Chapter 99

“Thank you for your kind words, Your Highness.”

Once again, it was that topic.

He didn’t hide at all that he’d come because he was curious about the matter of an heir. If anything, it felt like he wanted to keep it at the center of the conversation.

“Duke, what do you think? My mother says she wants to see a nephew soon. She even told me to hurry you along, so I feel like I need to take something back with me before she stops pestering me.”

Now Vincent asked Dylan directly. It sounded as if the issue of succession lay entirely in Dylan’s hands.

Agnes was flustered by the boldness of such words from a young boy, but Dylan’s blue eyes didn’t waver even slightly.

“I already have someone I can rely on, so I’m not thinking about it urgently.”

At those words, Vincent’s eyes widened.

It was as if the adult mask he’d been wearing so carefully slipped right off, revealing the face of a young boy beneath.

“…Then who would be the heir of Vasteron…”

It was an openly political remark, and because of that, it sounded childish.

Vincent seemed to realize it too, clamping his mouth shut as his red, rabbit like eyes darted briefly toward somewhere behind him.

Conrad was standing there. Yet Conrad remained perfectly still, like a decorative statue, as if he hadn’t noticed Vincent’s glance at all.

Receiving no help, Vincent cleared his throat and looked back at Dylan.

“I see. Since both the Duke and Duchess are healthy, there’s no need to rush. Still, since I wish I had a blood relative to rely on, I’ll be sincerely happy if a child is born into the ducal family.”

“It’s an honor that you’d think so.”

Dylan spoke in a voice devoid of emotion and gestured toward a chair.

When a servant quietly pulled it out, Vincent sat down and repeatedly clenched and unclenched his fist beneath the tablecloth. It seemed difficult to straighten the mask once it had started to slip.

In the strange silence, the food was served. Agnes found it hard to keep watching the troubled boy, so she pretended nothing was wrong and began explaining the dishes.

“This venison dish is something I learned from the Baron Orwellin family. It blends Northern and Southern recipes evenly, so it has a unique flavor.”

“Orwellin?”

Vincent asked as if it were the first time he’d heard of the family. Fortunately, this light topic seemed easy enough to respond to without wearing a mask.

Agnes nodded and continued.

“Yes. They mainly operate in the North and rarely visit the capital, so the family is probably unfamiliar to you. Since Baroness Orwellin is from the South, the dish is almost like a union of the North and South.”

Agnes gestured to the servant standing behind Vincent, instructing him to serve the venison onto Vincent’s plate.

Vincent cut the venison with his knife, took a bite, and made an intrigued expression.

“It really is.”

“I thought you might recognize it, since you spent part of your childhood in the South.”

Vincent’s time in the South had been brief, but he was still at an age where memories could linger.

As far as Agnes knew, Vincent had been born when the current Emperor was still a princess. Then, the moment Cali ascended the throne, he became Crown Prince.

When Vincent was named Crown Prince, most nobles had reacted with confusion.

Given Cali’s temperament, they assumed a gentle boy with no talent for swordsmanship wouldn’t satisfy her.

Aware of those rumors, Cali had openly declared that she had no intention of remarrying or taking a consort, forcibly silencing the doubts.

After that, Cali showed no sign of considering any heir other than Vincent, and now people said the line of succession was stable.

There were even rumors that since Vincent lacked talent with the sword, Cali was secretly receiving reports on noble daughters with exceptional swordsmanship.

Of course, back when Agnes lived in the capital, she had no way of knowing how much of that was true. She had no dissatisfaction or feelings at all about Vincent inheriting the throne, so it had always been someone else’s story to her.

And yet here she was, sharing a table with the very person from that story.

The boy before her maintained perfect etiquette and dignity throughout the meal.

Still, his tense shoulders, his clumsy social skills as he tried to imitate an adult and hurriedly picked up the slipping mask, and the way his eyes kept darting back as if searching for someone to rely on all clearly showed that he wasn’t even fifteen yet.

Even knowing he’d come to pressure the North, Agnes found herself feeling strangely soft toward him and kept speaking gently.

At first, Vincent remained guarded and tried to imitate an adult, but before he realized it, he was nodding along and listening to Agnes’s words.

“Oh, so that’s why the cherry pie here tastes better than the one in the capital.”

“That’s right!”

This time, it wasn’t Agnes who answered.

Startled, Agnes turned her head to see Noah laughing brightly as he spoke.

“The cherry pie here is the best in the whole world!”

She should stop the child.

Her reason was screaming that at her, but seeing the way Vincent’s expression softened at Noah’s voice, she couldn’t bring herself to intervene.

Since no one stopped him, Noah kept chattering on.

“The kitchen uncle makes yummy food for Noah every day. But cherry pie is the best. So Noah asked him to make only cherry pie, and he got sad. He said other food is yummy too. So Noah said the other food is yummy too, and then the kitchen uncle was happy.”

In the end, all Agnes could do was quietly wipe a bit of cherry from Noah’s cheek.

Then she glanced at Dylan with worried eyes, and he subtly shook his head. It meant there was no need to stop him. If Dylan thought it was fine, then it would be fine.

And for some reason, Agnes felt the same.

Vincent was staring at Noah with a slightly dazed expression.

He looked even more fascinated than he had while eating the venison.

‘Well, how often would the Crown Prince ever see a child younger than himself?’

Even if he had, everyone would’ve been too busy disciplining their children in front of the Crown Prince to let them chatter like this.

Just then, a small cough sounded from behind Vincent.

Vincent startled, his shoulders twitching, and he hesitantly opened his mouth.

“Um, th-that was Overhen, wasn’t it?”

It was an awkward first line. It seemed like he had no experience talking to children at all.

On the other hand, thanks to having made many friends lately, Noah cheerfully replied even to a cousin he was seeing for only the second time.

“I’m Noah Overhen. You can call me Noah.”

“Th-that…”

“What should Noah call you?”

“Th-that is…”

Vincent turned back again with a flustered face.

Agnes didn’t miss the glance. It was now painfully clear how much Vincent relied on Conrad.

Yet again, Conrad ignored Vincent’s obvious plea for help and stood still like an ordinary knight, his gaze lowered.

In the end, Agnes stepped in.

“You should call the Crown Prince ‘Your Highness.’ Just like how you call the Duke ‘Your Grace.’”

“Your Grace and Your Highness.”

“Yes. Like that.”

Noah smiled brightly at Agnes, then looked back at Vincent.

“Your Highness, if you like cherry pie, Noah can give you mine. Noah eats it all the time.”

At the child’s easygoing attitude, like sharing a snack with a friend, Vincent grew even more flustered.

After freezing for a moment, the boy forced himself to sound dignified.

“It’s fine.”

“Why?”

Of course it wasn’t fine. Even Agnes felt she had to step in now, so she gently held Noah’s shoulder.

“Noah, giving food from your own plate to His Highness isn’t proper manners.”

“Noah didn’t eat it yet. All the cherries are still there.”

“Even so, you can’t.”

At her firm tone, Noah puffed out his cheeks but nodded as if he understood and ate his own slice of cherry pie.

Having fixed his mask again, Vincent spoke with that same unsettling smile.

“Duchess, there’s no need to scold him so harshly. He’s only a child.”

It was an overly mature thing to say for a boy who was only one or two years older than Noah.