I Stole The Duke - Chapter 59
“Haa… Haa…”
The longer the duel dragged on, the heavier the breathing became—though only for the Marquess.
“Father, please stop.”
Riela, pale with worry, covered her mouth with both hands. She was afraid he might collapse from exhaustion at this rate.
“Just… a little more, Riela.”
Whack! Whack! Whack!
This infuriating little brat…
Every strike from his cane had been flawlessly blocked, and that only made Marquess Rancelloti more furious.
“So desperate to become my son-in-law, are you?!”
The Marquess hadn’t just sat back and done nothing. He had used every connection he had to dig into Joel’s background.
The second son of Count Terius. The reports were annoyingly full of praise. Joel’s only “flaw” was that he had no chance of inheriting a title—hence, not technically perfect.
“Hah! I see now what you’ve misunderstood. Unfortunately for you, the title I want is the one granted by my lord.”
A barony was awarded to knights after five years of service in the Azure Order. A hereditary barony came after ten, and after twenty—one could earn the title of viscount. That was Joel’s goal. And thanks to the Duke’s recent private training, it wasn’t as impossible as it once seemed.
“I, Joel Terius, have no intention of discarding my name for the sake of a title. I have no interest in becoming someone’s son-in-law.”
And it was true. Who was Joel Terius? The famed ‘star’ of southern high society. If he’d wanted a noble marriage, he’d have been engaged long ago.
“Haa… haa… You’ve got quite the silver tongue.”
Not one strike had landed. Huffing, the Marquess finally gave up on swinging his cane and tried to steady his breathing.
“Because of you, my daughter’s chance of becoming Crown Princess is slipping away—and you act like you’re some great gift.”
He narrowed his eyes, staring intently at Joel. This young man was clearly exceptional. And worst of all—he knew it.
“My sincerest apologies, Your Lordship. First, allow me to help the young lady down from the carriage.”
Joel, acknowledging the situation with grace, turned toward Riela, who had yet to step down.
“My apologies for not escorting you right away.”
“It’s alright. Father… I’m back.”
Finally stepping out of the carriage, Riela greeted her father, who was now drenched in sweat. At least there had been no bloodshed.
“Riela… Your dress… What in the world are you wearing?”
The Marquess’s brow twitched furiously at the sight. A proper dress should tightly cinch the waist, demand a perfectly upright posture, and be adorned with embroidery and jewels worthy of art. What she had on looked more like… a nightgown.
“In the South, this is considered formal summer attire.”
Joel answered calmly, standing beside Riela. By southern standards, it was elegant and dignified. But the Marquess looked as if he’d just witnessed sacrilege. Maybe next time, Joel should introduce her to a knee-length dress—just to see the reaction.
“You will never meet my daughter again.”
He glared daggers at Joel and grabbed Riela by the wrist. She was meant to become Crown Princess—and someday Empress. He would not allow her to be tainted by the lax culture of the South.
“Father!”
As he turned and began to walk toward the mansion, Riela was helplessly dragged behind him. Her eyes met Joel’s—full of desperation and silent pleading.
“Your Lordship, please… use me!”
“……”
The Marquess stopped in his tracks at Joel’s urgent plea.
“If you use me now, it may give the young lady a stronger chance to become Crown Princess.”
Joel’s chest tightened as he met Riela’s eyes, shimmering with unshed tears.
And in that same moment, he saw Freya’s twisted smile flash in his mind. She was likely the one who had released the rats at the tea party. A cruel woman—one who knew how to manipulate the media to spread scandal.
“I want to help her.”
If he didn’t take Riela’s hand now… he had the strange feeling something awful would happen to her—because of that woman.
“Help? What do you mean by that?”
The Marquess turned slightly, still standing on the steps.
“I mean I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure she becomes Crown Princess. I will take full responsibility and support her.”
If he was already tangled in this mess, he might as well take some responsibility.
“How?”
The Marquess scrutinized Joel’s face.
“For now, we need to take cover from the storm.”
“……”
“If she remains at my side, at least for now, the opportunity will come. I’m certain of it.”
“Don’t give me vague hopes. Back it up with something real.”
The Marquess knew Joel was dangerously persuasive. He needed to be sure this wasn’t just some smooth-talking man trying to string his daughter along.
“With this latest article, the House of Espensen has made a critical mistake.”
“And what mistake would that be?”
From the Marquess’s point of view, the count’s maneuver had been a success. Their side had taken a major blow.
“They overreached. They dared to mention the Duchess in their trash.”
