As always, the royal banquet drew to a close with practiced smiles and harmonious laughter—masks worn by the nobles and members of the imperial clan, even as schemes churned like storm clouds beneath their formal robes.
The Duke made headlines that evening when he knelt within the heart of the ballroom and offered a formal proposal to his fiancée, Helena.
“Until the day our lifeforces are extinguished, you and I shall be as one.”
At his side stood her children, Philip and Emelline. Philip wept openly, overcome with joy, while Emelline wore a hard-to-describe grimace—one that drew the attention and speculation of many nobles in attendance.
Yet no one attributed her displeasure to the Duke’s proposal. Most believed it stemmed from her earlier, tense encounter with Lady Vivian Cavendish.
“Lady Vivian made quite the blunder. She slandered Lady Emelline for seeking audience with Her Highness. But truly—one only sees in others what festers within themselves.”
“Some even whisper that it was Vivian and Gary Hailow who were once entangled. When things didn’t go her way, she lashed out in jealousy…”
The old aristocrats of the social sects offered their own interpretations of the incident, sharing insights with members of their reading salons, prayer circles, and tea societies. Factions formed. Theories multiplied like mushrooms after rain.
And yet, there was one silent power in high society who made no proclamations to her followers—
Margaret Beaufort
. She left only a cryptic remark: “Let’s wait and see.” Not once did she speak on the fleeting quarrel between Vivian and Emelline.
Instead, near the end of the festivities, Margaret piqued interest by revealing that she was planning a new venture, riding on the recent success of her enchanted leather shoe business. She would formally announce the project at the release ceremony of her upcoming memoir.
Even the sovereign himself caught wind of the news. As he handed over the marriage decree to the Duke, he remarked:
“A memoir from Margaret, eh? I hear it’ll include photographs of the many gowns and shoes she’s turned into trends. No doubt it’ll stir the continent once more. A formidable woman, though I’ve never quite understood what’s so important about draping fabric on one’s body.”
To this, the Duke respectfully replied:
“It is said the income from her department store rivals that of many duchies and marquisates combined. A remarkable lady, no question.”
The king, however, only clicked his tongue with mild disapproval.
“Gold earned from the blood and sweat of commoners on one’s land is a different beast from gold spent frivolously by noblewomen in stores with their husband’s coin.”
“True, Your Majesty, but one cannot deny that her enterprises have created many livelihoods.”
“Hmph. If this is what they call progress… so be it.”
And yet, the king could almost hear Princess Ella’s voice echoing near his ear:
“Why split hairs over the nobility of coin or calling? When are we supposed to make money then, huh? The world’s changed, Your Majesty! Quit acting like an old relic, you fossil!”
“W-What did you say!? Get back here! I won’t hit you, I promise!”
“No thanks! You always say that then go swinging at the guards’ shins. Your reliance on violence when words fail is outdated too!”
The king cleared his throat.
Yes, Princess Ella might lack the refined restraint befitting her rank and could be overly impassioned. But her attunement to change, her fearless investments in new enterprises… these were strengths no one could deny.
And yet, the
throne
—that was another matter. The seat demanded more than innovation; it required the preservation of tradition, of the sacred authority handed down through the House of Denic.
It was for that reason the king looked upon Ella with complicated regret. Especially since, for centuries now, not a single queen had reigned in Denic’s line.
“Not that Robert’s any better…”
If even a sliver of Ella’s strategic mind, her pioneering boldness, or her ability to read the times had been present in Robert, the king would not be struggling with such doubts.
With a sigh, he finished writing the date in High Script at the bottom of the official marriage decree, pressed his personal seal into the wax, and stepped toward the reception table where the Duke waited.
The king looked down at the Duke, an unreadable expression on his face.
Every time he looked into the man’s crimson eyes, a strange instinct crept through him—
a sense that he must never show this man his back
.
And often… instinct was sharper than reason.
