Duchess Mecklen’s Elegant Revolt - Chapter 16 Part 4

During the Duke of Mecklen’s absence, the regular meeting resumed in Baden. The nobles gathered around the Emperor bore even heavier expressions than before. The series of events—Count Verdik’s accusations, the spreading news of the Duke of Mecklen’s divorce, and the military conflict in the eastern region—had all come to a head, souring the atmosphere significantly. Even the usually composed Marquis of Neto muttered under his breath about the unusual string of incidents.

To make matters worse, the agenda for today’s meeting only heightened the tension.

“How is it possible that a decision on the Hartmann refugees still hasn’t been made?” the Marquis of Neto voiced his displeasure as an issue that had long been an irritation resurfaced. “What if those refugees turn into bandits within our borders?”

“But we can’t just expel them immEdeately. The last vote didn’t reach a decision,” replied the Marquis of Radsay.

Evan, the second son of the Nestor family, had previously rallied the nobles who supported the expulsion of the refugees, gathering signatures for a petition. However, their opinions had failed to influence the actual meeting. The opposition to the expulsion was stronger than anticipated, resulting in a deadlock. The vote had ended in a tie—four votes for and four against—leaving the matter unresolved and requiring a new approach.

‘Was it the Duke of Nestor or the Duke of Ezester?’

Since the vote was anonymous, no one knew who had voted which way. Based on Evan’s words, Marquis Neto was certain that the Duke of Mecklen had been secured, meaning one of the other nobles must have betrayed their agreement. With his lips pressed tightly together, Marquis Neto shot a glare at the two silent dukes.

At that moment, the Marquis of Mathia spoke up, “Marquis Neto, you’re being quite heartless.”

The sternness of Marquis Neto’s insistence on expulsion left Mathia looking exhausted.

“Are you really suggesting we just let our people starve as winter approaches?”

“That’s none of my concern. It’s your problem to deal with,” Marquis Neto replied dismissively.

“You seem to be mistaken. This is our problem now. Since we’ve accepted them as our citizens, we must at least take responsibility.”

“I don’t care. I’m still against it. I don’t want to see those Hartmann scum swaggering around in Baden. Why should we help them when we gain nothing in return?”

Marquis Mathia, finding the conversation frustrating, pounded his chest in exasperation. “Good grief. How can someone be so stubborn…”

Just then, the Duke of Nestor, who had been listening quietly, offered a suggestion. “Perhaps we could appoint a warden to oversee the refugees?”

“A warden?” Neto asked, skeptical.

“We can’t continue providing indefinite support. And, as we saw in the recent slum incident, there’s always the risk of someone exploiting the situation,” Nestor replied, alluding to the organization that had secretly profited from the Empress Dowager’s aid distribution.

The Duke of Ezester chimed in, “That’s a good idea. If the Hartmann refugees are under our control, the rest shouldn’t concern us too much.”

“Hmm.”

“However, the warden would need to mEdeate carefully to prevent any conflicts,” Nestor added.

But the Marquis of Neto interjected, “That’s absurd. Do you really think it’s feasible to control the refugees? Just look at the rebellious factions within the Empire. You can’t seriously suggest—”

“It’s possible.”

“…Your Majesty?” Marquis Neto was cut off by an unexpected voice, and all the nobles in the room turned their attention to the center of the table.

The Emperor, drumming his fingers on the table, spoke up, “Who’s to say someone capable of resolving the refugee issue won’t emerge?”

“Where would we find such a person?” Marquis Neto asked, his face twisted in disbelief.

“Currently, I hear the food aid is barely keeping them in check. If we’re not careful, there could be a riot. Who would take on such a dangerous responsibility?” Marquis Neto continued, his skepticism unabated.

“Then, if someone could handle it, would you give them the responsibility?” the Emperor asked.

“Of course,” Marquis Neto replied without hesitation.

The Marquis of Mathia echoed, “I don’t see why not.”

“It would only make sense to appoint someone capable,” the Duke of Ezester added.

The Duke of Nestor also voiced his agreement. Caught off guard by the sudden flood of support, the Marquis of Neto, who had initially made his suggestion with no real expectation of finding such a person, was left speechless.

This wasn’t what he had intended.

As the Emperor’s gaze swept over the gathered nobles, he broke into a grin. “Very well. Let’s agree to that.”

With the Emperor’s decisive words, the Marquis of Neto was silenced, unable to mount any further objections.

***

“Thank you for the meal today,” Eleanor said, smiling at Sven after finishing lunch.

Sven, who had been watching her with a satisfied expression as she wiped Hail’s mouth, waved off her thanks.

“You’re too kind, Lady Eleanor. It’s an honor to serve you,” Sven replied modestly, though his face beamed with pride.

True to his promise, Sven was always present, personally attending to their meals whenever Eleanor dined with Hail. Even Eleanor, who had initially thought his enthusiasm would wane after a few days, was surprised by his consistent dedication.

Sven continued to speak energetically, “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’re staying here at Winston Palace. Thanks to you, I don’t have a moment to feel lonely.”

“Really?”

“Please, stay as long as you can. There are still so many dishes I haven’t had the chance to prepare for you.”

