The Handsome Little Boy

Deep in the Rochefort Family estate in Hewenham Territory stood a secluded stone house.

While Karl was celebrating his great victory in Tyrol and planning grand ambitions, another "joyous occasion" he knew nothing about—but one closely tied to his fate—was quietly unfolding in this warm territory.

These days were the time when the experienced obstetrician had predicted Charlotte would go into labor, based on her pulse and physical condition.

The entire stone house had long been fully prepared. The air was filled with the scent of disinfecting herbs, and hot water, clean cloth, and sharp scissors were all ready.

Lady Isabella and Aunt Martha waited outside the delivery room. Though they tried their best to remain calm, their tightly clasped hands and anxious glances toward the inner room still betrayed their nervousness.

Inside, Charlotte lay on a bed covered with soft white sheets. Her forehead was dotted with fine beads of sweat, and her short golden hair was damp and stuck to her cheeks.

She bit her lips tightly, enduring waves of pain that grew stronger each time, her hands clutching the sheets beneath her with all her strength.

The doctor delivering the baby and several experienced midwives gathered around the bed, guiding her breathing and urging her to push in steady voices.

Perhaps because she was young, or perhaps because she had maintained a moderate exercise routine for years, Charlotte's labor proceeded unexpectedly smoothly.

She did not suffer through the long, excruciating ordeal spoken of in legends. After Lady Isabella and Aunt Martha had waited for what felt like less than half an hour, a loud, vigorous baby's cry finally rang out from the delivery room!

"It's born! It's born! A young master! Mother and child are safe!" the midwife announced joyfully from inside.

The tension in Lady Isabella