The Duke’s eyes remained fixed on the marriage decree held in the king’s hand. Sensing this, the king deliberately kept the decree aloft, refusing to place it on the table as he spoke.
“In that sense, Robert resembles me quite a bit. He may be old-fashioned, but he holds tradition, dignity, and class in high regard. I hope this northern expedition teaches him much.”
The Duke had agreed to support Prince Robert’s cultivation trial in the northern frontier—supplying spiritual weapons, gathering retainers—payment of sorts for the king’s blessing of the marriage.
The king harbored a hidden agenda: he wished for Robert to achieve glory by suppressing the demonkin and foreign clans in the North.
In the past, Ella had secured her position as the top successor by persuading the Northern Grand Duke with her eloquence. But only a prince could expand the kingdom’s borders with sword and spear, suppressing demonic cultivators and barbarian sects alike.
If Robert could display the might of a true cultivator-prince during this expedition, it could upend the current succession line.
Moreover, the North was still a mysterious territory. If, during this trial, Robert were to uncover a mana crystal vein or something akin to the mythical merfolk tombs from the legends of the Ancient Era, it would greatly advance the empire’s cultivation.
This trial was the king’s final gift to Robert—one last chance to prove he surpassed his sister, even by a single point. And if Robert chose to squander this opportunity…
Then the king would, as Ella suggested, admit his own outdated mindset and wholly turn toward his daughter as successor.
He extended the marriage decree toward the Duke.
“Take care of my son.”
The Duke received the decree with both hands, bowing with proper etiquette.
“You may rely on me, Your Majesty.”
Beneath the bowed head, the Duke’s crimson eyes gleamed.
✵
✵
✵
The morning after the royal banquet.
I lay in bed for a long while, just staring—at the promissory note for 100,000 gold Erik had given me.
…What am I supposed to do with this?
“He said it’s for wedding preparations. That it’s the promised amount.”
Lily, who had reverted from her knightly guise back to her maid form, had handed it to me with a reluctant look.
“But didn’t he say he’s taking care of the robes and the temple anyway?”
So… does that mean I can just pocket the money?
I stared at the note like a cat frozen in front of a fish stall, wracked with indecision.
But I didn’t get to hesitate for long—Philip stormed into my room, demanding that I come with him and Mom to inspect the wedding temple tomorrow.
“Do I really have to go?”
“Tsk. Family always walks the path together, little sister.”
Of course, the real reason was Mom’s scheme to make Philip and me bond further with the Duke.
Realizing I’d be nagged the whole morning if I resisted, I obediently got up.
When we arrived at the temple—me, Mom, and Philip—a priest awaited us. He was a branch descendant of the d’Orléans clan, now devoted to the Path of Divinity.
With a crusty voice, he started lecturing us about the ritual procedures in tedious detail. The Duke, of course, was nowhere to be seen—apparently tied up with a new business venture.
“Isn’t it kind of ridiculous that the groom doesn’t even show up?”
I muttered this to Mom when the crusty old priest had wandered off a bit.
And me—me being here was even more ridiculous. Touring the very temple where I was planning to sabotage the wedding?
Every time someone addressed her as “Duchess-to-be,” Mom beamed with such joy her cheeks started hurting. Eventually, she rubbed her face and joked:
“What, already grown fond of the Duke? Missing him, are you?”
“Of course not! It’s just… you’re getting your hopes up too much…”
I sighed. I hadn’t changed my mind about ruining the wedding, but something about all this felt off.
“What does it matter? That priest says the Duke’s donations to the Central Diocese already total over four hundred thousand gold.”
“Four hundred thousand?!” Philip, who’d been slouched like a drunken monk, snapped upright in shock. I shot him a glare, but honestly—I was stunned too.
Four hundred thousand gold? I’d known the Duke’s clan was powerful, but to give that much just in donations?
My surprise was quickly followed by a wave of unease.
This… isn’t going to be an easy marriage scam to pull off…
I remembered Erik’s plan to meet with the priest Andrea to finalize the scam marriage plot.
Chapter 28