“I am Emelline Wedgwood, daughter of Helena Wedgwood.”
With my head lowered and my qi restrained, I prostrated before the Sovereign, the Crown Princess, and the Prince, my presence shrinking like that of a minor sect disciple before celestial lords.
In truth, I should have offered my formal greetings to the royal family when I first ascended to the capital and entered the social cultivation world.
But our household was far too insignificant within the noble hierarchy of this continent—so much so that the royal court had no obligation to acknowledge our presence. We weren’t even permitted entry into the royal banquets, much less granted an audience.
Yet by pure coincidence—or perhaps fate—Mother had encountered the Duke at a gathering shortly after arriving in the capital. One meeting had led to another, and they began courting. Through that relationship, we were swept into the flow of noble society without ever formally offering our greetings to the royal bloodline.
Which is why now, Mother, Philip, and I had no choice but to press our foreheads to the ground like disciples who had trespassed into the ancestral hall—our expressions saying,
“Forgive our late greetings, Your Majesties.”
“Oh-ho, so you're the daughter of Helena Wedgwood. I suspect we’ll be seeing much more of you now,”
the Sovereign said with a genial smile, like an old patriarch pleased by a new union.
It was a subtle, political statement—acknowledging that now, as the Duke’s adopted daughter, I would be making frequent appearances as a titled young lady. A
gong-nyeo
, a noble daughter in name and form.
To his right, Crown Prince Robert offered no words in return—just a perfunctory smile, as if even the effort of replying wasn’t worth his spiritual energy.
But the Princess…
“So, that makes you Eric Orléans’ younger sister by adoption? How delightful. I adore your hair color. Isn’t red the color of passion?”
She spoke warmly, but there was a strange gleam in her eyes, a peculiar smile playing on her lips.
Yet the aura emanating from her—her bearing, her presence—it was far beyond what mortals called noble. It held a tension that rivaled the
killing intent
of seasoned blade cultivators. I felt it—genuine dread crawling down my spine.
Not acting. Not pretense.
I was truly afraid.
I dropped my forehead even lower to the jade-tiled floor and started reciting phrases like “humbled beyond words,” “may Your Highness show mercy,” and “unworthy yet grateful,” as I hastily retreated from the audience chamber.
Once we emerged, my whole body ached with stiffness. I nudged Philip on the shoulder and muttered,
“Even if you
had
gone to The Night-Blooming Rose last night, do you
really
think Her Highness would have taken notice of you?”
Normally, such teasing would provoke a retort, but Philip only gave a hollow nod, clearly still overwhelmed by the Crown Princess’s sheer presence.
“Well, you’re not wrong. These days, her gaze seems fixed solely on Eric Orléans.”
“Eric Orléans?”
I flinched instinctively at the name leaping from his lips.
“Yeah. Last night too, the two of them vanished together from The Night-Blooming Rose. Word is, the infamous seductress of the royal family is finally settling down—with Eric Orléans, no less. People are betting that the two will be engaged before the year’s end.”
My brows drew together.
Eric and Princess Ella… engaged?
I glanced back toward the audience chamber. The Princess was still seated regally upon her lavish throne, casting sly glances at the young heirs and fresh-faced knights who loitered nearby—her smirk suggesting she was picking out her next spiritual furnace.
I had assumed last night’s pairing between Eric and Ella was a purely political match. But what if their bond ran deeper—beyond alliance, into actual affection?
Would this throw the entire plan into chaos…? Love over clan duty?
But if that were the case, why did Eric leave her chambers only to chase
me
down?
Why was she so unfazed even after such a rejection?
Besides, 60% of what came out of Philip’s mouth was typically baseless rumor, with 20% being his own exaggerated bravado. But the remaining 20%… now
that
was information worth keeping an eye on, just in case.
“So if Eric becomes the Princess’s man, and the Princess ascends to the throne, that makes him the consort of the next Sovereign. And that would put
us
in the inner circle of the royal clan. Incredible… It’s all thanks to the Duke of Orléans, little sister. Don’t forget that!”
Philip rambled excitedly, fully enraptured by his imagined rise in cultivation status through royal marriage.
Let’s see if he’ll still be grinning when that very same Duke puts a spirit bullet through our skulls.
As Philip continued to chatter, I scanned the banquet hall with sharp eyes, searching for the Duke of Orléans and Eric.
I need more answers…
“But where is the Duke, anyway? Shouldn’t he have arrived by now?”
In royal banquets, the higher the noble’s rank, the later they tended to arrive—like immortals descending only once the stage was set.
Yet in the dream realm I had seen, the Duke arrived early this night—romantic and timely—for Mother's sake. He witnessed Vivian Cavendish’s malicious revelation and chased after Mother when she fled in tears, ultimately proposing before all the gathered nobles.
If the dream was accurate, that moment should be… right about now.
“No way he’d show up yet. This is the hour reserved for small-fry nobles like us.”
“No, I mean, that’s true, but… I clearly…”
…saw it in a dream.
It was then.
