The Duchess of Bursley, Titia, curled her crimson-painted lips into a smooth smile as she turned to the true guest who had come to visit her.
"Don’t worry. They may be vulgar, but they’re not stupid."
She spoke again, addressing the impassive gaze that looked down on her.
"At the very least, they know what can and can't be said aloud. The rumors will spread soon enough—it’s just a matter of time. The whole capital will be abuzz with the Emperor’s marriage. No one will care about whatever punishment the imperial maids who served the Grand Duchess received."
Titia recalled the reason she'd hosted this outrageously vulgar tea party today.
Her eldest daughter, who had served as an imperial maid, had been punished by the Grand Duke.
There were rumors she might become disabled, but thanks to the steward’s quick intervention, it seemed no lasting injury would remain.
Still, it was deeply unsettling not to have seen her daughter for days.
That was why Titia hadn’t refused the steward’s suggestion.
“One scandal can always be buried beneath a greater one.”
“His Majesty does not wish the Bursley name to be tarnished by the events of that day.”
It was obvious that the real intent was to protect Grand Duke Adrian, the one who’d caused the whole affair.
But for House Bursley, there was never really a choice.
If she refused, her daughter—who dared to deceive a member of the imperial family—might never return alive.
With a face marked by anxiety and desperation, the Duchess whispered:
"When will I be able to see her...?"
"Soon."
"...Very well. Then I’ll wait for your message, Steward."
"Thank you, Duchess. I won’t forget your cooperation today."
Titia’s eyes, red with tears, gently lowered as she forced a smile.
It was over. Completely over. She had absolutely, utterly failed.
Ione had thought being alone would help her sort through her emotions.
But that had been a mistake.
The moment she was by herself, her feelings came rushing back, more vivid than ever. She buried her face in the blankets and screamed.
Her chest felt like it might burst.
‘For Lady Garnet, you say…’
‘You’re giving something that precious to Lady Garnet?’
‘Then who should I give it to?’
He had asked the question with a detached tone, but his voice had been firm—like a verdict.
Despite all her efforts, she meant nothing to him.
And worse, she shouldn’t mean anything.
That reality hit her like a punch to the gut, and she suddenly felt unbearably miserable.
It was like someone had lit a fire under her ribs—hot, painful, impossible to endure.
The rush of emotion was too much to hold back.
It was always like this.
Just when things seemed to be going okay, something would flip the table.
As if the world was just waiting for her to feel a shred of hope—only to crush it.
This wasn’t the first time. And yet, every time it happened, it drove her mad.
"How many times has it been now?"
Ione began counting on her fingers.
First, Count Harbert—who hadn’t even appeared in the original story—had shown up and thrown her into the role of Grand Duchess.
Second, the marriage contract she thought she’d successfully navigated turned out to be a scheme orchestrated by the Emperor all along.
And now, today.
When she’d begun to believe she and Adrian might actually get along—only to watch him, without hesitation, show kindness to another woman.
Watching herself feel
angry
about that… that was when she realized just how faithfully the story was unfolding.
"Am I crazy?"
What kind of lunatic feels betrayed or hurt by Adrian’s actions?
At least with the first two betrayals, she could blame someone else.
But this third blow? That was on her. And she had no idea how to deal with it.
“Ugh! This is driving me insane!”
Worst of all was the fact that, despite everything, a part of her still felt
disappointed
in Adrian.
Letting out another muffled scream into the thick blanket, Ione sat up, gasping for air.
Annoyed. Angry. Bitter. Sad. Miserable.
She was cycling through every negative emotion imaginable, and the fact that she had to swallow it all down made it that much harder.
Breathing hard, her face looked completely worn out.
But despite her expression, something inside her had awakened—a fierce, unshakable desire to live.
She wanted to survive.
If the world was going this far to kill her, then she’d dig her heels in and
survive out of sheer spite
.
In her past life, she’d died before she could even say
“Oh?”
And now again, it seemed she was destined to die at the height of her youth, before she’d truly lived.
Tch.
Like hell she’d let that happen.
Clenching her lips, Ione steeled herself.
The mage who could grant the life-saving seal hated her with every fiber of his being. Her husband, Adrian—the male lead—was busy fawning over some other woman.
