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‘I won’t die alone like this.’
Duke Dyssen concluded his lengthy letter with a resolute conviction, steeling his heart which had briefly faltered. This final missive was written with an unwavering rationality, surpassing all previous attempts.
As he set aside the capped pen, Duke Dyssen shifted his gaze towards the vista beyond the window. The once lush and verdant forest had transformed into a dazzling array of autumnal hues, awash with shades of crimson and scarlet.
On a vibrant spring day, when the flowers were in full bloom, he arrived at the hospital and remained incarcerated for three successive seasons.
“You’re free to languish in this hospital room like a lifeless body until your dying breath,” Duke Dyssen snarled, before summoning his caretaker with a sharp jingle of the bell.
Despite granting Odette ample time and opportunity, all that returned was a deafening silence, prompting him to relinquish his paternal role. For it was Odette who had severed the bond between parent and child.
At the thought of the immense riches possessed by the despicable man who had taken Odette, Duke Dyssen felt a searing inferno erupt from the depths of his being. To think that even with such vast wealth at his disposal, he had the audacity to believe that paying a mere hospital bill would absolve him of his heinous crime
 it was an unfathomable outrage.
“Duke, you summoned me?” the caretaker’s voice roused Duke Dyssen from his furious reverie.
He was about to lose patience when the carer showed up.  Duke Dyssen, who had just developed a serious case of laziness, scowled and tossed the weighty letter over the edge of the bed.
“Send this letter as soon as you can, please.”
Duke Dyssen issued a pressing command, sinking back into the plush pillow that supported his aching back. Despite the impossibility of fully healing his ailing body, he was determined to secure better treatment for himself.
By setting forth explicit demands and the dire consequences that would ensue if they were disregarded, he was certain that Odette would not dare to ignore his letter. His first course of action would be to ensure that Tira, the girl who was no different from a murderer, was apprehended and imprisoned.
As he stilled his mind with breathtaking imagery, the hesitant caregiver gingerly retrieved the letter.
The caregiver examined the envelope and spoke softly, “This appears to be a letter addressed to your daughter. Is she the one who married into the Klauswitz family?”
Duke Dyssen bellowed at the caregiver for overstepping their bounds, admonishing them to follow his instructions without question. The woman pursed her lips, took hold of the letter, and exited the room.
With a glimmer of hope in his eyes, Duke Dyssen gazed up at the clear blue sky. I just need to get out of here.
The townhouse he had spotted earlier that day held promise as a suitable abode, provided there were sufficient servants to attend to his needs. Despite Odette’s treacherous betrayal, he still held a faint hope for her – after all, she was a remnant of the foolish love he had once felt, the greatest jewel of his life.
*.·:·.✧.·:·.*
As each shot was fired, the bullet mark gradually edged closer to the center of the target.
Odette beamed with delight, turning to face Bastian who was standing behind her. “I’m doing much better this time,” she exclaimed with a flushed face, her expression radiating with happiness.
Rather than telling them that it was time to wrap up their practice, Bastian offered a polite smile. As they continued to shoot, the western sky began to shift into a reddish hue, signaling that it was time to end their session.
“Take some rest,” Bastian ordered curtly before turning to attend to his own tasks. He carefully set down the pistol on the table and picked up his rifle, loading it with practiced ease. As he worked, a new target was swapped out to replace the honeycombed one from their previous rounds.
After experimenting with various firearms, it appeared that the rifle was the most suitable one for Odette’s skills. While it wouldn’t be fair to say that she lacked talent, she could improve significantly with more training to strengthen the necessary shooting muscles.
Bastian, who had finished reloading his rifle, stood in front of the target again. Odette, who was sitting in a chair and rubbing her aching arm, hurried back to her husband.
Bastian approached her from behind and turned over his rifle before adjusting her posture as before. He squeezed his massive, muscular body against hers, and she was overcome by a sense of hopeless strain.
“You have a talent for teaching, just as well as your shooting skills,” Odette said to Bastian. Her heart was racing, and she tried to ease the tension with an awkward compliment. She realized too late that it might have been silly, but thankfully, Bastian laughed and saved her from further embarrassment.
“I’m delighted.” Her ear was touched by Bastian’s quiet whisper.
The scent of the man standing behind her became more discernible as the nighttime wind grew chillier.
By focusing on her shot, Odette was able to block out her distractions.  As instructed, she took her position, pointed her gun, and released the trigger. She recalled to keep her eyes open till the very end.
After inspecting the target, Bastian gave instructions, “Just a bit more to the left, please.” As he spoke, Odette adjusted her posture and nodded.
“By the way, Bastian, why did you choose the Navy?” Odette caught her breath before asking Bastian a question.
Bastian lowered his eyes slightly and looked at Odette in his arms.
