Charlie

Valra Town was indeed a beautiful and prosperous place. The climate here was slightly warmer than York's, with fertile land along the water suitable for cultivation. Most residents were small estate owners who lived comfortably as long as they paid their taxes. Though not as wealthy or shrewd as the gentry in York or Black Swan, they possessed the unique, easygoing simplicity of the countryside.

Tang Feiliu didn't know the full extent of the Nat Empire's territory, but the stretch from Valra to York felt like a slightly higher latitude. It resembled the northern regions of his modern homeland, so no matter how warm it was, outdoor dances were no longer feasible. Thus, the Doug family's dinner was held within the manor grounds.

Winter was traditionally the season for social gatherings, but this year was different—harvest season still fell within this period. It was only now that Tang Feiliu realized Edward had already promoted potato cultivation throughout his domain.

"Then let's host a potato feast!" Alexander Doug had evidently received a batch of seeds himself and achieved a bounty so abundant it astonished even him. Alexander's holdings were only a few hundred acres, and his household primarily profited from grape cultivation and winemaking. In truth, most of Valra's gentry grew trees or grapes, with merchants arriving annually for the fixed harvest. But this year, a knight arrived with men, speaking of the high-yield grain discovered in the Golden Land. Most of the gentry bought some to try, and Alexander bought some too, planting only half a hillside. The resulting harvest stunned him completely.

Tang Feiliu hadn't intended to host a banquet. His birthday was next month, and Edward had promised to return. But Alexander, having finally reunited with his brother, couldn't bear to see him leave so soon. He even considered persuading Tang Feiliu to stay permanently at the estate—especially hoping his young Lance might marry a local noble's daughter and forget that so-called duke altogether.

Of course, Alexander knew such hopes were mere fantasies.

Tang Feiliu, too, couldn't bear to part with his brother, so he'd never managed to leave. Now, hosting his first banquet as the master of the house, his mood was unusually bright—it had to be said, Doug Manor perfectly matched his vision of an idyllic pastoral life. If he'd woken up here from the start, Tang Feiliu bet he'd have grown so lazy he'd never leave the manor to enjoy life elsewhere.

Seeing the bountiful potato harvest, Tang Feiliu personally instructed the Doug family's cook—Gina, daughter of Mother Tess—to prepare every conceivable dish featuring potatoes.

This banquet was destined to be the talk of Valra for years to come. Doug's youngest son had returned for the town's social season, bringing with him recipes that were all the rage in York City.

The dishes served were entirely unfamiliar—potato pancakes, French fries, meat-stuffed mashed potatoes, and the main course of black pepper roast beef brisket... Everyone was utterly amazed by the deliciousness.

As Alexander tapped his glass to make a toast, everyone was still savoring the flavors.

"I know many here have misunderstood the situation between my brother Lance and me," Alexander said, his green eyes resting gently on his brother as he smiled. "But the truth is, the circumstances back then were truly urgent..."

From Alexander's lips unfolded a story—one the brothers had carefully crafted over several days. They wouldn't share Tang Feiliu's bizarre experiences, but they needed to explain why these seemingly hostile brothers had reconciled. So they agreed to retell the events of that year in a different light.

Thus, the people of Valra Town came to understand: young Lance had indeed been frail and sickly back then, with a withdrawn, quiet disposition that hadn't improved as he grew older. So their distant aunt—the very one in York City—had written, urging them to send young Lance to the city. She hoped the city doctors might cure him, or at the very least, allow the child to get out and see the world.

As for Lance carrying only a small suitcase, it was because someone in York was waiting for him. But the boy had been so reluctant to leave that his expression had been one of deep sorrow...

These words didn't hold up to scrutiny, but the reconciled brothers stood as proof. And truth be told, people find tender tales easier to believe than tragedies. So after this speech, when the dancing began, ladies approached Alexander one after another, confessing they'd misunderstood him all these years.

After a few exchanges, Alexander spotted his brother conversing with a knight who had recently arrived in the area. Before many words were spoken, the knight suddenly knelt and kissed his brother's hand.

Alexander felt his blood run cold and his head spin. He strode over, his voice thick with fury: "...What are you doing?!"

"Hahaha... He was performing the knightly hand-kissing courtesy..." Tang Feiliu, completely oblivious to his brother's anger, laughed heartily. Clearly, he had enjoyed a pleasant conversation with the knight and addressed his brother with utter naturalness.

"...Do they do this whenever they see you at the castle?" Alexander took a deep breath, calming himself before coaxing the answer out.

"No, they don't," Tang Feiliu answered casually, then whispered sheepishly, "...But once I accidentally reached out, and the knight knelt down to do it. I just wanted him to help me up—I'd twisted my ankle that day, and Edward wasn't at the castle..."

