia did not notice. Had she realized, she would have fled immediately, yet instead she spoke once more.
“Thank goodness. I’m afraid I cannot help you right now, as I have urgent matters to attend to.”
This was the first time he had truly conversed with Artia. When he wore his own form, she would flee the moment their eyes met, and when he took the shape of a black cat, she alone had spoken incessantly.
‘Not unpleasant.’
It had been a long time since speaking with another did not fill him with displeasure.
Just then, a hand emerged abruptly from the undergrowth. The small hand, so delicate it seemed impossible he and its owner were the same age, held a white handkerchief.
“Please use this if you need it.”
Despite her spirited tone, the hand holding the handkerchief trembled faintly.
As though she had gathered every ounce of courage she possessed.
Killian von Orpheus stared at the handkerchief before taking it. His attempt at caution proved futile as the tips of his fingers brushed lightly against her hand.
“Ah!”
Artia gasped as though she had touched flame, hastily withdrawing her hand.
She spoke now at twice her previous speed.
“I-I’m so sorry. I’m just easily frightened…”
Rather than answer, Killian von Orpheus gazed at the fingertips that had touched her hand.
It had been but a moment, yet remarkably soft.
Artia’s voice continued toward him.
“You needn’t return the handkerchief—please keep it. Well then, I should be going.”
The sound of her footsteps faded. Her fragrance faded with them.
Only after she had completely vanished did Killian von Orpheus look down at the handkerchief.
He began to wipe his lips with it, then stopped.
The white cloth carried the scent of Artia von Edenberg.
A faint cherry blossom fragrance.
Killian von Orpheus ultimately did not use the handkerchief, instead tucking it into his breast pocket.

After that, Killian von Orpheus returned to the Banquet Hall.
His composure was so assured that no one could detect the strain he had endured.
Every gaze in the vast hall turned toward him. The women adorned in their finest for their debutante presentation fixed upon him with an intensity bordering on desperation.
Yet Killian bestowed his attention on none of them, searching instead for a single woman. And he found her in an instant.
Artia, concealed behind a pillar in the corner of the room.
Her face taut with anxiety, she kept her head bowed, dressed in a pale pink gown. The delicate fabric, layered dozens upon dozens of times, resembled a dress woven entirely from cherry blossoms.
I could not tear my gaze from her.
My chest tightened where I had placed the white handkerchief she had given me earlier.
‘Should I ask her to dance?’
It was a thought I had never entertained before.
At that moment, Artia lifted her head and our eyes met. Despite the considerable distance between us, she gasped and immediately lowered her head again.
Her body in the pink gown trembled violently.
As though she had locked eyes with a monster itself.
“….”
I did not wish to cause Artia to faint at her debutante ball.
Just as I had come to regard this evening as a rather pleasant one, I hoped she would too.
So I turned away and refused to look in her direction again.

Having already returned to my true form from the black cat, I murmured softly.
“She was beautiful. Extraordinarily so.”
It was a belated answer I could not have given in her presence.

* * *

Cafe Zeus. Artia sat across from Simon.
Today was the last day they had agreed to meet.
Artia had planned to exchange pleasant conversation as she had the previous two times before parting ways, but Simon uttered something entirely unexpected.
“Duchess Artia, might we meet again next time?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I, I assure you my intentions are entirely honorable. It’s simply that conversing with you brings me such joy. If you share even a fraction of that sentiment, would you consider meeting a few more times?”
“….”
I did not dislike Simon.
While he was not husband material, I thought our acquaintance might continue as something more than mere strangers.
Yet in that moment, I came to a realization.
‘I cannot allow such an ambiguous relationship to persist.’
After all, he was regarding me as a woman.
I turned to Simon, whose eyes gleamed with hope, and spoke.
“I appreciate your kind words, but as I mentioned at the outset, let us meet only until today.”
“…!”
“These meetings have been most enjoyable. I shall pray that a worthy connection finds you.”
Simon’s expression crumpled as though he might weep, then he abruptly rose and bowed deeply.
“Yes, yes. Very well. I too have cherished these moments.”
An ungainly bow, hardly befitting a nobleman. Rather than mock him, I inclined my head with grace.
Thus concluded my meeting with the fifth suitor!
Or so I believed….
Days later, an unexpected visitor arrived.
“The Baron of House Rushian has come to call.”
Shylock von Rusian.
Head of House Rushian and Simon’s elder brother.
“He says he wishes to see you urgently.”
It was customary to seek permission before visiting someone’s residence.
Yet Shylock von Rusian and I were not so intimate as to dispense with such courtesies.
‘We have scarcely exchanged proper greetings, let alone cultivated any familiarity.’
My brow furrowed at such egregious rudeness.
Bibi, perceiving my displeasure, inquired.
“Shall I ask him to seek formal permission and return another time?”
“…No, I should hear what he has to say.”
If he had come with such urgency, his business might indeed be pressing.
I draped a cardigan over my indoor dress and stepped outside.
A man in a black suit stood in the entrance hall.
His hair was swept back without a single strand out of place, and behind his spectacles gleamed sharp, penetrating eyes.
His severe countenance matched perfectly the rumors of a cold-blooded man who cared only for wealth.
‘He bears no resemblance to Simon whatsoever.’
Not merely dissimilar—they were complete opposites. It was difficult to believe they shared the same parents.
Shylock met Artia’s gaze, his voice turning menacing.
“Duchess of Edenberg, you’ve met my brother three times, stirred up an innocent man’s heart, and now you reject him? Were you toying with my brother?”
Only then did Artia understand why he had come all this way.
‘He’s here to confront me about Simon and me deciding not to meet anymore?’
It was infuriating.
She had heard from Simon that his brother interfered in everything, but she hadn’t expected it to be this extreme.
As she was contemplating how to handle this overprotective older brother, another uninvited guest appeared.
“W-wait, Brother!”
Simon rushed over with a pale face and positioned himself in front of Shylock.
“W-what on earth are you doing here?”
“What am I doing? Because you’re acting like a fool and can’t even say what you want to say, I came in your place.”
Shylock continued, his piercing gaze fixed downward on Simon.
“I tell you every day—if you want something, obtain it decisively. Yet you act like an idiot again. What kind of man runs away just because a woman plays hard to get?”
“I, I…”
Simon had rushed here to stop Shylock, yet he couldn’t utter a single word.
He was terrified.
His breathing grew increasingly ragged.
He felt as though he might faint again.
A clear voice pierced through Simon’s trembling ears as fear consumed him.
“Stop, Baron von Rushian.”
Artia had positioned herself in front of Simon, shielding him.
Shylock looked down at Artia, his voice turning glacial.
“Don’t meddle in family affairs.”
His serpentine eyes gleamed with menace, yet Artia refused to back down and replied.
“The one who shouldn’t meddle is you, not me.”
“What…?”
“Simon and I have met three times to understand each other, and we’ve concluded that we don’t wish our relationship to deepen. So stop interfering any further. This is between Simon and me.”

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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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