“Well, I’ve seen comments about you fighting like an army. You’re also considered the best polo player and have excellent shooting skills, so I think you would have done well in the army. Do you have a particular reason for choosing the Navy?”
“Ah. That.” Bastian chuckled like it was no big deal.
Conservatives in the Admiralty who opposed the shipboard hand-to-hand fighting at the Battle of Trosa advanced that line of reasoning.  The naval way of fighting was not hand-to-hand with knives and guns.  The absurd argument would typically come to a sarcastic conclusion with the statement, “If that’s the case, why didn’t you join the army?”  It was an aristocratic curse that suggested they were well aware of the real reason he joined the navy.
It didn’t really matter if he was the grandchild of a junk trader or not; his grandfather, who felt bad about passing the label, chose to become an officer for him. He only became a navy officer because it was simpler to advance in life in this way.  A commander without a title at the time did not sit well with the aristocratic and traditional army.  He was able to advance to a position where he could reassure his grandfather because to the relatively open nature of the navy.
Choosing the bigger fish was a must.  It didn’t matter who were willing to do the hard work anyway. The opinions of the aristocrats, who saw pragmatic choices as dishonorable, didn’t matter. Bastian’s idea of honor was not the same as theirs. He believed that fighting valiantly in a naval battle and being laid to rest with his battleships was worthy of respect, but he had yet to witness such a precedent.
“Bastian?”
Odette’s voice broke the silence. Bastian, lost in his thoughts, looked at her with innocent curiosity. “I liked the clothes,” he answered with a silly remark. The peaceful moment had been long-awaited, and perhaps a bland joke was worth more than an unnecessary truth.
“Clothes?” Odette frowned and asked, puzzled.
Bastian responded nonchalantly, pointing at the target with his gaze. “I just prefer the navy uniform,” he said.
Odette, who had been looking at him with a blank expression, chuckled softly and turned her head. “I agree. The navy uniform suits you much better,” she said, and her gentle laughter resonated through his body. It didn’t take long for Bastian to join in and laugh along with her, feeling the ripples of joy spreading through his heart.
As the laughter died down, the sunset’s glow intensified. Bastian resumed his role as the skilled instructor when Odette readied her gun again after regaining her composure. Three shots were fired in quick succession.
Odette had now mastered handling the gun’s recoil without Bastian’s assistance. Her previously unstable firing posture was also almost entirely corrected.
Bastian released his grip on Odette, and without needing to say anything more, she understood the message.
Bastian stepped back a few paces and lit a cigarette, while Odette caught her breath and meticulously readied herself for the next round of shooting. Her form-fitting riding clothes accentuated her svelte figure. As Bastian took a drag from his cigarette, Odette fired off her shots, one after another, without shutting her eyes. Bastian followed suit, keeping his gaze open.
Odette smiled broadly as she turned away from the target.  The muzzle of the rifle still emitted a wispy trail of smoke after it had stopped firing.  There was no need for any extra recognition.  Odette beamed with satisfaction, knowing full well that she had done well.
Bastian exhaled a cloud of smoke and cracked a grin.
Bastian turned to face Odette, taking another deep breath of smoke as he looked at her. “Have you ever thought about enlisting?” he asked. “You’re skilled with guns and can dig well. I believe you’d be a valuable asset.”
Odette put down her gun and joked with a smile, “Will I be able to command a naval fleet?” Her fine hair fluttered softly in the direction of the wind, flowing along her forehead and neck.
Bastian shrugged his shoulders and tossed the burning cigarette between his fingers into the ashtray,  “That’s up to you.”
Odette grasped his hand when he extended it to her.
Slowly, Bastian made his way through the rosy garden.  There were servants beginning to tidy up, and the sound of gently lapping waves could be heard in the distance.
As soon as they entered the mansion, the butler delivered unexpected news. “Countess Lenart is on the line. She mentioned that her father, Duke Laviere, left a message for you, sir. It’s related to the railroad company, and she says it’s important.” Lovis explained with impatience, which was unusual for him. Sandrine seemed to have done a good job with her performance.
“Go ahead.” said Odette.  Bastian averted his calm glance from his devoted wife.
“Bastian. Countess Lenart is holding court.”  Odette released Bastian’s grip.  Despite the obviousness of Sandrine’s motivation, she grinned in knowing understanding.
“It’s Dora!  It works out perfectly. The topic of the dinner menu was just what I needed to bring up again.”
Odette left Bastian without a sideways glance as the maid emerged in the west corridor. That expression belonged to a flawless hostess who had absolutely no reservations.
Bastian was brought back to the present by Lovis’s impatient voice, “Okay, let’s go.” Hastening his steps, he climbed the stairs, conscious of the time delay. His priority should be Sandrine, even over his wife Odette.