The Search for the Duchess’s Husband - Chapter 84

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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 84

I opened the bookcase with trembling hands.
On the first page of the book was RedLip’s elegant signature alongside a brief inscription.

「 With heartfelt gratitude, to my fan Artia. 」

“Kyaaaah!”
I could no longer contain myself and shrieked, bouncing up and down.
What did the dignity of a noblewoman matter now?
I had received a first edition with a handwritten autograph from my most beloved author!

* * *

Epilogue.
The small Publishing House where Dan had struggled alone gained a new employee—the child who had stolen Dahlia’s handbag.
The child, clutching a feather duster, grumbled with a deeply furrowed brow.
“Ugh, why do I have to work here?”
Dan, adjusting his glasses, spoke while reviewing manuscripts.
“If you don’t want to work, you can go to the Public Security Bureau right now and face punishment for theft.”
Theft was a serious crime. Even more so when the stolen goods belonged to nobility.
“If you’re unlucky, your hand might be severed, but…”
“Eek!”
Dan continued, addressing the child whose face had gone pale.
“Wouldn’t it be better to work yourself to the bone here instead?”
The Shop Owner’s face was irritating to see every day, and the work was grueling, but meals came regularly and the child could sleep in the corner of the office.
By any measure, it was far better than prison.
“Dammit!”
The child spat out a curse and began vigorously dusting the bookshelves with the feather duster.
Though currently unpaid and forced to labor, as time passed the child would naturally learn to read and eventually become a proper employee. And then they would live in the hell of proofreading.
That was Dan’s plan.
‘The sin of laying hands on sacred manuscripts is grave, you little runt.’
Dan’s lips curled upward like those of a cunning schemer as he turned his attention back to the manuscripts.

Count Greg’s Estate.
Dalia’s Husband, Count Greg, widened his eyes.
A massive, ornate six-horse carriage stood before the mansion.
‘Do we have a visitor?’
As if mocking his assumption, Dahlia spoke.
“It’s mine. I purchased one.”
Count Greg’s mouth fell open.
“Y-you bought a carriage?”
“Yes, it’s been a dream of mine for ages. A luxury carriage crafted by the finest artisan, Benchia.”
Count Greg exhaled sharply, then adopted the stern expression of a tutor correcting a thoughtless child.
“My dear, I am a government official. If we parade about in such an extravagant carriage, people will call us wasteful.”
“Isn’t extravagance defined as spending beyond one’s means? A carriage of this caliber hardly qualifies as wasteful.”
“How is it not wasteful? A government official’s salary is nowhere near sufficient to justify riding in such a carriage.”
Dahlia countered her husband, who took pride in his integrity and frugality.
“But this carriage wasn’t purchased with money you earned.”
“What?!”
“I bought it with my own funds. And I’ve donated twice the carriage’s purchase price to the Academy of Scholars. If anyone criticizes us for being extravagant despite that, the fault lies with them.”
Count Greg, bewildered by this unexpected barrage of words, finally collected himself and asked.
“Where on earth did you acquire such funds?”
“That’s a secret.”
Dahlia had no intention of telling her husband that her latest novel had become a massive bestseller, landing her an enormous fortune.
“Well then, I’ll be going.”
Dahlia climbed into the carriage, leaving her husband frozen in place.
‘The interior is truly spacious and luxurious. No wonder all the male protagonists in novels ride in carriages like this.’
She imagined that being alone with someone in such a place might kindle affection where none existed before.
In the mind of the ordinarily composed and intellectual Dahlia, a passionate romantic scene unfolded within the luxury carriage.

* * *

Killian spoke with a visibly displeased expression.
“The intensity of women’s gazes toward me has grown fiercer lately….”
Though Killian feared nothing in this world, he was actually quite perceptive about reading the atmosphere, and he reacted with particular sensitivity to the gleam in women’s eyes.
Nocton von Alihas, observing Killian’s reaction, offered an explanation.
“It’s likely because of that novel.”
“A novel?”
“Yes. There’s a novel that’s been garnering tremendous popularity recently. The male protagonist is said to be a prince with black hair and golden eyes. They’re probably reminded of Your Highness when they see you.”
“What’s the title of this novel?”
“The Noble Prince Is Her Footrest.”
“….”
“Would you like to hear the plot summary?”
“Never mind.”
Seeing Killian’s dimmed golden eyes, Nocton von Alihas, ever the perceptive attendant, ventured his next words carefully.
“If it displeases you, I shall immediately confiscate all copies of the book and locate the author to ensure they never write such a novel again, with the full weight of punishment behind it.”
The Killian of old would have nodded immediately. He was not so magnanimous as to tolerate those who displeased him.
But Killian said something unexpected.
“Hold off. There’s something I need to verify.”

Hours later, Killian sat across from Artia.
‘Now she’s become like a sparrow flocking to a mill.’
Killian spoke to Artia, who had unexpectedly become the mill owner.
“The Noble Prince Is Her Footrest.”
In that instant, Artia’s expression transformed.
She, who had been serene mere moments before, flushed as though struck by lightning and cried out.
“Your Highness knows of that work?”
“Yes.”
“Have you read it?”
“No.”
Seeing Artia’s face fall with sudden disappointment, Killian felt oddly as though he’d said something unkind.
Killian spoke, feeling somewhat uncomfortable.
“Nocton mentioned that the work has become quite popular these days.”
“It’s far more than just popular. The first edition sold out instantly, everyone talks of nothing but that work when they meet, queues form at the Bookstore from dawn whenever a new printing is released, and there are countless people willing to pay exorbitant premiums just to own a copy. It’s RedLip’s most popular novel by far.”
Seeing Artia’s unusually animated demeanor, one could tell without asking.
‘She’s a fan of that author.’
It was good that I didn’t apprehend the author. Had I done so, tears would surely have streamed from those rabbit-like eyes.
Satisfied with his own decision, Killian broached a different topic.
“By the way, about that book you recommended to me….”
“Oh, you’ve read it?”
As Killian nodded, a frenzied gleam returned to Artia’s pink eyes.
Artia asked, harboring the hope that a work she loved might also have entertained His Highness.
“How was it?”
I wanted to throw a punch at that so-called male protagonist.
Killian, possessing enough sense not to say such a thing, chose his words carefully instead.
“The male protagonist’s actions simply didn’t make sense to me.”
“Which part, Your Highness?”
“Every part of it.”
Artia’s expression betrayed her disbelief—as if to say, ‘But how could you not understand? Count Auguste is so magnificent.’ Killian spoke to her directly.
“For example…”
Killian rose from his chair, took several steps forward, and knelt before Artia.
Artia’s eyes widened in shock.
“Your… Your Highness, what are you…?”
Before Artia could finish, Killian looked up at her and spoke.
“My body and my heart belong entirely to you. I beg of you—give me even a little of yourself.”
It was Count Auguste’s line, Artia’s absolute favorite.
When she had read that passage, Artia had squealed with delight, bouncing on her feet like a giddy girl.
But now, she couldn’t muster any reaction at all.
The man gazing up at her was far too beautiful, his golden eyes far too intense.
Everything within Artia came to a standstill.
Her breath, her heartbeat, time itself—everything froze.
In what felt like an eternity, Killian’s voice continued.
“Is this really what makes your heart race?”

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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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