“The girl, I mean, the girl. She’s barely sixteen, still a minor, isn’t she?”
Zephyr looked utterly bewildered by Jeha’s words.
“Sixteen in human years is perfectly old enough to conceive. Many even marry far younger.”
“That’s their business… In any case, it’s not for me.”
Jeha snatched the letter from Zephyr’s hand. He carefully refolded it and slipped it back into the envelope. It felt wrong to simply discard a letter filled with a young girl’s affections; after all, it was always pleasant to know someone harbored feelings for him.
Holding the sealed envelope, Jeha pondered for a moment.
‘Should I reply to this, or not?’
“From what I’ve gathered, aside from the eldest son who became a bishop, the Fanucci family’s second son and first daughter are already married. Currently, the Pope and Mrs. Fanucci’s greatest concern is finding a suitable match for their youngest daughter.”
Zephyr spoke as if he had read Jeha’s thoughts. He then added in a subtle tone,
“To successfully establish yourself in Encarosha as the Marquis Belgarga, forming an alliance with the Pope through marriage would be an excellent strategy. With the wealth and prestige of the Belgarga family, combined with the Pope’s backing, no one on this Central Continent would dare to challenge you, my lord.”
Jeha instantly scowled.
“What are you talking about? Are you suggesting I marry the Pope’s youngest daughter? I might look like this, but I’m the Demon King, the Demon King! Besides, I have…”
To say ‘I have Hereis’ aloud felt a little too embarrassing. However, Zephyr, easily discerning what Jeha had been about to say, spoke as if to tempt him.
“Your contractor, after all, is not in a position to marry. Marriage is marriage, and a consort is a consort. Miss Fanucci would surely be aware of your relationship with your contractor and wouldn’t interfere with your bond. All that girl desires, after all, is the position of Marchioness Belgarga.”
As a lifelong bachelor with a Confucian sensibility, this was utterly unacceptable to Jeha.
“Alternatively, what if you simply become engaged? If you were to assume the role of the future son-in-law, the Pope would ultimately align himself with Archbishop Hereis. The Pope might even champion Archbishop Hereis for the next papal seat.”
“…”
Indeed… If the Pope and Marquis Belgarga were to form a connection, a strong bond would also be forged between the Pope and Hereis. The Pope would likely calculate that by making his eldest son a noble and placing Hereis, with whom he has a deep connection, on the papal throne, he could further solidify his family’s foundation.
Jeha tapped his lips with the edge of the envelope, lost in thought. Suddenly, he pushed away Zephyr’s face, which had drawn uncomfortably close.
“You certainly have a knack for tempting people.”
Jeha clicked his tongue, and Zephyr merely shrugged, a hint of regret on his face.
“What’s so great about me getting engaged to the Pope’s daughter that you keep trying to tempt me?”
“Well, wouldn’t it be incredibly amusing if you, my lord, were to get engaged to or marry the Pope’s daughter? The daughter of the Pope, who serves God, consorting with the Demon King.”
Zephyr grinned broadly. His face was so irritating, Jeha wanted to punch him.
Jeha paused, about to place the letter in a drawer. Instead, he tossed it into the nearby wastebasket. While he appreciated the girl’s affections, he didn’t want to inadvertently do anything that might upset Hereis.
“Aren’t you going to reply?”
Zephyr asked, gazing regretfully at the wastebasket where the letter lay discarded.
“No. When someone is infatuated, even a casual greeting can appear to be a love letter. There’s no need to cause unnecessary misunderstandings, is there?”
“Hmm…”
Zephyr let out a sigh laden with regret. Jeha ignored him, casually rummaging through the pile of letters again before picking one up.
‘There’s something about this one, I think.’
Jeha murmured, looking at the name written on the envelope.
[Ernil Delfard]
What his hand chanced upon was a letter from the red-haired widow, Countess Delfard.
Fortunately, Countess Delfard’s envelope contained an invitation rather than a love letter. It was an invitation to a dance party held at the Delfard estate today. There was no personal content whatsoever.
“Oh, an invitation from a widow. This Encarosha truly is a pleasant city to live in.”
Zephyr remarked, having glanced at the invitation without permission.
“It’s just a dance party invitation.”
“But look here. Isn’t the time late at night?”
Zephyr pointed to the corner of the invitation with his fingertip. Indeed, the time was written there.
