I Stole The Duke - Chapter 136

“We greet the Duchess of House Ascher.”

Not long after Michalis stepped away, a group of around twenty well-dressed women approached Eliana.

“Who…?”

Eliana’s eyes settled on the lady leading them. She looked vaguely familiar, though her name didn’t immediately come to mind.

“Lady Carlyle,” the woman introduced herself with grace, lifting the edge of her skirt in a practiced curtsy.

“Ah… You’re the wife of Sir Puelini.”

Only then did Eliana recall—she had briefly spoken with her at a wedding not long ago.

“My husband is deeply grateful to House Ascher.”

“Please, no need to say that. Sir Puelini has contributed so much himself.”

“Since today is such a special occasion, I thought it would be the perfect time to come greet you—with all of us together.”

The “all of us” behind her were none other than the wives of the Blue Knights—nearly twenty of them.

“I’ve been wanting to organize a gathering like this. I’m glad you came.”

This visits delighted Eliana. In Southern society, the wives of the Blue Knights held significant influence. If she wanted to host salons or establish a social circle, it would all begin with these women.

“Then allow me to introduce them, one by one.”

As if rehearsed, the women subtly shifted positions, forming a neat line—as though the order truly mattered.

“Darling! Must I always be seventh for the third year in a row?”

One wife shot a sharp glare toward Sir Ista, who was stationed quietly beside Eliana.

“I’m sorry, I truly am. I’ll try harder.”

“They say Eastern root herbs are especially effective for men…”

Ista flinched. He had clearly picked up on the deeper message in his wife’s expression.

“My lady, please! Just ask me to increase my training hours instead…”

Even among the Blue Knights, quiet battles over ranking were constant—and their wives fought just as fiercely, though in silence.

“This is Lady Rosente, wife of Sir Alejandro Rosente. My husband owes much to House Ascher.”

The line now fully formed, the women began greeting Eliana one by one.

“Sir Alejandro’s reputation speaks for itself.”

“There was no need to go in order of rank…”

Eliana felt a bit awkward. Ignoring noble titles and birth to instead line up by their husbands’ knightly seniority—such was the reality these military wives faced.

“I’ll need to prepare a large round tea table…”

If she failed to manage the mood of this group, she could already tell things would get very complicated.

While Eliana was meeting the Blue Knights’ wives, Joel and Riela were enjoying a moment of rest on the terrace.

“Is your throat alright? Are your feet sore?”

Joel handed her a crystal glass filled with iced coffee and sat beside her.

“This will help my throat, and my feet are fine. I’m wearing comfortable shoes.”

The cold drink soothed her throat. Riela took a breath and smiled.

“You don’t look fine to me.”

Joel’s eyes dropped to her feet beneath the hem of her dress. If she’d worn a Wespan-style gown, her feet would’ve been hidden—but the Southern style didn’t conceal the swelling.

“You could take off your shoes and rest for a while.”

“No, it’s alright.”

“…Understood.”

As a former Crown Princess candidate, Riela had been raised with the highest standards of nobility. Pressuring her further would’ve been a serious offense.

“The Southern air turns cold the moment the sun sets.”

Watching her quietly, Joel removed his jacket and gently draped it over her shoulders. That thin dress and a cold drink—she’d catch a chill easily.

“Joel… you should sit and rest too.”

Riela said his name softly, then shyly looked away.

“……”

Joel sat down next to her, and she hesitated before resting her cheek against his shoulder. Their hands, so used to holding one another, naturally found each other again.

“Earlier, when you spoke with His Highness… if I understood correctly…”

“Yes. I have no intention of becoming Marquis Rancelloti’s son-in-law.”

“I suspected as much.”

Her father still had hope, but Riela had always known—Joel had never been interested in that role. And likely never would be.

“I may not be able to be his heir… but—”

He had taken from them a woman destined to be Crown Princess—perhaps even Empress. For that, he felt a debt he’d spend a lifetime repaying.

“But if you wish, Riela… I’ll make you the Empire’s first Marchioness in your own right. If there’s anything you want—anything at all—I’ll bring it from the ends of the earth. Whatever it is, just say the word—”

Joel had made a silent vow: Riela would never regret choosing him.

“Stop that. This is my life—my choice. Why are you acting like you’re the one who owes a debt?”

“…Forgive me. That was careless of me.”

Joel immediately quieted, like a scolded child. His bride-to-be might be graceful and noble, but she had a will of steel beneath her calm.

“Do you even know what it is I really want?”

