Chapter 83

“Your Grace, they called Noah a gentleman!”

“I see.”

“Hahaha! Young Lord Overhen seems to adore Your Grace. What a wonderful sight.”

“Adore?”

“It means the young lord likes you very much. You must be treating him kindly.”

If they had been in the capital, such a remark might have been seen as rude, but this was the North, where people spoke more openly. It sounded warm rather than disrespectful.

Besides, Noah nodded eagerly, and Dylan forgot all about etiquette or propriety for a moment.

“Yes! Your Grace is always kind to Mom and me. He even let me ride Nocturne!”

Dylan wanted to keep watching Noah and Baron Orwellin talk. The baron’s way of handling a child was remarkably skillful.

However, the conversation ended when Noah stopped paying attention to the baron and turned his eyes toward the bear.

“Don’t stare too long. That isn’t something a child should look at.”

Because of its thick fur, the bear’s blood was not visible, but the sight of a lifeless animal riddled with arrows was not pleasant.

Despite the warning, Noah kept staring at the bear, then stretched out his small, chubby hand toward it.

Did he want to touch it?

Dylan thought that would not be wise. No child should touch a wild bear, especially a dead one.

“Do not touch it.”

He repeated his earlier warning.

“Yes.”

Noah replied softly but still reached toward the bear.

Why was he doing that?

Before Dylan could think further, someone lunged forward, hand outstretched as if to grab Noah’s wrist.

Instinctively, Dylan caught Noah’s hand first and pulled the boy into his arms.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

His cold voice echoed through the forest. A fierce light burned in his blue eyes as he fixed his gaze on the person who had just reached for the boy.

It was a woman whose eyes gleamed just as sharply as his.

Marcella Peridot.

She froze for a brief moment under the weight of his glare, then met his eyes again with steady composure.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt the child.”

“Explain.”

At his command, Marcella hesitated and looked at Noah.

Her peridot-colored eyes flickered with hesitation, caution, and concern all at once.

Finally, she seemed to make up her mind. When she spoke, her voice was directed not at Dylan but at Noah.

“Young Lord Overhen, you were about to use magic, weren’t you?”

Dylan looked down sharply at the boy in his arms.

Noah’s eyes darted anxiously. He looked overwhelmed, unable to meet anyone’s gaze. The tension in the air made him shrink, as though he feared he had done something wrong.

Dylan drew a slow breath, set the boy down, and knelt so their eyes were level.

“Was Marcella right? Were you trying to use magic just now?”

Thanks to his effort, his tone came out softer than before. It was far from gentle, but at least he didn’t sound like he was scolding the child.

Noah clasped his hands nervously, fidgeting with his fingers. Then, after gathering some courage, he nodded.

“Yes. I wanted to use magic.”

Dylan’s blue eyes darkened. He placed a large hand on the boy’s shoulder and spoke in a calm, steady voice.

“What kind of magic?”

“Well…”

“You must tell me the truth.”

Noah’s lips trembled. He glanced between Dylan and Marcella before lowering his gaze. His answer came out barely above a whisper.

“I wanted to ask the bear if it really meant to hurt people.”

A faint gasp came from Marcella. Dylan almost tightened his grip on Noah’s shoulder but managed to stop himself just in time.

“Ask the bear? How?”

“Dylan, this isn’t something you can treat like a child’s whim!”

Marcella’s voice rose sharply. The sudden noise made Noah flinch, his face turning pale.

Dylan immediately pulled Noah a little closer and turned to glare at her.

“Be quiet, Marcella. You’re frightening him.”

His voice was low and dangerous, like a predator guarding its young. The threat in it made Marcella step back and bite her lip.

Dylan exhaled slowly and lifted Noah into his arms.

“Let’s go. This isn’t the place for a calm conversation.”

He mounted his horse again, settling Noah in front of him. Marcella hurried forward in alarm.

“Dylan!”

But he focused only on making sure Noah was seated securely. Without looking back, he said in a flat tone,

“I have not given you permission to use my name.”

Then he urged his horse forward and rode away from the hunting ground.

Marcella watched his retreating figure, her throat tight with anger.

“He said I’m not permitted to use his name…”

Of course, he had already told her that earlier when they entered the forest.

‘I suppose you no longer wish to call me by name, Your Grace.’

‘I’d prefer it if you did the same.’

She had not forgotten that cold exchange.

But now she understood what he truly meant. It wasn’t only her use of his name he had rejected. He had forbidden her from stepping any closer to him at all.

As she stared at the direction he had gone, her peridot eyes turned icy.

Those were not the eyes of a woman who had given up.

“I won’t stand by quietly, Duke of Vasteron.”

* * *

Agnes sat among the noblewomen, chatting lightly, but her gaze often drifted toward the entrance of the hunting grounds.

She wasn’t truly worried about Noah’s safety.

Everyone in the Empire knew of Dylan’s skill with the sword. She had seen it herself when he sparred with Cali. He was not a man who would ever let harm come to a child under his care.

Still, she couldn’t help but worry in a different way. What if Noah got frightened and cried in that unfamiliar forest? She imagined how awkward that would make Dylan feel, and her heart grew restless.

“Oh my, Duchess, please don’t worry too much. His Grace is famous for his swordsmanship. They say that even rumors of his going to war are enough to crush an enemy’s spirit.”

Baroness Orwellin smiled kindly as she tried to reassure her.

The other noblewomen nodded in agreement, and Agnes returned a small, polite smile.

“It’s not that. I’m only worried he might cry. That would make things difficult for His Grace.”

Her honest concern made the baroness laugh softly behind her fan.

“Even if it happens, that’s just part of raising a child. Every parent goes through it at least once.”

At that, Viscountess Tavella playfully tapped the baroness’s arm with her fan.

From an outsider’s view, the Duke and Duchess of Vasteron appeared to have a perfect relationship, elegant and respectful, untouched by scandal.

Noah, however, stood out oddly among them.

Even now that Agnes was formally called Duchess, Noah was still addressed as “Young Lord Overhen.” It wasn’t surprising, though.

Dylan was a duke. Adopting a child not of his blood could endanger any future heir who might inherit his title.

That wasn’t the reason Dylan and Agnes had kept things as they were, but to others, it certainly looked that way.

To them, the bond between Dylan and Noah must have seemed strange.

Viscountess Tavella spoke gently, testing the waters.

“Even so… His Grace seems very devoted to Young Lord Overhen.”

“That’s right. I wasn’t exaggerating earlier,” said Baroness Orwellin warmly. “Duchess, it must make you happy to see them so close, doesn’t it?”

It was true. From the outside, they might seem like a nobleman and a child he barely acknowledged, but in private, Dylan’s actions told a different story.

After all, despite the grand occasion of today’s hunt, he had brought Noah with him and even let him ride his horse.

That was the kind of thing Baron Orwellin, who spoiled his own daughter endlessly, would do, never the cold and stoic Duke of Vasteron.