Eleanor could only smile in response, unable to give a definitive answer. In her heart, she too wished to stay longer at the palace, but she knew she must be ready to leave at any moment. For now, she was only staying for Hail’s sake.

“Eli, I’m sleepy,” Hail murmured softly, yawning beside her.

It seemed the young prince was ready for an early afternoon nap after lunch. Eleanor stood up, intending to take Hail to his room.

Just then, Sven stopped her. “Lady Eleanor, would you mind giving this to the nanny?” he asked, handing her a white paper bag filled with cookies.

“Are these cookies?”

“Yes, I made them myself—Earl Grey cookies.”

Eleanor nodded after confirming the cookies were packed in a white paper bag for easy carrying. She could deliver the cookies after putting Hail to bed.

“I’ll see you this evening,” Sven said, bidding her farewell as she left the dining room.

Hail, as if conscious of the nanny’s presence, didn’t ask to be carried this time. Finding his change in behavior both endearing and pitiful, Eleanor gently squeezed his hand.

Back in his room, Eleanor helped Hail change into comfortable clothes and tucked him into bed.

“Sleep well, Your Highness.”

“Mhm. Good night, Eli.”

Although the midday sun was still high, Hail, unaware of the brightness outside, offered Eleanor a goodnight greeting before quickly drifting off to sleep. Once she was sure he was sound asleep, Eleanor left the room with the bag of cookies.

She visited the laundry room and the dressing room, where the nanny often spent time, but she was nowhere to be found. 

“Maybe she’s in her room,” Eleanor mused, heading toward the nanny’s quarters.

Although palace staff typically had separate accommodations in an annex, the nanny had been granted the privilege of staying in a guest room within the palace.

“Are you there?” Eleanor called, gently knocking on the door, but received no answer.

When she tried the handle, the door clicked open easily—it wasn’t locked. With so few people entering Winston Palace, the nanny likely hadn’t felt the need to lock her door.

Eleanor stepped inside and took a quick look around the modest room.

‘It’s similar to Caroline’s.’

The room was tidy, but there was something artificial about its neatness. Everything from the books on the shelves to the smallest items seemed deliberately placed, with nothing left to chance.

Caroline had been obsessive about keeping everything in its exact spot, which Eleanor later discovered was so she could tell if anyone had tampered with her things. Was the nanny the same way?

“…The same book?”

An Ecological Study on the Rare Plant Oleander—the title matched the one Eleanor had taken from the library a few days ago, written by Viscount Jerata.

It was then that Eleanor realized most of the books on the shelf were authored by Viscount Jerata. There were even a few co-authored works.

‘There’s definitely something here,’ Eleanor mused, growing more suspicious about the relationship between Viscount Jerata and the nanny. It had to be more than just a familial connection. The ties between the two of them, and Empress Edea, were unexpectedly deep.

Glancing back at the door to ensure no one was coming, Eleanor quietly closed it before opening An Ecological Study on the Rare Plant Oleander.

And then…

“……!”

Eleanor’s eyes widened in shock.

It was the diary of the late Empress Edea.

[I want to die…]

***

Behind the Panello Palace, where portraits of past emperors were kept, lay a secluded cemetery. Typically, outsiders were not allowed to enter, but the imperial family and their immEdeate relatives were granted access to visit the graves. The Empress’s family was also included in this privilege.

“So, you are here,” came a voice.

“…Vivia.”

The Marquis of Delph straightened from his kneeling position at the sound of his younger daughter’s voice, which he hadn’t heard in some time.

“The butler told me you were at my sister’s grave,” Vivia explained before the Marquis could ask.

Unlike the Marquis, who was dressed in formal black attire, Vivia wore a pale pink dress. She had come straight to the imperial palace without even changing her clothes after returning to the country. Though her bright attire was inappropriate for the solemnity of the gravesite, the Marquis did not scold her. Instead, he raised his hand, skeletal and thin, and gestured.

“Go on, pay your respects to your sister.”

“……”

Vivia silently approached the gravestone.

[To My Eternal Lily.]

Empress Edea’s epitaph, unlike those of other empresses, was devoid of elaborate praise. As Vivia’s ash-gray eyes darkened while she gazed at the simple engraving on the black stone, she spoke, “Do you remember? Just before I left to study abroad, you told me to at least try to be half as good as my sister.”

“……”

“I never intended to return. I hated her, you know.”

The Marquis of Delph remained silent at Vivia’s confession. Edea had been his most cherished child, and Vivia knew this well. Her sister, who was brilliant, clever, and beautiful—everything Vivia was not—had always been an insurmountable mountain in her life.

“Are you going back?” the Marquis asked as he continued to trace the gravestone with his hand.

It was the Marquis of Delph who had called Vivia back to this place. If she had refused, he had planned to compel her to stay, even if by force. Concealing his intentions, the Marquis looked back at Vivia, searching for any resemblance to Edea in her face. Finding none, his gaze settled on her ash-gray eyes.

Vivia, meeting his gaze, frowned slightly. “I won’t live like my sister.”

A bitter smile played on her lips. When she had first received her father’s letter, she had hesitated, but the decision had come to her surprisingly easily: she would surpass her sister.

With conviction in her voice, Vivia declared, “I will become the Empress of the Baden Empire.”