"Stop!" Alexander had heard his brother say "Your Grace" at least eighty times in this short week. He quickly cut Tang Feiliu off and said seriously, "I can't believe it. Didn't Your Grace tell you? Do you know what the hand-kissing ceremony means to a knight?"

"Huh? Isn't it a noble form of etiquette?" Tang Feiliu vaguely recalled scenes from television where knights seemed to enjoy performing it—it must be a specialized knightly ritual.

Seeing his brother's confident gaze, Alexander felt his years of cultivated composure teetering on the brink of shattering. He took a sip of wine before explaining earnestly: "... No! A knight's loyalty is solely to the noble they serve. Their hand-kissing is reserved for only two people—first, the partner they swear lifelong devotion to; second, the partner of the noble they serve... Did you see them kissing that damn Edward's hand?!"

"What?! Don't they kiss the hands of all nobles?!" Tang Feiliu suddenly grew agitated too. He had no idea what these customs truly signified! He'd assumed it was just a game knights enjoyed playing with him!

But it wasn't his fault. While the hand-kissing ritual existed in many countries, its observance varied greatly from place to place—even in modern times. In some nations, it was acceptable even toward monarchs, while in others, it might be extended to lovers, sweethearts, or admired noblewomen—after all, any lady would feel honored if a knight knelt to kiss her hand. But in the Nat Empire, the hand-kissing ritual carried only the two meanings Alexander had mentioned.

"But Edward saw it... he, he..." He had watched the scene unfold and calmly asked Tang Feiliu, "Do you like this custom?"

Tang Feiliu believed he had actually said that?! Right, he had happily replied, "I love it! This ceremony is so cool! I want to be a knight too!"

To which Edward responded by ruffling his hair and saying, "If you like it, I can have a knight's uniform custom-made for you."

If knightly attire in this era hadn't actually been battle armor—which Tang Feiliu's slight frame couldn't possibly wear—he would've been utterly enthralled.

Recalling that scene now, those words Edward had spoken... Tang Feiliu took a large gulp of wine, feeling a bit dizzy. His blue eyes filled with embarrassment as he desperately sought confirmation from his brother: "...Are those really the only two possible meanings?!"

"Absolutely. At least here, it can only mean those two things." Alexander crushed Tang Feiliu's last shred of hope. He took a deep breath and said, "You told me the patterns appeared on your clothes when you first became an administrator... But what about this hand-kissing ceremony? When did that happen?"

"...I don't remember... It seems even earlier... I was just curious about knights back then. I'd never seen one before... Brother, how many people in the castle still don't know about me, about me and Edward..." Tang Feiliu had always believed he kept his secret well. But after his brother explained the significance of the patterns on his clothes—as if he'd grabbed everyone by the collar and shouted, "Look at me! I belong to the Black Duke! I'm his family!!!"—he realized it might not just be the castle folk who suspected his relationship with Edward.

Recalling the glances he’d received from Black Swan Castle’s residents... Tang Feiliu nearly lay awake all night that evening. He wanted to grab Edward by the collar and yell, "You secretive jerk! You’re just taking advantage of my ignorance, aren’t you?!"

Unfortunately, Edward was still at the palace. Tang Feiliu couldn't get his hands on him, so that was that. But this time... Tang Feiliu couldn't even bear to look at himself—he was utterly terrified. Just how many bizarre things had he done, unconsciously, under Edward's indulgence?!

So at this lively banquet, while everyone danced, the two brothers hosted with great enthusiasm, chatting warmly with each guest. But people noticed that little Lance would suddenly dash to his brother's side every so often, whisper something, then nod as if suddenly enlightened.

Everyone felt they'd misunderstood Mr. Alexander all these years. After all, once you removed those prejudiced glasses, what a charming gentleman he was! His green eyes resembled verdant mountains—gentle and wise. His sturdy, tall frame radiated steadiness and reliability. He... if only his expression didn't occasionally twist into that one grimace, he'd be a young man as captivating as a painting!

But Alexander Doug said he simply couldn't do it. According to his brother's account, that high-ranking, ruthless Black Duke—whom he'd never met—had absolutely, unequivocally harbored sinister intentions toward his precious younger brother from the very beginning. He'd made no attempt to conceal them. It seemed that even the passersby in Black Swan City knew long ago where young Mr. Lance belonged, save perhaps the boy himself.

And young Mr. Lance, blissfully unaware, had just waltzed right into it...

