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Of course, Achilles had his own reasons too. When they found out that Ariette had gone missing, the entire mansion was thrown into chaos.
Their father was horrified that Ariette had been so upset that she'd actually left home, and he turned his anger on Alexander, who had opposed her participation in the family business. He shouted at him furiously to go and bring Ariette back at once.
Dozens of knights and servants were sent out. Alexander and Achilles also joined them, roaming the vast capital like madmen trying to find out where Ariette had gone.
The problem was that several hours had already passed since Ariette left the house. By the time they followed up on each witness statement, she had already moved on. The hot weather had also worn down the horses considerably, so when they returned to the mansion to change horses, they found that Ariette had already come back. Nothing else mattered at that point.
Still, expecting Lenard, who had been threatened at swordpoint, to understand such circumstances would be shameless.
"If Lord Sharon does not wish to see me, then I'll convey my gratitude and apology through a letter or some other means. But if he is willing, I would like to meet him in person to express them sincerely."
"So, what you're asking is for me to deliver you, the knight commander's, words to Lord Sharon?"
"Yes… I know it's presumptuous of me, but that's what I ask."
At Achilles's reply, Ezkhiel fell silent for a moment.
Though he maintained courtesy, his face betrayed no emotion, it was impossible to tell whether he doubted Achilles's sincerity or was simply hesitating over whether to deliver the message.
"…Very well, I'll deliver your words. But if Lord Sharon says he doesn't wish for your gratitude or apology, then there's nothing more I can do."
Having finally agreed, Ezkhiel gave a short nod and left without looking back.
In the past, he might have shown at least a hint of reluctance, but now, though his manners remained intact, there was not a trace of warmth in him.
Still, compared to how most others treated Achilles these days, that was considered rather mild.
Some civil officials and nobles, upon seeing Achilles pass by, would sneer loudly enough for him to hear, or even pick a fight outright.
At least the knights, being his subordinates, would stop talking and listen to his orders when he appeared. But Achilles didn't need to be told to know that they gossiped about him behind his back.
'…I should just go home. I can finish my work there.'
The spring personnel reshuffle had already made things busy enough, and now that he'd taken a leave because of this mess, his workload had piled up.
Normally, he'd just stay up late for several nights to catch up, but right now, Achilles didn't have the strength to endure another day in the palace. He gathered the documents he was allowed to take home and prepared to leave.
When the incident hit the newspapers, some outlets even dug up events from his academy days, writing long articles about the long-standing feud between the Averil Dukedom and the Sharon County.
Five years had passed since then, what should have been a thing of the past, but now Achilles's old mistakes were once again dragged into the light, turning into a brand that burned upon his name.
The only difference from back then was this. During his academy days, he'd been condemned as a brute who assaulted freshmen from the liberal arts faculty, met with scorn and contempt. But now, since the Averil family had officially been punished and had lost both status and honor, the contempt had been replaced with ridicule.
'This time it was Father's fault, so why are they digging up the past and blaming me again?'
Every time he felt people's eyes on him or overheard their pointed whispers meant for his ears, indignation would rise within him.
He acknowledged that what he did back then was wrong. He knew he'd have to keep feeling sorry toward Letticia for it.
But he had already been punished and had personally apologized to her, so why wouldn't the stigma fade?
Letticia herself no longer brought up the past, yet others still hurled blame at him.
'It was Father who did wrong this time, so why must my brother and I be the ones cleaning up the mess and bearing all the scorn?'
When he was buried in that sense of unfairness, resentment toward the world would creep in, only to be replaced by discomfort.
He would then remember his younger sister's voice, trembling as she cried when he tried to console her during her hunger strike.
"You're just like Father! If it hadn't been him but you and Brother in his place, you would've done the exact same thing!"
The words of denial caught in his throat and couldn't come out.
In their family, it was practically a law, any man who approached Ariette was to be driven away. Not only those who spoke to her, but even being alone with her in the same space was unacceptable.
He had lived his whole life by that family law. So, could he honestly say that, upon hearing that Lenard and Ariette had ridden in a carriage together, and that they'd even communicated in secret, he would've calmly done nothing, without the slightest hint of threat?
'…Of course not.'
He had lived more than half his life like that. There was no way he would have acted differently in that moment.
