“My brother hates having me hanging around. And that woman does too.”
Spitting out the words sharply, he glanced toward the carriage slowly making its way over the hill far behind them.
His face itched where that woman had slapped him.
The swelling had only subsided after two days.
Pouting, he muttered,
“You saw how that woman treated me that day.”
“And I saw you putting your nose against the back of her neck.”
Lucas flinched and blushed.
“When you say it like that, it makes me sound like some pervert! I just smelled something strange and tried to figure out what it was!”
“...No matter how you explain it, it still sounds perverted.”
Tyron shook his head.
“As His Grace said, both of you need to learn noble etiquette. Using the previous Grand Duke's illness as an excuse, you've all lived far too freely.”
Lucas glared at him resentfully.
Tyron's words, which subtly sided with Varkas, irritated him.
“You've completely fallen for my brother.”
Tyron didn't bother denying it.
Apparently, he had already accepted Varkas as his lord.
And it wasn't just Tyron.
The old conservative elders voiced concerns over Varkas's aggressive actions, but the hot-blooded warriors supported him passionately.
Everyone had been starving for strong leadership.
To be honest, even Lucas himself had been half captivated by the overwhelming strength Varkas had displayed.
But he didn't want to admit it so easily.
“Fine. I admit I was rude. But that woman wasn't innocent either! Why are we the only ones being punished?”
“She is royalty.”
Tyron replied indifferently.
“And now she's the Grand Duchess as well. So you should choose your words more carefully from now on. You heard what Sir Daren said earlier, didn't you?”
He drew a finger across his throat.
“She didn't even blink while spewing venom in front of the Grand Duke of Siorcan himself. Someone like Young Master? She could strip the flesh from your bones with that tongue of hers. So, for the peace of the East, don't provoke her temper for no reason.”