If they’d wanted to stir scandal, they should’ve only tangled Joel and Riela in it. Dragging the Duchess into the mud? From Joel’s perspective, that was the stupidest thing they could’ve done.
“…Hmm.”
The Marquess found himself increasingly intrigued by Joel’s words.
“If Lady Riela and I continue seeing each other and buy some time, the House of Espensen will inevitably crumble—or suffer a serious blow.”
Joel knew Michalis well. The moment the Duchess was mentioned with ill intent, a line had been crossed. His master was not the type to let an enemy bare its teeth and walk away unscathed.
“The House of Espensen will suffer a fatal wound…?”
“That blow will come from His Grace, the Duke.”
With the intelligence network the House of Ascher wielded, they had likely already identified who leaked that scandalous article. Retaliation was just a matter of time.
So the Duke values his wife that deeply?
To bring down a noble house over a tabloid mention… The Marquess couldn’t begin to guess how far the Duke would go.
“And once the House of Espensen falls, their daughter will no longer be eligible to become Crown Princess.”
It would likely be automatic disqualification. The idea that that vicious woman might become Crown Princess—it was unthinkable. The Marquess didn’t hold much loyalty to the royal family, but even he couldn’t stomach that outcome.
“Is it really that serious…?”
This irritating young man wasn’t just anybody—he was from House Terius, a loyal vassal family of House Ascher, and the Duchess’s personal guard.
“……”
The Marquess fell into silent thought. He recalled how the Duke, even after reading the article, had still chosen to keep Joel by his side. That alone proved Joel was a trusted insider—not just spouting empty words. This might actually be viable.
“And once the House of Espensen collapses… I’ll end things with the young lady in a way that causes her no harm—naturally, and with respect.”
Joel had every intention of letting go when Riela was safe. It was his responsibility—for having dragged her into this.
“…Not a bad plan.”
Truth be told, it wasn’t a bad strategy. With her current candidacy in jeopardy, protecting Riela while the enemy crumbled could set her up for a swift resurgence.
“Of course, I will treat the lady with utmost propriety until then.”
“……”
The Marquess fell into deeper thought.
Wesperan society was much more conservative than the South when it came to premarital relationships. Would the Imperial Family even consider a candidate who had known romantic involvement?
“Why… is it that neither of you seem interested in my opinion on all this?”
Riela, who had been quiet until now, suddenly spoke with a calm but resolved voice.
“Go on, speak.”
The Marquess turned to look at his daughter’s face.
“I don’t want it.”
Her words were quiet—but clear.
“What…?”
“Pardon?”
Both Joel and the Marquess blinked, confused.
“I don’t want to become Crown Princess.”
It was the first time she had ever voiced this truth.
“Riela!”
The Marquess cried out in disbelief. It was a bolt from the blue—something he had never imagined.
“What… What nonsense is this?! I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”
To be Empress was the highest position a woman could aspire to. He had never even considered she might refuse it. She had never once shown resistance—not until now.
“You never gave me the chance to refuse, Father.”
[You are destined to become Empress.]
It was something she had been told from the moment she learned to speak. A phrase that had chained her like a shackle. An inescapable fate.
“But now I realize—I don’t want that future. Not anymore.”
Riela had only realized it after meeting Joel Terius. That what she had thought was fate… had been a cage.
The moment the southern star suddenly appeared in her life and asked her to dance—her chains broke. She was no longer a puppet programmed to move forward. She could look elsewhere—choose differently.
“Riela! Have you lost your mind?!”
The Marquess felt like his vision was spinning. Everything he’d worked so hard to build—coming apart in an instant.
“No, Father. I’m perfectly sane.”
To her, the Crown Prince was someone she could never truly love. Yes, he was handsome and kind—but in his presence, she always felt pressure. She had to mind every word, every gesture, terrified of making a single mistake. The constant scrutiny, the suffocating perfection…
Joel, by contrast, was like this soft, flowing dress—too open at the back to wear with a corset. He gave her room to breathe.
“Father… I can’t go back to how things were.”
Once you’ve tasted freedom, it’s impossible to return to shackles. Riela’s resolve was firm. She no longer wanted to be the doll who had to worry about how to breathe, how to walk, how to drink a glass of water.
“…Let’s go inside and rest. For today.”
Something about his daughter felt off. Maybe a night of sleep would bring her back to her senses. The Marquess gently reached for her hand.
“I don’t want to marry the Crown Prince. The person I want to marry is this man.”
And just as he was about to pull her forward, Riela dropped a bomb.
“Father. I love him. I fell in love with him the moment I saw him!”
Thud.
Both Joel and the Marquess stood frozen, mouths hanging open.
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