Chapter – 10

A few days passed uneventfully.

With some rare free time between her lessons and tea gatherings, Plumette returned to what she always found comfort in. She arranged her painting supplies neatly in her room and began to paint, feeling her mind slowly settle into its calmest state.

The place she had discovered in the woods that day remained vivid in her memory. She feared that, with time, its details might begin to fade. Determined to preserve it exactly as she had seen it, she decided to capture everything on canvas. Confident in her skills, she carefully recreated the scenery, each brushstroke deliberate and precise.

The image in her mind was clear — not only the landscape itself, but the moments she had shared there with Jacob. Without realizing it, she allowed traces of those memories to seep into the painting as well.

Spending most of her time within the house had led Plumette to develop a few habits over the years, and painting had become one of them. Every artwork she completed was kept in a quiet room at the end of the hallway — a room no one occupied. Her maid cleaned it every few days, and only her family and closest friends knew of its existence.

It was not that she feared showing her work to others. Rather, she had begun painting simply as a hobby, and she found peace in keeping it that way.

At the Narwing estate, Jacob was preparing for an appointment with a noble who had requested his presence. Standing before the mirror, he adjusted his tie, though his thoughts were elsewhere.

They drifted back to that night — to the moment he handed Plumette the flower and confessed his feelings. He wondered how sweet it might have been if he had stayed just a moment longer to look at her properly — her confusion, the blush that colored her cheeks.

Perhaps the next time they met, he would ask for her answer.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

“My lord, it’s me.”

Otto, his secretary, entered with several sealed letters in hand. “We’ve received replies from the informants we sent out.”

Jacob immediately took the letters and tore them open. As he read through them, his expression hardened. Most of the reports confirmed the suspicions he already held.

House Morcant had been using an abandoned mine to produce materials for smuggled weapons. These weapons were being crafted through various small blacksmith companies scattered across multiple regions. Even more concerning, House Morcant had been supplying several small bandit groups, arming them to attack civilians and block trade routes — all to secure safer paths for their smuggling operations.

“Otto,” Jacob said firmly, “have them investigate the bandits further. Find out which ones may be persuaded to cooperate with us. We need to dig deeper.”

He shrugged on his coat and, after rereading the letters once more, tossed them into the fireplace.

“Inform the Doves,” he added. “I have plans for them.”

Otto nodded and left to relay the message to the group Jacob had personally trained for covert operations — a capable and trusted circle known as the White Doves.

Jacob entered his office, his mind already calculating the next move.

The tension between empires was steadily rising. There were traitors within their own borders, and even whispers of people from the Viremont Empire moving quietly through the cities. Yet Jacob could not afford recklessness. Acting without sufficient evidence would only draw attention and cause their enemies to retreat into hiding, erasing valuable leads.

If he could catch one of them during a lawful investigation — preferably tied to criminal activity — he would have the authority to interrogate them properly. But detaining anyone without cause would raise suspicion, something he absolutely could not allow.

Patience was necessary.

A short while later, Otto returned. “My lord, the leader will arrive shortly.”

After delivering the message, he withdrew, leaving Jacob to continue managing his estate affairs until the visitor arrived.

Soon, Henry, the leader of the White Doves, stepped into the office.

“My lord, what is the task this time?”

Jacob set aside the documents he had been reviewing and paused briefly before answering.

“There are several blacksmiths producing an unusual volume of weapons. Investigate them. Gather information and determine what types of weapons are being crafted. Do not harm anyone. We cannot afford to alert our enemies.”

After giving a few additional instructions, he dismissed Henry.

The Westfold meeting would take place in a few days. Much could be revealed there. The Emperor was already aware of the rising tensions but was deliberately keeping matters contained — neither exposing the threat nor acting prematurely. Without undeniable proof, no noble would dare raise accusations before him.

Everything rested on careful timing.

By late evening, the sky had turned a deep shade of orange. Yet Plumette remained in her room, still painting with unwavering focus. She had taken only a few short breaks throughout the day, and the artwork was nearing completion.

A knock sounded at her door.

She did not respond.

After several unanswered attempts, Zachary opened it and stepped inside.

“Are you seriously still painting, Plumette? Have you eaten at all?” he asked, noticing she was in nearly the exact same position as that morning.

She gave him a small nod, which only seemed to irritate him further.

He walked over and gently but firmly took the brush from her hand, setting it aside. “How many times does Mother have to remind you to eat properly? You’re not a child anymore. Start acting responsibly.”

He motioned for her to sit on the couch, where her meal had been brought in.

“Can’t you see I’m busy? Why do you always behave like this?” Plumette asked, her tone edged with frustration as she sat down reluctantly.

“You know exactly why,” Zachary replied, sitting across from her. “The last time you immersed yourself in painting and skipped meals, you were found unconscious in your room. If your maid hadn’t checked on you, no one would have known.”

The memory clearly upset her.

Plumette remained silent for a moment before finally picking up her utensils. Though still stubborn, she began eating.

“I took breaks this time,” she muttered. “I had snacks.”

“Snacks?” Zachary raised a brow. “Pastries and desserts are not proper meals.”

“You’re just looking for an excuse to nag me,” she retorted, finishing her food more quickly than usual.

“I’m going for a walk,” she announced abruptly, standing.

Zachary followed her without hesitation.

“I thought you’d go right back to painting,” he commented.

She paused slightly before answering. “My wrist hurts from painting all day. I just need to stretch my legs.”

They walked through the garden in silence, choosing not to provoke each other further. The sun had fully set, and the cool night air felt refreshing against their skin.

Their bond had always been a typical sibling one. Plumette often did things her own way, and Zachary, unwilling to let his younger sister face trouble alone, frequently covered for her small mischiefs. Whenever she was punished, he would secretly visit her to keep her company.

Though he carried the responsibilities of the future heir, he always made time for her. Their mother often told them that a sibling bond was precious, and Zachary took those words seriously.

Having grown up feeling lonely himself, he had always wanted a younger sister to care for.

And so, even without their parents’ reminders, he chose to protect her.