Chapter 21: The Northern Archduke

Chapter 21

Once the appointment ceremony concluded, the junior court officials began to depart from the Sun Palace in an orderly fashion. While in Korea, it was customary for superiors to exit first, in Wittern, subordinates would leave ahead of their elders to allow those remaining to engage in conversation. After the officials, whose rank prevented them from directly addressing their superiors, had filed out, nobles who had come to witness the ceremony began to approach, one by one, to offer their respects.

They respectfully greeted Evening, who stood gracefully beside Erich.

“Congratulations on your engagement, Your Majesty.”

“To become the Minister of the Royal Household at such a young age… it will not be an easy task, but I wish you strength.”

“It is fortunate that the number of Grand Justices has increased to two. Trials will surely proceed more swiftly now.”

While their greetings were impeccably polite, their individual tones differed. This was a stark contrast to cultures, like that of China, where even a monarch’s parents were expected to use honorifics when addressing the Empress. For Evening, this approach was far more agreeable; she imagined that having strangers she barely knew constantly bowing and fawning would have been deeply uncomfortable.

“Congratulations on your engagement, Your Majesty.”

After several more individuals had offered their felicitations, a tall, imposing man stepped forward. He was strikingly handsome, with sharp eyes, a well-built physique, and jet-black hair that provided a stark contrast to Erich’s. Unlike Erich, who often wore a cunning smile, this man projected an impression of stoic earnestness and cold detachment. While both possessed an inherently cool demeanor, as they stood facing each other, the visual contrast between black and white became strikingly apparent.

“Thank you for your congratulations,” Erich replied. “Though there have been many trials, I am pleased to have gained such an excellent wife.”

“That is fortunate indeed,” the man responded curtly.

“Your wedding also seems to be drawing near, does it not?” Erich continued. “Are the preparations proceeding smoothly?”

“Thanks to your consideration,” the man replied.

His reply was stiff, and his thick, dark eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly.

“When exactly have you set the date?” Erich pressed. “Since I personally arranged this marriage, I cannot possibly miss it. Evening and I shall visit, bearing a splendid gift.”

“While your offer is indeed honorable,” the man stated, “the North harbors many perils, and I would advise you to refrain from such a journey.”

On the surface, his words seemed polite, yet a closer examination revealed an underlying arrogance. It was not a statement born of concern for Erich’s safety, but rather an implicit sneer, questioning how someone of Erich’s perceived stature could even presume to set foot in the North.

“You are well aware that I cannot die, are you not?” Erich retorted, his voice edged with challenge.

“Not dying is not always a blessing, Your Majesty,” the man countered, his voice flat. “Should one fall into a deep chasm, they might simply be condemned to wander at the bottom of that precipice for all eternity.”

Unlike Erich, who frequently veiled his sarcasm with a smile, the man’s expression remained utterly impassive. Perhaps it was this very lack of emotion that made the hidden blade in his words cut even more sharply. Much like Margrave Flam, the man offered only a superficial respect to the Emperor, making no effort to conceal his true sentiments. The contempt in his eyes as he looked at Erich surpassed even the disdain one might direct at a squalid beggar.

It was one thing for older figures, such as the Chancellor or the Speaker, to cast condescending glances; Evening could simply dismiss them as the sort of eccentrics one often encountered on the subway or in the bustling city. However, when a handsome, youthful man like this directed such an openly contemptuous gaze, a sudden surge of indignation flared within her.

Unable to wait for the man to depart, Evening leaned in and whispered a comment into Erich’s ear.

“Why does that man stare like that?”

“Stare like what?” Erich repeated, seemingly perplexed.

Sadly, it appeared her fiancé was rather oblivious to the nuances of social interaction. Not only had he insensitively echoed her whispered comment in front of the very subject of their discussion, but his expression clearly indicated he hadn’t the faintest idea what she meant by ‘stare like that’.

“I don’t know him, so I was simply curious who he was,” Evening quickly clarified, clearing her throat to mask her embarrassment. “I hear he’s getting married, so congratulations to him.”

Erich, instead of responding with his usual cynicism, merely widened his eyes before letting out a soft chuckle.

“What, you don’t know him?” Erich chuckled, turning to the man. “Oh dear, Duke. She doesn’t even know who you are.”

“She must have encountered me a few times in the North,” the man stated, his tone flat.

The man, known to some as the Lord of the North, immediately corrected Erich. It seemed neither the ‘black’ nor the ‘white’ side was willing to let the matter pass without further contention.

“I suffered a serious injury, so faces from the past are rather hazy,” Evening explained, her tone apologetic. “My memory has deteriorated, I’m afraid. I apologize, but I simply cannot recall people I’ve only seen in passing a few times.”

“This man is the renowned Lord of the North,” Erich announced, gesturing towards the dark-haired man with a satisfied tilt of his chin. “Though, perhaps his fame might fall slightly short of our Southern Princess’s.” Taking a step back, he casually draped an arm over Evening’s shoulder.

“Oh, come now,” Evening demurred, shrugging slightly. “How can he be called the Lord of the North when the North is so vast? He’s merely the North’s…”

With his monochrome hair and clothing, the man seemed a mismatch for the pristine white image Evening held of the North. The North she knew was a land of brutal blizzards and unforgiving cold, a domain for robust Russian men who downed potent vodka and wrestled bears. The quintessential image of a Northern Archduke only materialized in her mind after conjuring thoughts of frozen tundras, formidable grizzly bears, potent spirits, and trains traversing Siberia.

“Lord…” Evening trailed off, a realization dawning.