Perhaps he wouldn't have drawn his sword like his father did, but at the very least, he would've shown anger, or made threats.
As that realization sank in, an unfamiliar heaviness pressed down on him. He did believe that what his father had done was excessive, but knowing that he might have acted the same way left him speechless.
He wanted to confide this feeling to someone, but since Lenard's departure, Ariette had locked herself in her room, refusing to talk to anyone. Naturally, all conversation among the rest of the family had come to a halt as well and soon there wasn't even any time left to speak at all.
Letters of protest arrived from the Sharon County. Countess Freke, having heard what happened, visited several times to persuade them. Even the Imperial family sent an envoy, urging them to apologize.
But none of it could break his father's stubbornness.
Because of that, Alexander and Achilles had to step forward in his place, handling every single matter that came their way.
When people told them to try persuading their father, they could only give hollow replies like, "Yes, we'll try."
Their father was adamant, his priority was to make sure Lenard could never again approach Ariette. He even had the communication network blocked, so that if Lenard ever tried to reach her, his messages would never get through.
There was no convincing a man like that.
After his father finally left the capital, Achilles couldn't help but wonder, perhaps he should have sent a secret letter of apology himself.
But no matter how he thought about it, it would have been impossible.
'If I had done that, Father would've erased my name from the family register.'
Except for Ariette, his father was a cold-hearted man to everyone else. He would never forgive a child who defied his will.
Even when he asked if it hadn't been excessive to draw a sword against the heir of another noble family, his father had only exploded in rage. "So now you're defending the scoundrel who dared to make moves on your sister, as her brother?". That was how it always was.
After the death of their mother, whose face Achilles could hardly even remember, Ariette had become their father's only joy in life.
To him, every man in the world was a thief coveting his precious treasure, and his sons were meant to be her guards, watchmen standing beside him to protect her.
"…Even so, aren't watchmen family too?"
The words slipped from his lips before he could stop them. Thankfully, it seemed no one nearby had heard.
Ever since the day Ariette ran away, whenever Achilles was alone, he found himself saying bitter, negative things out loud. He didn't want to be alone anymore, yet there was no one he could really stay with.
Ariette had stopped her hunger strike, but she still refused to speak with them. Alexander had become acting head of the household, too busy running around to rest.
Had it been three days since they'd last talked? Four? Achilles tried to recall, and before he knew it, he had arrived at the place where the carriage was waiting.
The coachman, sitting at the driver's seat, saw Achilles and lowered his whip, signaling to a servant to open the door.
Achilles climbed in mechanically, and froze for a moment when he saw Alexander already seated inside.
"Brother? Weren't you supposed to be working late at the Chancellor's office today?"
"His Excellency had a meeting with another department, so he told me to leave early. He said I must have plenty to discuss with the family after returning home."
"Even though you're busy with the handover? That's considerate of him."
"He said he understands how much work the duchy must have right now. I'll have to send the Countess a letter of thanks later."
As Alexander spoke, his gaze fell upon the thick stack of documents Achilles carried, and his expression darkened slightly.
"It seems things aren't going too well for you at the knight order."
"…I have a criminal record, unlike you, Brother."
Alexander had never caused trouble, not during his academy years, nor in his official career. Unlike their family's poor reputation in the capital, he was known for being upright, elegant, and courteous to everyone, a model of noble grace.
Rumors abounded about their father and Achilles, but hardly anyone ever spoke ill of Alexander.
On the contrary, people often pitied him, saying he suffered between a reckless younger brother and a deranged father. Of course, such sympathy rarely came from goodwill; it was often laced with condescension and smugness.
"If it's too hard for you, you could always quit and join the family's own knight order."
"I went through all that trouble to inherit my title. I can't just quit. And besides, His Highness the Crown Prince would never approve my resignation."
"Still, with everything people are saying, isn't it difficult to endure?"
"…I'll just think of it as part of the punishment I still owe Lady Sharon for what I did back then."
At that, Alexander sighed deeply.
"Father's gone back to the estate, not reflecting on anything he's done, yet you're here, bearing the blame and the scorn that should have been his. I wonder if he even realizes that."
"…Even if he does, I doubt he'd care."
Alexander didn't reply. His silence was as good as agreement.
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