Slowly reviewing the situation, Ione came to a realization:
They don’t need me.
But didn’t people say
all roads lead to the capital
?
"…The seal can wait."
Surely the narrative wouldn’t be so cruel as to let her die at Adrian’s hand without giving her a fighting chance.
And every time she met him or got involved with people in this place, she felt her heart sway.
“I’m only human, after all.”
Ione decided to be honest with herself.
You talk to someone, see them often, and before you know it—you feel attached.
A little kindness starts to feel like something precious.
And how could she possibly stop those natural feelings from blooming?
Trying would be arrogance.
Especially when fate had tied her so tightly to the people in this house.
Her efforts had taken a strange turn, and destiny—well, destiny had always been stubbornly cruel.
Then maybe... I should just hole up here and wait it out.
With a soft thud, Ione flopped back into the bed and yanked the covers up over her head.
Her body didn’t hurt anywhere, but nestled under the warm blanket, she suddenly felt drowsy.
She tried to keep her eyes open, but that only lasted a moment.
"Well, it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do."
Muttering to herself, Ione surrendered to the oncoming wave of sleep.
Her eyes closed, and the world faded to black.
"Given the situation, it’s not ideal right now. But if we wait a bit, the Grand Duchess’s mana should stabilize. Then we can proceed with the seal, right?"
After Benson left, Seton made no effort to hide the sulk in his voice.
"There’s not a single person in the North who doesn’t bear the seal. Even
I
have it. But the Grand Duchess doesn’t? That’s absurd."
Seton had always been wary of the Grand Duchess. So why the sudden protectiveness?
His tone didn’t match his usual disdain, and that inconsistency was troubling.
Every time he spoke of her, his eyes had always carried a flash of contempt.
And yet here he was…
Hmm.
"This is turning into an odd fixation…"
The strange obsession. The truth Benson had revealed. And the Grand Duchess at the center of it all.
Ione Clarke—the woman he’d always thought of as lacking in dignity.
But now…
Adrian frowned.
His thoughts, usually sharp and clear, now felt muddled.
He set down the document he was reading and stood up.
"Is something the matter?"
"Where’s the Grand Duchess?"
Orgen, who had been keeping pace with his master, froze for a moment at the unexpected question.
"The Grand Duchess, Your Grace?"
"What is she doing?"
"After Dr. Benson’s examination, he visited your office. Since he was summoned, she’s likely resting. She must be, given her condition."
"You’ve learned to say ‘I don’t know’ in a very roundabout way."
At that jab, Orgen’s neck flushed red.
"But may I ask—why are you suddenly looking for Her Grace?"
"She’s unwell. I’m going to check on her."
"You’re… making a sick visit?"
Orgen didn’t scoff. He knew Adrian better than anyone.
A hospital visit? That wasn’t something Adrian van Preses did.
More likely, he had some business with her and was using her illness as an excuse.
It was a harsh assessment for a man speaking of his master.
Still, Orgen’s expression remained calm as he followed behind.
"If you're going to pretend it’s a sick visit, might I suggest at least bringing a small bouquet?"
"A bouquet? For a sick visit?"
Adrian didn’t bother hiding his disbelief.
She was his
wife
, living under the same roof in the Grand Duke’s estate.
Who on earth brings flowers just to visit their own wife’s bedroom?
"You know I may lack emotion—but that doesn’t mean I lack intelligence."
"Of course, Your Grace. Which is why I recommend bringing a bouquet. It’s Her Grace’s first ailment since your return from campaign."
At that, Adrian realized something.
He hadn’t seen Ione since he returned from the Black Forest.
"So I haven’t."
"Right. You didn’t visit her immediately either—you came home, handled all your work first, and
only then
decided to see her. Showing up empty-handed would be… inappropriate."
Adrian gave a small nod.
"Fine. Go get one."
"Truly?"
"You seem to forget, Orgen—I intend to stay married to Ione Clarke. Unless she dies first, this marriage will stand."
"It’s good to see you care for Her Grace. But… what if your destined partner appears one day? What will you do then?"
Adrian abruptly stopped in his tracks and looked down at Orgen.
His long lashes shadowed the glint in his cold blue eyes.
"That won’t happen."