A woman walked into the royal ballroom, adorned with dazzling ornaments that sparkled so brightly, they hurt to look at. A knight standing guard at the door announced in a booming voice:
“The Marquess and Marchioness of Cavendish, and their two daughters, enter!”
Huh? The Duke was supposed to arrive before her.
I stiffened as I saw the Cavendish family making their grand entrance, dressed in all their gaudy finery.
Among them, Vivian Cavendish locked eyes with me and flashed a nasty grin.
“Hey, didn’t you rip all her hair out last time? Looks like it’s still attached.”
Philip, upon seeing Vivian, leaned over and whispered to me with a scowl. I had a bad feeling and muttered back:
“Right? If I’d known it’d turn out like this, I should’ve just shaved her head bald while I was at it…”
I nervously downed my soda water in one gulp. It wasn’t sweet—it was bitter.
✵
✵
✵
The bookshelf swung open, and Duke Valdeck appeared with a relaxed expression.
“Come out. Unless you’re truly planning to sever ties with your own father over a few stolen accounting scrolls.”
Eric said nothing.
As expected, Father knew it was he who had taken the scrolls. But
just a few pages from the accounting ledger
?
Only now did Eric realize his father believed he didn’t understand the full contents of those scrolls.
A fair assumption—after all, if he had grasped the importance of the back page, he wouldn’t have left it behind.
And thanks to that assumption, Eric saw a crack—a way out.
He stepped out from behind the bookshelf and glanced back toward the hidden space.
No writing remained on the walls.
"Invisible ink won’t disappear unless it touches water."
Emelline had told him that the night before, so Eric had concealed the writing again before opening the bookshelf.
Could those words really have been written by Mother? If so…
He turned his gaze toward the Duke, seated at the reception table. Still wearing hunting trousers, his long musket rested casually against the desk, and the heavy scent of gunpowder lingered at its barrel.
Eric rested a hand on the sword at his waist.
Duke Valdeck, eyes crimson as blood, looked calmly at his son.
“Did you decipher the contents of the scroll? You were planning to deliver it to the princess, weren’t you?”
A glint flickered in the Duke’s eyes.
“I bore the child of a monster!”
Eric recalled the words of his mother—a curse that had haunted his mind for years.
It was that very curse that had driven 14-year-old Eric to leave the manor.
But now, he understood.
That curse hadn’t been meant for him.
Valdeck Orléans.
It was meant for that monster.
“You knew, didn’t you?”
Eric sat across from the Duke, his expression composed.
Despite his age, the Duke had maintained a body as firm as Eric’s thanks to his dedication to hunting and physical training. His towering frame was a gift from birth.
The Duke crossed his long legs and smiled.
“What are you referring to? That you’ve pledged loyalty to Her Highness even after resigning as Commander of the Knights? Or that you laid your hands on the estate’s accounting scrolls?”
“Both.”
The Duke looked at him with an enigmatic smile.
Eric had no memories of sharing warm conversations with his father. He had always been strict, far more so with Eric than with Emelline, Philip, or Helena.
“Weakness is a flaw.”
“If someone steals what’s yours, bring me their severed wrist.”
“You are the son of Valdek.”
The words struck with force, lacking gentleness, but Eric had long since accepted such severity from his father as merely the standard demeanor of a patriarch among capital nobility.
“Emilie… to think you left me…”
As a child, Eric had watched his father mourn his mother’s death for many moons. And in those days of silence and grief, he had feared that he might lose his father too.
Eric now gazed into crimson eyes that mirrored his own.
It was a strange sensation—to feel so distant from the one who, not long ago, had felt closest.
Only now did he truly understand the despair of such estrangement. He had tasted it when he lost his mother, but this—this was different in its depth and finality.
Duke Valdek’s voice cut through the stillness like the edge of a blade.
“A few days ago, I learned you tampered with the household ledgers. I also suspected that the one you delivered them to was none other than the Crown Princess—especially after hearing rumors that you spent the night in her company.”
The Duke was circling his prey, his words winding like a formation meant to trap.
Eric realized his father was trying to probe—was he simply aware of the ledgers being moved? Or had he discovered the existence of the secret ink and the ledger’s hidden content?
What should be revealed? What must remain concealed?
Eric hesitated for only a breath before committing to a path—swift, sharp, and decisive.
“I discovered the hidden ledger, written in concealed ink. Are you colluding with Prince Robert?”
At those words, Duke Valdek’s eyes slowly narrowed.
It was only for a brief instant, but Eric didn’t miss the fleeting shadow that passed over them.
This moment. This gaze.
Eric had risked revealing the truth just to confirm it.
“I won’t deny it.”
The Duke answered calmly, without shame.
Unlike the tremor in his gaze moments ago, his voice held firm, as if he'd already calculated that the truth, once exposed, could not be hidden again.
“But it is not as dangerous a matter as you imagine,” he said smoothly.
“The prince merely sought to embark on an expedition to the northern frontier next summer. I aided him by acquiring weapons and providing modest support. You may present the matter to His Majesty tonight if you wish. The Sovereign has already granted his approval.”
And in that moment, Eric understood why the Duke was so composed.
He had already bound this transgression in the royal seal of legitimacy.
Chapter 21