“Don’t nobles usually sleep during the day and party at night?”
Jeha said it nonchalantly. Yet, his mind grew somewhat complicated.
Miss Fanucci’s birthday party had also been in the early afternoon. However, a party held at such a late hour… and given the host, it felt rather significant.
“I’ve heard that late-night dance parties are often gatherings where humans seek out mates.”
“How vulgar.”
“As for vulgarity, I daresay I’m second only to you, my lord, in your domain.”
Zephyr proudly admitted. Jeha shook his head.
“You seem quite bored. Why don’t you go to Belgarga Castle for a bit?”
“Belgarga Castle?”
“Yes. See if things are running smoothly in my absence… and that Inquisitor, what’s-his-name… just make sure he’s not needlessly harassing innocent people. Also check on his condition, as he’s been tormented by succubi for a while. Oh, and see how that old woman I sent to the castle is doing.”
“Yes, I understand.”
Zephyr replied promptly, turning to leave.
“Wait.”
Jeha called out, stopping Zephyr. He then added,
“Don’t teleport. Go by horseback, like a human.”
Zephyr’s face instantly fell.
“I could be there and back in minutes, yet you ask me to ride for days? Are you punishing me?”
“No, I’m just being spiteful.”
At Jeha’s words, Zephyr’s face grew even gloomier.
“Go on, hurry now. Hurry.”
Jeha waved his hand dismissively. Though he often had much to say, Zephyr never defied Jeha’s commands. With slumped shoulders, he walked out of the room and disappeared.
After indulging in a bit of spite towards Zephyr, Jeha felt strangely refreshed. He hummed to himself, sifting through the envelopes one by one and tossing them into the wastebasket.
Most of the names were entirely unfamiliar to him. Kkamangi, apparently thinking it a game, would snatch each envelope out of the air with their mouth as Jeha flicked it towards the bin, then crunch it loudly.
In the end, all those envelopes went straight into the wastebasket. Jeha propped his legs on the table, idly toying with Countess Delfard’s invitation, the sole survivor, before finally tossing it into the bin. Kkamangi, having snatched it, paused for a moment, then placed it on the floor and began to sniff at it intently.
Jeha, who had been idly watching, suddenly had a thought. He picked up the invitation from the floor. Kkamangi rested their front paws on Jeha’s thigh, continuously sniffing the invitation.
“Why? Does it smell like something?”
Jeha asked Kkamangi, bringing the invitation to his nose.
After several deep sniffs, Jeha’s eyebrows subtly twitched. Amidst what seemed to be deliberately applied perfume, he detected a faint, distinct scent. It was so subtle that an ordinary human would never perceive it.
As someone with no particular interest in perfumes or fragrances, Jeha couldn’t identify the scent. However, it was a strangely unsettling aroma, one that stirred his instincts.
Jeha tapped his chin with the corner of the invitation, trying to recall where he might have smelled this scent before. But it utterly eluded him. The fact that it wasn’t memorable suggested it wasn’t a scent encountered in a specific situation. So, what exactly was this smell?
“Paimon.”
After a moment’s contemplation, Jeha placed the invitation on the table and softly called Paimon. As if he had been waiting, Paimon opened the door and entered.
“You called, my lord?”
Paimon said as he approached. His changed attire was conspicuously noticeable.
“Your clothes have changed?”
When Jeha asked, Paimon glanced down at his own clothes and inquired,
“Are you curious why they changed?”
His demeanor suggested he would answer any question, yet Jeha felt an odd reluctance to ask. Trusting his instincts, Jeha shook his head.
“No, there’s no need. Anyway, I’m thinking of going here.”
Jeha said, pointing a finger at the invitation lying on the table. Paimon unfolded the invitation, then nodded.
“Then I shall send a reply accepting the invitation and prepare for your attendance at the dance party.”
Paimon stated cleanly, without raising any questions whatsoever.
“Oh, and please bring me some stationery and a pen. I need to write a letter to Hereis.”
Jeha smiled warmly as he made the request. Perhaps it was because he had just read Miss Fanucci’s love letter, but a fervent desire to write a love letter to Hereis welled up within him. Of course, he also needed to include the detail about attending the late-night dance party. It would be troublesome if Hereis found out later and misunderstood or felt hurt.