The Young Male Protagonist Who is Destined for Ruin Fell for Me - Chapter 90

The servants of the Burk estate collectively furrowed their brows.

From the distant horizon, something gleamed like a gemstone, reflecting the sunlight.

A carriage drawn by a white steed rolled forward, its opulence resembling a gilded jewelry box on wheels. There was no need to speculate about its occupant.

“The Duke of Chaield is arriving at the Burk estate…!”

“Quick, inform the mistress at once!”

“My goodness… I’ve been working here for years, but I never thought I’d see the Duke of Chaield in person.”

Kyle’s immense wealth and influence were well-known among both nobles and commoners.

The servants, now brimming with anticipation, looked as though they were awaiting the arrival of a wildly popular stage actor.

The recent rumors of the monster duke transforming into a devoted romantic had already spread across the capital.

Chaield bloodlines were renowned not only for their wealth but also for their striking features.

Some of the staff discreetly pulled out handkerchiefs, preparing in advance should they suffer a nosebleed at the sight.

As the lavish carriage came to a smooth stop, the door opened, revealing Lady Diane’s lady-in-waiting.

However, the grand scene they had secretly hoped for—Kyle stepping out amidst a flurry of rose petals—never came to pass.

Instead, he emerged looking as if he were attending a funeral.

And yet, even in his bleak state, his brooding aura only served to heighten his allure—a fact that was, frankly, a problem.

“Did you have a pleasant time?”

It was only when his fiancée greeted him with a soft smile that his expression finally eased—though only slightly.

Amel, on the other hand, immediately sensed that something was amiss.

No, this wasn’t just a slight difference in his demeanor.

Why is Kyle… just standing there?

Normally, the moment she climbed into the carriage, he would have wrapped an arm around her waist within ten seconds, lazily running his fingers through her hair as he murmured some flirtatious inquiry about her day.

But today, he simply stared at her, his eyes carrying the sorrowful weight of an abandoned puppy.

…What’s going on?

At that moment, Amel had no idea what was running through Kyle’s mind.

Claire’s Imperial Visit

On the final day of her stay in Traiha, Claire Chaield arrived at the imperial palace, immediately putting the royal officials on edge.

Experience had taught them that whenever someone bearing the name Chaield set foot in the palace, a seismic shift was bound to follow.

This time would likely be no different.

As Claire strode confidently into the grand lobby, she was greeted by Enoch.

His impeccable manners gave the impression that he treated all his interactions with equal respect, regardless of status.

“Lady Claire, it has been some time.”

“I am honored to be invited to dine at the imperial palace.”

However, unlike the other noblewomen who often blushed or smiled coyly in his presence, Claire remained perfectly composed.

It was Enoch who found himself momentarily thrown off by her unwavering poise.

“My father, upon hearing of your arrival, requested to share an evening meal with you. In the future, it would be preferable if you informed us in advance when planning a visit.”

“I was not here on official business, so I had not thought to do so. I will keep that in mind for next time.”

She offered a polite yet reserved smile, though the air around her remained as crisp and cold as frost.

The attendants trailing behind them dared not make a sound, intimidated by the palpable tension.

Inside the grand dining hall, Emperor Leosys II sat at the head of the table.

Under normal circumstances, etiquette dictated that he should have risen to greet his guest, but his worsening condition rendered such formalities impossible.

He summoned me as part of his preparations for the imminent transfer of power.

Lacking any deep sense of empathy, Claire neither mourned nor pitied the suffering of others.

Tears? She had never once shed them.

Still, for the sake of propriety, she arranged her expression into one of carefully measured sympathy as she settled in for what was both a meal and a negotiation.

Discussions proceeded smoothly, and by the time dessert was served, the transaction was nearly complete—a trade agreement between Traiha’s alchemical advancements and Chaield’s shipbuilding expertise.

Then, after a few bouts of coughing, the Emperor finally spoke.

“Lady Claire, if only I had a daughter like you… I could rest easy, even in death.”

“…”

Claire was momentarily taken aback.

For once, she did not have an immediate response. Her gaze flickered subtly toward Enoch, as if seeking clarification.

His expression was equally somber.

It was not uncommon for fathers to long for daughters, or for noble families to desire strong heirs.

But Traiha’s imperial family had once had a princess—one who was now dead.

A victim of political maneuvering.

Iana de Traiha.

Her death had briefly entertained Claire, purely as a matter of intellectual curiosity.

The most intriguing aspect had been the deliberate vagueness surrounding the cause of her death.

Is it truly so frustrating for them that everyone assumes the Crown Prince or the Emperor had her killed?

No.

The Traihan imperial family, as Claire knew them, were far from softhearted fools.

They were the ruling core of a vast empire. They did not waste time dwelling on the past.

If Leosys II was choosing to bring up a long-buried incident—especially in conversation with a foreign noblewoman—there was only one logical explanation.

Iana’s death must be connected to something that is about to happen.

Whether the princess had starved to death or simply collapsed one day was of no concern to Claire.

But if her death was tied to events yet to unfold, that was a different matter entirely.

