"What?"
It wasn’t Adrian who reacted in shock—but Seton, standing beside him.
"You’re telling me she crossed the entire continent by warp in a single day?"
"Yes."
"And on that same day, she was also fed Black Grass?"
"…Yes."
A scoff escaped him.
A click of the tongue was followed by a sneer.
"Warp shakes up the mana inside the body like crazy. She's no mage, just a regular person—and yet she used warp several times and ingested something as volatile as Black Grass?"
A dry laugh left Seton as he added mockingly,
"It’s a miracle she didn’t die."
"Who said she made the trip in just one day?"
Adrian’s voice cut through, and Benson replied clearly and deliberately.
"Her Grace said so herself on the day she regained consciousness. She mentioned it wasn’t due to frailty, but simply exhaustion. She seemed a bit embarrassed, and I happened to overhear her explanation."
"And you’ve examined her again since then?"
"Of course. After hearing what she said, I re-examined her. I tried again today, but Her Grace declined."
"Why today?"
"A lady-in-waiting came by, saying the Grand Duchess nearly collapsed."
Adrian’s mind snapped to something.
That faint presence lingering outside the door…
The person who, no matter how long he waited, never came in—only to leave quietly.
So that’s why.
"That’s why, earlier…"
"She seemed fine then, though?"
Adrian and Seton spoke almost simultaneously. The momentary confusion cleared as Benson remembered why he’d come.
"Your Grace, I beg your pardon. Please punish me. I prescribed treatment without fully understanding Her Grace’s condition, and nearly put her in danger."
"You believe that was your fault?"
Adrian’s voice was calm—eerily so.
And that made it all the more chilling.
Benson felt a cold sweat crawl down his neck.
"Yes. We were lucky that Her Grace woke up. But had things gone differently, I could’ve harmed someone precious."
"And who said it was your fault?"
Adrian exhaled sharply, his expression flickering with something like anger.
But the flash was gone so quickly, Benson wondered if he’d imagined it.
Adrian’s composed face returned as he spoke again.
"If anyone’s to blame, it’s the Emperor."
"Gasp."
Shock erupted in every corner of the room at Adrian’s cold and matter-of-fact statement.
"Y-Your Majesty the Emperor…?"
"He knows better than anyone that I don’t linger in the capital. He’d have known I would return to the North immediately after the betrothal was signed."
And yet—
Adrian lowered his gaze and took a long breath.
"And yet, he had the Grand Duchess brought here at dawn."
Now it made sense.
How he’d found her passed out in the drawing room on the first floor, like the life had been drained from her.
That strange lifelessness in her body.
The burning heat she radiated when he’d carried her in his arms.
The memory of that warmth surged in him again—and Adrian’s face flushed.
"Ha…"
He let out a heavy breath, pressing a hand against his chest.
“Would he really give such an extraordinary reward to a bride of only three years?”
“Don’t forget—he seized control of the Empire when he was only thirteen.”
“A strategist, a schemer, a man surrounded by sycophants. He learned to weed them out from the age of thirteen.”
Those words he'd once offered Ione now echoed painfully in his ears.
His twin brother—the young Emperor—had never been an easy man.
He was brilliant, yes, but equally cunning. Thoughtful, but never afraid to be ruthless.
And Ione Clarke was the Grand Duchess chosen by such a man.
She wouldn’t have been chosen just for having a sickly mother.
She must’ve shown resolve, grit—enough to rebuild a crumbling house. Intelligence and passion to match.
Her once-fallen family was barely worth mentioning in noble society.
She had to endure the jealousy and scrutiny that came with being the consort of a Dragon’s Chosen.
All of that would’ve been weighed.
Her family, of course, would serve as convenient hostages for the Emperor.
Pieces like her weren’t easy to come by.
So the Emperor must’ve asked himself:
How can I safely transfer her to Adrian van Preses in the North?
Thus was born the absurd, breakneck journey that spanned the continent in a single day.
Even the fact that the Emperor hadn’t mentioned Ione’s itinerary… it had all been planned.
He had wanted to secure her place as "Grand Duchess" as quickly as possible.
Everything had unfolded exactly as the Emperor had calculated.