Riela glanced at Joel’s profile and asked a question that could only be described as cruel—at least from a man’s perspective. It felt like one of those questions you get on anniversaries… where saying the wrong thing could turn the atmosphere cold in an instant.

“……”

Five long seconds of silence passed.

“I promise to respect you as my partner, love you for the rest of my life, and cherish you always.”

Joel, ever intuitive, offered the perfect textbook answer.

“This is exactly why I love you.”

A man with principles, a free spirit, and above all, the sense to never make the people around him feel trapped.

“……”

Riela tugged at his collar—and he leaned in without resistance. His warm lips softly pressed against hers, chilled from the iced coffee. The kiss lingered, long and slow, as if to quench a thirst that had built over the past three months.

Joel Terius didn’t steal the Crown Princess candidate.

Riela Rancelloti won the star.

“Your Grace, that method is far too dangerous!”

Iadis couldn’t hide his alarm as he and Michalis discussed the final steps of the operation.

“Sir Iadis, have I not spoken before about the nature of the best plans?”

“You have… but even so, I’ll take care of the conclusion myself!”

Iadis knew, logically, that Michalis’s approach had the higher success rate—but emotionally, he couldn’t accept it.

“If Your Grace truly respects me as your second-in-command, then please entrust this final phase to me.”

As the commander’s aide, Iadis’s role included managing orders, handling administrative tasks, and protecting the safety of the Supreme Commander.

“The person best suited for this mission… is me.”

Michalis reminded him—firmly—that this decision wasn’t born of recklessness.

“What kind of aide hides behind their commander?! If that’s the case, then dismiss me from my post, Your Grace!”

Seeing that his lord showed no signs of backing down, Iadis went pale and dropped to his knees before the sofa.

“Sir Iadis.”

Michalis’s gaze narrowed on the green-haired man in front of him. Whenever there was a matter involving personal risk, his aide became absolutely impossible to reason with.

“Then I’ll resign as your aide and serve only as your knight—following orders without question!”

A bold move. By threatening to strip himself of duties only he could manage, Iadis delivered the ultimate leverage.

“Stay calm… He means well.”

These days, his aide’s protests had been getting more frequent. Michalis resisted the urge to smack the back of that stubborn green head.

“Do you see me as someone weak enough to need protection?”

“It’s not that Your Grace is weak. It’s that the enemy is too strong.”

Indeed. Their opponent was no ordinary mage—but a high-ranking archmage.

“Then I’ll prove how strong I am.”

“If Your Grace is truly at the level of a swordmaster… then I’ll stand down.”

Michalis clenched both fists tightly. Yes—he might really need to hit this man someday.

“I, Michalis Ascher, Lord of Flencia, will not allow anyone to die.”

If the mission failed, it wouldn’t just be him who paid the price. It could cost him his most trusted vassals—and possibly reduce all of Flencia to ashes. This operation had to succeed.

“……”

“This is both my vow… and a promise I made to my wife. You were there, weren’t you?”

“Yes… I remember.”

“Sir Iadis. Present your blade.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Iadis pulled a dagger from within his robe and held it up with both hands.

“Will this do?”

Michalis focused, drawing forth his aura. The dagger first shimmered with blue light—then suddenly burst with a blinding white glow.

“…Ah! Congratulations, Your Grace!”

Iadis’s eyes widened in awe. His lord—absent from the ranks of swordmasters for decades—had finally awakened. At this level, it might truly be possible to face an archmage.

“Until I declare this myself, this information stays classified.”

“Understood, Your Grace.”

“Sir Iadis, are you planning to stay on your knees forever? Stand up.”

“Yes, sir!”

Iadis stood quickly, his heart lighter. The odds of success had just skyrocketed. Now, all he could do was believe in his lord.

“Sir Iadis.”

Michalis placed the dagger down on the sofa table and called to him again.

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“Lately, haven’t you been slacking on your personal training?”

Then came the inevitable jab.

“I maintain a strict schedule of at least 20 hours per week.”

Those 20 hours were carved out from late nights and little sleep—a hard-earned minimum, especially with his heavy workload.

“And yet, you couldn’t handle Sir Joel—who’s much younger—without difficulty.”

“I’ll work harder! I’ll improve!”

At the time, the only way he could’ve overpowered Joel would have been to severely injure or kill him.

“After this mission, we’ll have daily sparring. One hour after lunch.”

After lunch?

He already knew he’d be throwing up half his meal.

“Please… have mercy, Your Grace!”

Sir Iadis was brutally sentenced.

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