Alexander felt both chilled by the afterthought and emotionally conflicted. As a brother who cared for his sibling, he fundamentally opposed his younger brother associating with such a powerful noble. While same-sex attraction wasn't particularly uncommon among their kind—under the oppressive weight of religion, the backlash was often more intense, making it utterly ordinary for nobles to seek same-sex lovers—Lance and the Dark Duke? That was terrifying.

They had no power to resist. If the day came when His Grace changed his mind, banishing young Lance would be one thing. But if he grew impatient... killing Lance? No one could stop him.

Yet he felt a strange relief that his brother had so foolishly walked right into the Duke's indulgence and trap... This was no ordinary man, but the ruthless Black Duke. Few had ever escaped his schemes. Had Lance not stepped into this, had Lance not fallen for him... Alexander couldn't fathom what an enraged Black Duke might do.

To young Lance, the Black Duke was a restrained and tender lover. But if those rotting corpses could speak... who knew what they'd say? It certainly wouldn't be praise.

A heavy weight settled in Alexander's heart, filled with worry and anxiety.

Meanwhile, Edward read Tang Feiliu's letter, where at the very end, in shaky, crooked handwriting, it said: "...I'll wait for you to come back."

Tang Feiliu's handwriting was far from elegant. In those days, nobles typically used ornate cursive script. During his ten years under Empress Josephine's tutelage, Edward had naturally mastered this art as well. Yet as he gazed upon the crooked, childlike scrawl, he found it endearingly fitting. He stared at the letter for so long that Jess knocked on the door and whispered, "Prince Charles has already had three cups of coffee."

"Then let him have another," Edward replied impatiently.

Jess quietly bowed and withdrew.

This was a side of Edward Tang Feiliu had never seen before—stern and cold. It was also a side of Jess he had never seen—clever and compliant.

This was another side of the Black Duke that he did not wish Lance to see.

Edward turned his head and saw within the palace the gloomy winter day, the sinking sky, and thus his own reflection in the glass—his black hair and eyes, his cold expression, the downturned corners of his lips, and a look as cold and harsh as the palace's winter day.

Edward rubbed his face. Even while writing, he seemed afraid his expression might frighten that soft, milk-scented angel. He picked up his pen, took a sheet of paper, and began his reply: "...I can't wait to return, but matters here are complicated... I've prepared many delightful things for you, as gifts for not being able to celebrate your birthday with you..."

Outside, the sky grew darker by the minute. Edward wrote and rewrote, rewriting and writing again.

By the time he sealed the letter with wax and handed it to Jess, Prince Charles had already finished his eighth cup of coffee. With curly brown hair like his mother Josephine's, he wore a new-style formal gown—heaven knew the prince famously disliked such "utterly unaristocratic" attire. A flicker of anger crossed his face when he saw Edward enter, but he suppressed it immediately. Adopting a pitiful expression, he said, "My dear brother, Edward, you must help me!"

The weeping angel in Edward's mind, the tyrannical thoughts, the fear of himself... all vanished completely in that moment. He adopted a proper expression and murmured softly, "Of course, Charles. Why wouldn't I help you?"

After all, your mother has already prepared either a coffin or a land of exile for you. Your choice now—to obediently become a duke or follow in the footsteps of your non-blood brothers—depends entirely on what you decide this time.

Good luck.

Edward mused half-heartedly, his face fixed on listening earnestly as a grateful Charles continued speaking.

Winter in the royal city was bitterly cold. In this place forgotten by angels, the chill seeped into one's very bones, Edward mused aimlessly.

But he couldn't go back yet... for this was his self-imposed punishment and exile. He had to etch this bone-chilling coldness deep into his memory, to keep himself in check and prevent him from harming his angel.

He had terrified the boy that night, nearly losing control and tearing him apart.

Edward recalled waking from his drunkenness to see the angel he'd tormented, covered in wounds. He'd thought he'd done something irreparable, and the terror had left him gasping for breath for a long while...

Edward loathed that part of himself lurking in the shadows, always stirring. He murmured softly to Charlie, "...What did you say?"

"...I said," Charlie swallowed hard, his voice thick with resentment, "I want you to repeat what happened before with me."

"Only this time, the target is your mother?" Edward asked for confirmation.

Seeing Charlie nod, he suddenly smiled.

Well, perhaps he'd been bottling things up too long at Black Swan. Releasing it might help him regain his senses sooner, allowing him to return to Black Swan with a clear mind.

The Black Duke smiled as he shook hands with Prince Charlie, watching the triumphant young man depart his residence.

Author's Note:

Thanks to Xuanjia Cangyun and Cactus Dumpling for the support.

And though I'm still unsure what exactly this nutrient solution is, I'm deeply grateful for everyone's generous nourishment! Could it be my imagination, or does this nutrient solution concept feel... suggestive? Hmm, surely it's just my imagination.