Perhaps it was the years she had spent growing up confined in her family’s halls, but Claire had developed an acute ability to read people. Carefully choosing her words, she finally spoke.

“I understand that His Highness, Prince Itar, was especially close with the late princess.”

“…Yes. That child wanted to become Emperor solely to protect his sister.”

And that’s precisely why she was killed, wasn’t it?

The Emperor’s sigh, tinged with a cough, only piqued Claire’s curiosity further.

Chaield’s intelligence division had long kept a close watch on the Third Prince due to his ties with Marabas. Their methods had nothing to do with humanitarianism or ethics.

Their job was to uncover and seize every potential weakness an adversary had.

Claire intended to do exactly that—find and exploit Itar’s vulnerabilities.

“Iana’s death anniversary is approaching,” the Emperor continued. “Surely, you’ve heard at least some version of the story regarding how she died.”

“…It is unfortunate.”

“Whatever it is you believe to be the cause, understand this—Traiha’s imperial family has already compromised its honor once for Itar’s sake. But there will be no second act of mercy.”

“…”

“If that time comes, will the friendship between Triha and Chaield remain intact?”

Claire suddenly recalled Chaield’s late firstborn son—the man who had plunged a sword into his own brother, igniting a war of succession.

He had spoken words not unlike these before.

Has the imperial family realized that Itar is plotting something?

It mattered little either way.

Chaield had no need to entangle itself in a struggle for power. They would simply wait, poised to claim whatever spoils remained once the dust had settled.

“As long as neither side seeks to destroy the other, our alliance will remain intact.”

Even as she spoke, Claire couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling.

The Emperor’s remark—that the imperial family had already sacrificed its honor once for Itar—left her with lingering questions.

She didn’t know what it meant, but she intended to find out.

Having concluded her final engagement in Traiha—a political dinner disguised as a casual meal—Claire rose from her seat, a faint smile playing at her lips.

She maintained her impeccable composure all the way to the palace gates.

However, as her carriage finally rolled out onto the main road, an unexpected disruption occurred.

“What is happening?”

The Chaield carriage procession suddenly slowed.

Approaching from the opposite direction was a carriage bearing the crest of the Traihan imperial family.

…Itar has returned? He’s back sooner than expected.

Claire didn’t yet suspect that his early return had anything to do with Chaield’s maneuvering.

She simply urged her own departure along.

Claire’s Return and a Questionable Portrait

“Your Grace, Lady Claire’s carriage has passed through the front gates.”

The news I had been waiting for.

Kyle and I had finished our meal and were already heading to the entrance hall.

Servants bustled around us like diligent worker ants, hauling crates in neat formation.

As expected of my favorite person—Kyle was second to none when it came to efficiency.

Seeing Claire return from such a short trip with this much progress was deeply satisfying.

“Sister! Welcome back!”

“Amel… You stayed up waiting for me?”

Though it was only eight in the evening, Claire looked slightly taken aback by my enthusiasm.

I simply nodded with a bright smile. Seeing my favorite person’s face was always a delight.

Even so, I felt a twinge of guilt. She was likely exhausted from travel, but our priority had to be addressing the matter of Cordelia.

Thanks to the letter Kyle had sent in advance, Claire was already somewhat aware of the situation.

But identifying someone she hadn’t personally seen wasn’t an easy task.

“The books discarded by the former Duke of Chaield have all been archived in the auxiliary palace,” Claire explained. “I recall seeing a file with portraits and records of former employees.”

“Do you know its exact location?”

“It’s not a book I referenced often, so I can’t say for sure…”

“Sister, do you remember what she looked like?”

“I do. I can also estimate what she’d look like in her old age.”

Ideally, we would locate the book containing Cordelia’s records, but that wasn’t feasible at the moment.

For now, the best course of action was to see if Claire’s recollection matched my father’s.

Grabbing a sheet of paper and a pen, I began sketching.

“Does she look like this?”

Claire fell silent.

I focused my ability just enough to glimpse her thoughts.

「Is this supposed to be a person or a potato?」

「I shouldn’t say that aloud. It would hurt her feelings.」

…Sister. The damage is already done.

Maybe I should have taken art lessons.

Kyle must have had the same thought, as he silently took the pen from my hand.

Right. He grew up in an esteemed noble household—surely, he had received formal training in the arts.

His strokes were confident, swift. Within moments, he handed the completed sketch to Claire.

「…Is this supposed to be seafood?」

Claire’s expression remained utterly unimpressed.

Well, I suppose Kyle hadn’t been born as Chaield’s heir. I understood.

We were considering whether we had no choice but to sift through the countless books in the auxiliary palace when a sudden flash of inspiration struck me.

Vanessa.

A living, breathing ray of hope had just entered my field of vision.

“Vanessa! Come here and draw that old woman’s face.”

“Huh? Me? I’ve never drawn anything before…”

At my persistent request, Vanessa finally took up the pen.

She handed her finished drawing to Claire—

And, at long last, Claire’s expression brightened.

“Cordelia Weill. She’s much older than I remember, but it’s definitely her.”

As expected.

It was official—heroines were always naturally gifted in the arts.

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