Including Adrian himself.
Adrian let out a breath, heavy and bitter in his cupped hands.
He didn’t even know what this hot, rising feeling in his chest was—and that made it all the more difficult to face.
After a long silence, he lowered his hand. His face had returned to its usual, composed state.
"Benson."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Who else knows about this?"
Benson trembled, sensing the weight behind the question.
"Only myself and the head lady-in-waiting. But even she was unaware of the details. If there is guilt to be borne, let it fall on me alone…"
"I am the one responsible for this."
"Pardon…?"
Caught off guard by the unexpected words, Benson forgot to bow and looked up, meeting Adrian’s eyes.
His round eyes and parted lips made Adrian feel an inexplicable bitterness.
"Keep this matter confidential."
His voice was strangely rough.
"Your Grace—"
Seton began, but Adrian cut him off.
"The plan remains unchanged. No—this confirms we must proceed as planned. If we say her condition is due to disrupted mana from repeated warping, we’ll have to wait until it stabilizes."
"…"
"Until the official seal is stamped, protect the Grand Duchess, Seton. I won’t be part of this charade again. I never even needed a bride to begin with. I only accepted her out of courtesy to my brother."
"Well, with things as they are, I suppose I can’t refuse. But Your Grace, we can’t just wait around."
"Why not?"
Adrian stared coolly at him, but Seton didn’t hide his disdain.
"Because we need to do more than wait. Get her a mana stabilizer, try something. We have to act."
Meanwhile, the social circles of the capital were positively ablaze.
It had always been a lively place, but never had it been this heated since the founding of the Empire.
Today’s salon was hosted by the Duke of Bursley’s household.
Sunlight poured in through the tall windows, illuminating the grand interior of the ducal mansion.
But the true source of radiance was the attention drawn to the Duchess of Bursley.
"It’s been far too long, Duchess! We were waiting and waiting for your next invitation!"
"Indeed! Why the long absence?"
"We were positively desperate for another one of your gatherings!"
"There’s been so much snow lately. I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone. I waited for better weather."
The Duchess replied with a warm smile as she led the flurry of flattering noblewomen to their seats.
The pleasantries faded the moment everyone was seated.
"Duchess, what do you think of that rumor? That the Imperial family will soon announce a major event?"
The question came from the Marchioness of Kolple, seated at her right.
The Duchess lowered her gaze momentarily, then offered a small nod.
It was the faintest gesture—yet it sent a wave of shock rippling through the salon.
"My goodness! They’ve only just gotten engaged!"
"True, but the Chief Attendant of the Palace himself hinted at it. It must be true."
"The Chief Attendant? Oh, heavens…"
If
he
had said so, it wasn’t rumor—it was practically fact.
Fans fluttered wildly in excited hands.
"What a development!"
The room buzzed like a beehive.
It was nearly scandalous—but no one blamed them.
After all, this was news about the Emperor himself.
The Emperor who had taken the throne at thirteen, ruled flawlessly, and was as beautiful as he was brilliant.
Naturally, everyone was riveted.
"Now, now—let’s calm down."
The Marchioness of Kolple clapped her hands, her eyes sparkling.
"Let’s be careful not to put the Duchess in an awkward position. She trusted us, after all."
Words of assurance—“
Of course,” “Don’t worry, Duchess”
—poured from every direction.
The Duchess laughed, watching the flushed, giggling noblewomen around her.
"Such sweet ladies. Thank you for your concern. But I’m not worried. We’ve known each other far too long."
Her voice, filled with warmth and trust, made one woman blush deeply.
"Now, please enjoy the tea. It’s an Eastern blend—wonderful aroma. I’ll step out for just a moment to check on the tea service."
The Duchess rose and left the room. Likely to check on the refreshments.
"Thank you again for hosting us."
"Think nothing of it."
Once she was gone, the ladies sipped tea in seemingly composed elegance—but their excitement was unmistakable.
"I must host a tea party tomorrow!"
The promise made just moments ago was already forgotten. Their lips itched to spread the gossip.
They didn’t even notice the cold, withering gaze watching them from a corner.
"…And you really trust
those
fools?"