She was certain it wasn’t just about the expensive tea leaves.
Seton had already made his feelings clear when he mentioned her southern origins, speaking of financial ruin with barely veiled distaste.
He disliked her for being poor, yet scorned her now for using costly tea.
What was she supposed to do—dance to whatever tune he played?
Still, she couldn’t just sit on her hands.
If he decided not to stamp the document out of spite, it would be a disaster.
She couldn’t afford to be pleased just because he wasn’t in the original novel.
Winning him over and turning him into an ally would be ideal, yes—but first, she needed that seal.
“No. This won’t do.”
She had to find a way.
If charm didn’t work, she’d turn to power.
Once the Grand Duke returned, she'd ask for his help.
Brimming with resolve, Ione flung open the door—and found Helena rushing toward her with an eager face.
“Your Highness! The Grand Duke has returned!”
Oh, could the timing be more perfect?
Seton might not put his seal on the document, but with the Grand Duke’s help, all would be well.
“Where is he now?”
“He headed to the study.”
“Great. I’ll go ahead. Helena, could you prepare tea and some food for His Grace? He must appreciate something warm after being out in the cold.”
“Of course, Your Highness. I’ll have it ready right away.”
Ione left, a light spring in her step.
At the time, she was a bit excited—eager to bring up the matter of the seal with the Grand Duke.
Meanwhile...
“What letter are you writing, if I may ask?”
“Curious, are you?”
“Yes, Your Grace. You’ve barely returned and haven’t even washed or rested, yet here you are writing a letter. Is it for His Majesty the Emperor?”
“Who else?”
“Something urgent happened?”
And I’m just now hearing of it?
Adrian frowned at Orgen’s insistent tone. The annoyance was plain.
“Must it be urgent for me to write to the Emperor?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Seton’s handling the byproducts again, isn’t he?”
The sudden topic shift didn’t escape Orgen, but he wisely held his tongue. He’d already crossed the line earlier.
Now was the time to act as if nothing had happened.
With effort, he swallowed his frustration and replied carefully.
“Unless something comes up, yes. No one handles such delicate matters as thoroughly as Seton.”
“Then sort and send everything to the capital once it’s processed. Including the tail feathers.”
“How many should we send?”
The feathers from the fully matured Jaeger beast were breathtaking—so delicate and iridescent, they sparkled like powdered diamonds under light.
But they were notoriously fragile, crumbling at the slightest touch.
Transporting even one intact was a feat.
And now they were being offered to the Imperial Court?
Orgen ground his teeth but asked politely,
“Would one suffice?”
“All of them.”
“Your Grace, that would be difficult.”
Adrian’s icy stare made Orgen feel like he was being throttled, but he forced himself to explain calmly.
“The tail feathers are especially fragile, and two have already snapped during transport.”
“Then three.”
“I’ll make sure to prepare one securely for His Majesty.”
Adrian’s gaze narrowed, as though seeing through him, but Orgen didn’t flinch.
He held firm until Adrian finally let out a slow sigh and relented.
“Make sure His Majesty receives one.”
“Of course.”
“And Lady Garnet, too.”
“You want to give
those
feathers to Lady Garnet?”
“Should I give them to someone else, then?”
“Your Grace!”
From behind the heavy wooden door came the chilling sound of a voice.
“Lady Garnet, too.”
“You want to give
those
to Lady Garnet?”
Oh… maybe I shouldn’t have come.
Ione froze, hand raised mid-knock.
“Should I give them to someone else, then?”
“Your Grace!”
The overwhelming swirl of emotions in Orgen’s voice was followed by a tense silence—so oppressive it was hard to breathe.
Ione had no courage to break it.
She remained motionless, holding her breath.
“Prepare one for Lady Garnet as well.”
“…Understood.”
The conversation resumed after a long pause, but Ione never brought herself to knock.
She had forgotten—too preoccupied with the seal.
Forgotten that
Ione Clarke
was nobody.
Everyone had been kind lately, and it made her forget her place.
“…”
She had started to believe she was… something.
Really
something.
Her stomach turned.
Why did it hurt, hearing the man who was fated to kill her speak fondly of another woman—as if she were truly his wife?
Despite her earlier command to prepare tea for the Grand Duke, Ione returned pale and shaken.
Catherine rushed to her side in alarm.
“Your Highness!”
Ione didn’t resist the steadying hand Catherine offered.
“What happened?!”
“It’s nothing.”
“Nothing? Your face is completely white.”
It wasn’t just the paleness—she was trembling.
How had they missed it?
Catherine had been fooled by her cheery smiles, but now it hit her.
The Grand Duchess had nearly died upon arriving at the Grand Duke’s estate.
And they had sat her down with
Seton
today of all days? After she’d only just recovered?
What were they thinking?
Catherine clicked her tongue in frustration.
So she hadn’t recovered after all.
Teleportation sickness wasn’t something to take lightly.
“Lean on me, Your Highness.”
Despite Ione being taller, Catherine helped her with surprising ease and led her to bed.
Her face was pale, her body lighter than expected.
Worried, Catherine summoned Benson immediately, regardless of Ione’s objections.
“I’m fine.”
Ione sat on the edge of the bed, but her face said otherwise.
“You don’t have to pretend, Your Highness.”
Benson arrived with grave urgency, but Ione’s desperation was stronger.
“She collapsed after arriving. There’s no way she’s fully recovered.”
“I
am
recovered. I’m fine.”
“Please, Your Highness.”
Neither Benson nor anyone else in the room believed her.
Her complexion alone betrayed the truth.
Then—
“Ugh…”
With a groan, Ione collapsed onto the bed.
“Your Highness!”
Benson rushed to her, but dared not touch her roughly.
He knelt at the side of the bed, voice tight with worry.
“Are you in pain? Your Highness? Please speak.”
“I’m fine.”
Benson and Catherine fussed beside her, but Ione waved a hand weakly in response.
“You need to be examined. Your color is terrible.”
“I said I’m not sick.”
“Your Highness—”
“Leave me alone.”
Don’t fuss over me. When people care too much, I forget my place and start getting ideas.
“Please. Just go.”
“Do you really want us to leave?”
“Should I beg?”
That shut them up.
Benson and Catherine had no choice but to leave her.
“God…”
She wanted to die.
No one knew better than Ione what a fool she’d just made of herself.
For a fleeting moment, she wished she could simply disappear.
Sending magical creature byproducts to the Imperial Family was a long-standing tradition.
It was the symbolic gesture of a Blessing Bearer—stronger than anyone else in the world—toward his brother, a token of unchanging loyalty.
For years, it had been Adrian’s practice as well.
“Lady Garnet, too.”
“You want to give those to Lady Garnet?”
But why was everyone making such a fuss over
feathers
?
Orgen’s reaction, treating the Jaeger’s tail feathers like some sacred relic, annoyed Adrian.
And beyond the thick wooden door, he sensed a faint presence and even fainter mana.
Ione.
“Then who should I give them to?”
“Your Grace!”
She was out there, clearly unwell, yet still hesitating, watching—ever the southern noblewoman trained to tread carefully.
“Send some to Lady Garnet,”
Adrian said again, exhaling a quiet sigh.
Only then did Orgen relent.
And with him, the presence outside the door disappeared.
“Tsk.”
Adrian clicked his tongue.
He couldn’t understand Ione.
She was the Grand Duchess.
Why was she waiting on a subordinate? Did she truly not grasp who she was?
Knock knock.
Adrian was drawn out of his thoughts by the sound of someone knocking on the door.