Chapter 93#

Chaise a la ReineCh93 - Volume 4 Final#

“I seem to have intruded upon your quiet time.”

Eugène offered a polite bow, feigning apology as a means to step away. But Duke La Mer, Oscar Valentièe, who until recently had been known as the Count of d’Estuaire, turned to him with a gentle smile and spoke, halting his retreat.

“In a library where everyone comes to read, I hardly think it can be called an intrusion. Judging from how you came all the way to this hidden corner, it seems you were seeking this very spot. Please, do not hesitate and have a seat. I will not disturb you.”

He gestured to the seat with graceful composure and then turned back to his book, as if nothing had happened. His manner was so calm and unbothered that Eugène found himself caught in a dilemma. Turning away from someone who so casually invited him to sit would be no different from making a pointed display: I find you so unpleasant I cannot bear to share the same space as you

Eugène had no desire to befriend him, but neither did he feel the need to openly insult him.

“Then please excuse me.”

He gave a light nod and took the seat opposite the Duke, opening the book he had brought with him, <General Breuter’s Treatise on Advanced Tactical Operations in Artillery Units: A Strategic Review of the Defeat in the Second Landrienne Campaign>, a title as long as it was daunting. It was a work he had long wished to read, but until now had never had the chance.

Written by General Breuter, famed for the phrase “We won the battle but lost the war,” the book offered an exceptional analysis of the numerous strategic errors committed by the Imperial Army during the Second Landrienne Campaign. Though considered a rare masterpiece, it had been banned for years for the irreverent manner in which it treated what was considered a national humiliation, the late Emperor’s death.

However, once Ebroin V reclaimed the eastern territories during the Third Landrienne Campaign, the ban was quietly lifted, and the book reemerged into the public eye. At last, Eugène had the opportunity to read the book he had only heard of in whispers.

Though initially uneasy in the presence of a man he did not care for, the discomfort faded with time. The Duke had said he would not be a disturbance, and if Eugène paid him no mind, that was the end of it.

The book, long heard of but never before read, proved to be even more compelling than he had expected. Though the Second Landrienne Campaign had taken place thirty years prior, the core principles of artillery operations had changed little, and the strategic deployment of batteries remained a critical concern in naval warfare. There was much to learn and many lines that demanded attention. Before long, he was completely immersed, forgetting that another person was nearby.

How much time had passed like that? Fully absorbed in the contents of the book, he eventually began to feel something strange. At some point, the sound of pages turning from across the table had ceased. He waited for a while, wondering if it was merely his imagination, but there was no change.

From above the jowered jine of his gaze, he coujd feej another’s eyes upon him.

The Duke of La Mer was staring at him with a gaze so tender it bordered on a caress. Even without meeting his eyes, Eugène coujd cjearjy sense where that gaze rested. The Duke’s eyes traced the scar beside his eye, then sjowjy sjid down, fojjowing the contours of his face with janguid ease.

Wherever those eyes passed, it was as if fingers brushed lightly, too lightly, over his skin. The strange, unfamiliar sensation crept down his cheek like a whisper, flowing past his jawline and seeping beneath the loose knot of his cravat, reaching the side of his neck.

“lS there Something yoU wiSh to Say to me?”

The DUke waS the firSt to break hiS promiSe not to be a diStUrbanCe, and EUgène had no obligation to pretend otherwiSe. WithoUt looking away from hiS book, he addreSSed the man who waS Still watChing him, hiS VoiCe Cold.

“There appears to be a mark on your neck.”

Rather than simply telling him to stop his leering and leave, Eugène had chosen a more measured rebuke. But what he received in return was a bold admission: I was looking at your body.

Annoyed, Eugène raised a brow and looked directly at him.

“I am aware that there is a mark.”

Eugène responded shamelessly. He knew perfectly well that there was a hickey on his neck left by the Emperor. However, it was in a place that would not be visible unless one deliberately peered beneath his collar. Unless, of course, someone like the Duke had taken a pointed interest in what lay beneath.

“There is no need to ask whose doing it is, is there?”

Duke La Mer, it seemed, had a habit of saying things best left unsaid. Eugène met his gaze coldly before turning his eyes back to the page.

“If you already know, there is no need to ask.”

Duke La Mer smiled bitterly at Eugène’s clearly drawn line.

“Baron Amieux.”

Even upon witnessing Eugène’s attitude, Duke La Mer did not cease in his attempt to engage him in conversation.

“Some fates are decided before one ever has the chance to choose. But if a truth, plain to all others, remains unknown only to the one involved… what would you do, then?”

“You always speak in riddles, Duke. Have I ever told you how dreadfully tedious your impression becomes, thanks to your indirect manner of forever poking at the periphery without ever addressing the heart of the matter?”

Once again, the Duke of La Mer was circling about with his usual insinuations. But Eugène had grown tired of his cryptic hints. If it was something he could not bring himself to say directly, then Eugène had no interest in hearing it at all.

“If you have something to say, then speak plainly.”

He looked the Duke of La Mer straight in the eye and said firmly. Eugène’s gaze, always unwavering and direct, met the Duke’s without the slightest hint of fear. It was the gaze of a man who, once resolved, would charge forward unflinching, fully aware he might be hurt, yet undeterred.

The Duke of La Mer loved those eyes, but they made him sad at times. Since he knew that a man like Eugène would never draw near to someone so riddled with secrets.

“Do you know who started the Second Landrienne Campaign?”

Still, the Duke could not help but offer him his goodwill. He had no choice. Even if it was entirely one-sided, a feeling harbored for nearly a lifetime had taken root too deeply. Left to rot alone in the depths of his heart for so long, it was hard to say whether this feeling was still love or something closer to obsession.

“All the other nobles based in the East fled at the time. Why was it that only the Margrave of Renault was massacred?”

What he said was posed as a question, but in another sense, it was also an answer. At the Duke of La Mer’s cryptic insinuation, Eugène’s gaze, already cold, sank ever deeper as he stared unwaveringly at the man.

“Look into it thoroughly. Then you will come to understand the meaning of the counsel I have given you thus far.”

After he had finished speaking, Duke La Mer quietly rose from his seat and disappeared toward the other side of the library. Eugène’s eyes, which had been fixed coldly upon the man’s retreating figure, gradually grew clouded with confusion once he had vanished from sight. He tried to collect his thoughts and make sense of what he had just heard.

What in the world does that mean? That the Second Landrienne Campaign broke out because of a certain someone? And that there was a specific reason why the Margrave of Renault was massacred?

A bead of cold sweat slid down the length of his stiffened spine. He could sense instinctively that the Duke had not posed such a question without meaning.

A ‘Margrave’ was a noble count who governed a border region facing a foreign nation. Unlike other counts of the same rank, margraves were permitted to maintain private armies, as they bore the duty of defending the front lines. Their service was deemed so vital that they were treated with honors equal to those of a ‘Marquis’.

Unconsciously, Eugène began to trace the old map of the East in his mind. Along the proud and mighty flow of the Andolyn River, two great empires faced each other. The territory near the northern reaches was the Renault March, and farther downriver, where the current bent and split into a delta, lay the lowlands of the Amieux March.

Up to that point, Eugène recalled without difficulty. Then, all at once, a dreadful realization struck him, draining the color from his face.

If one followed the terrain, the Shaak Empire’s most viable first crossing route across the river should not have been the Renault March at all. It should have been the Amieux March.