‘Why did it only just occur to me?’ she mused internally. ‘In a romance fantasy novel, if a black-haired man from the North appears, wouldn’t he naturally be the Northern Archduke?’

“Greg?”

Greg Elpata. He was the young Northern Archduke of Wittern and, indeed, the male protagonist of the original novel.

“It’s Greg, isn’t it!”

The black-haired Northern Archduke, with a thick, well-honed physique like a seasoned soldier and a robust, commanding presence! Observing the palpable gravitas that emanated from him and his cool, composed demeanor, she knew with absolute certainty. This was the protagonist of the novel, Greg Elpata.

“It really is you! It’s so good to finally meet you. I’ve wanted to see you, and now here you are!”

Romance fantasy novels, after all, were primarily read for the sweet, often misunderstood, love stories of their protagonists. Unlike Erich, the villain whose actions had been rather obscure and who only appeared halfway through the novel, the male lead, Greg, was vividly etched in Evening’s memory. While she had heard from her family that he was a genuinely existing person, seeing him in the flesh now stirred a profound and unique emotion within her.

Evening gazed up at Greg, her eyes tracing his imposing figure from below, as his height significantly surpassed hers. Meeting the Empire’s male protagonist made her heart pound with the same exhilaration one might feel upon encountering a beloved celebrity.

Evening, who had been repeatedly rising onto her tiptoes and lowering them as if she might bounce with sheer excitement, finally managed to compose herself.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Evening quickly apologized. “I got a little excited and acted too familiar.”

“That’s rather half-hearted flattery, isn’t it?” Erich drawled, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Especially considering you didn’t even recognize him a moment ago.”

“It’s just that I hadn’t seen his face before, but I’ve certainly heard a great deal about him!” Evening insisted. “Perhaps we could shake hands—”

She had read up to chapter 120 of the 150-chapter novel, where the female lead gives birth. Thanks to that, Evening was well-versed in Greg’s personality and preferences. She knew what the core industries of the Elpata Grand Duchy were, who had tried to embezzle the Grand Duchy’s assets, and how the relationship between the female lead, Lucia, and Greg began to change from their very first night. Having said that much, she wondered if she had revealed too much. Greg, who had been cold to the female lead Lucia from the first day of their marriage, was unlikely to look favorably upon a woman who acted so frivolously.

“…hands?”

‘Was it too late to try and act demure now?’

Evening glanced up at Greg, trying to gauge his reaction, and found herself met with an unexpected sight. The taciturn Northern Archduke, ruler of the harsh lands, was meeting her gaze with an expression that was far from displeased.

“I have heard much about you as well.”

Greg clasped Evening’s outstretched hand, shaking it firmly. Unlike his outward appearance, his rough, calloused palm enveloped Evening’s delicate hand.

“Oh.”

“In the capital, they may call you the Southern Princess, but we refer to you as the conscience of the South and a true noble.”

“You flatter me.”

Having little to which the praise could be genuinely attributed, Evening shyly tilted her head.

“In an era where many nobles neglect their given duties because war is not immediately at their doorstep, blindly following temporary peace, you, who are unblemished by hedonism and steadfastly loyal to your lineage’s mission, are indeed the conscience of the South.”

“Truly, you flatter me too much. Please, forget I said anything.”

The second reply lacked her previous shyness, becoming earnest. She feared that allowing Greg’s compliments to continue would send the situation spiraling in an unmanageable direction.

“It is disheartening to see those who are simply playing around, blindly adhering to a temporary peace just because the war with Ailbarn has settled.”

“They probably just want to rest when they can. Everyone will surely step up when there’s an emergency.”

“Will they, though? It would be a miracle if they didn’t cowardly abandon their territory and flee just to save their own lives.”

“Where would they even flee to? If they abandon their land, they’ll just become mere wanderers or destitute refugees.”

Having lived in a country surrounded by sea on three sides, the idea of ignoring a conscription order and fleeing was, to Evening, practically unthinkable. Though she wasn’t conscious of it, Evening’s mindset—that one must naturally fight if there’s nowhere to run—was considered quite hawkish within Wittern.

“Indeed, you are just as I’ve heard. Unlike those half-wits who can’t even overcome a noble hunter and live in fear, you are prepared to fight.”

A faint glimmer of joy touched Greg’s serious face.

“Oh, no, that was just talk from my hot-headed youth,” Evening stammered, an awkward smile gracing her features.

Greg’s words implied: ‘Unlike other women who only care about playing and adorning themselves, you are a strong and loyal woman, ready to volunteer for the battlefield at any time.’ In an era where the war with Ailbarn, which bordered the southwest, had entered a lull, lords and nobles were inherently bound by the duty to lead the charge in battle. However, as most territories outside the North stabilized, such an ethos had long since faded. The younger generation, like Evening, had never truly experienced war, not even their parents’ generation. In a contradictory society that valued magic yet often neglected its practice, Evening was reportedly someone who never shirked her training. It seemed Greg, a lord from a battle-scarred region, found her hawkish disposition appealing.

“You are humble.”

Greg did not release Evening’s hand, still clasped in his from their handshake. His impassive face, with only the corners of his lips subtly upturned, gazed down at her.

‘Is Greg really this kind?’

‘Was this truly the male lead, who usually exuded a cold aura and treated the female protagonist with indifference?’

While Evening was still bewildered by this unfamiliar side of the male lead she thought she knew so well, Erich snatched her wrist.

“Eve.”

Erich, having seized her wrist, forcibly turned Evening’s body away.