Chapter 12
For nobles, marriage was an absolute obligation. Through marriage, alliances were solidified, and heirs to continue the family line were produced. Only then could the family’s wealth and bloodline be preserved.
Caella, born a member of the imperial family, was not unaware of this. She simply believed that once her father’s death had passed without incident, the best course of action would be to find a husband superior to Pheon.
Her best possible option had been a son-in-law living in her household, yet such candidates were exceedingly rare. Above all, Caella had no desire to marry again. She merely wished to remain collapsed, never opening her eyes again.
Now that she had seen her father alive, perhaps it was acceptable to simply die? If she was to be forcibly dragged off to Lusenford anyway, it would be far better to die gracefully here and now.
“Milady!”
The exceedingly precious Princess Ostein barely opened her eyes. The faces of her anxious maidservant, the physician, and her father—who had remained by her side the entire time—came into view all at once.
She also noticed the overly calm, tranquil morning light. Her parched lips moved, but after enduring such a high fever, even her voice failed to emerge.
“Yes, Caella. Yes.”
But her father, who had raised his only daughter himself, instantly understood what she was trying to say and quickly leaned closer. He heard every faint, wheezing breath and answered her.
“Three days have passed, three days.”
More than enough time for everything to have already been settled.
“I told His Majesty that you fell ill from nervous exhaustion after facing such a great responsibility for the first time. He sent medicine and doctors out of concern.”
Knowing precisely what his daughter worried about, Adeo gently reassured her by speaking softly of the Emperor.
“Prince Elkanan also left you a greeting and a gift. He said he regretted deeply that he couldn’t bid you farewell before leaving.”
“Marriage…”
At the word Caella painfully forced out through her dry throat, Adeo gestured to the physician.
“Let’s have you examined first, and once you’ve eaten something, we’ll talk.”
It was already too late for Caella. Three days had passed—there was no way left to stop the marriage.
*
Of course, that didn’t mean she would simply give up and do nothing. Caella, seething with rage, kicked off the covers and stormed out of bed.
“Milady, please! You’ve suffered a high fever for three straight days. If you go out like this, you’ll collapse again! You might even catch pneumonia!”
Everyone in the ducal household tried desperately to dissuade her, but she had no other choice. She knew the Grand Duke Lusenford—her husband—far too well. He wasn’t someone who would come just because she summoned him. She absolutely had to go find him herself.
This time, she had to stop this absurd marriage. It should never have happened in the first place. It was a tragedy that would bring misery to everyone involved—only horror awaited.
“No! Absolutely not! At the very least, send a message for him to come to you!”
The maidservants, butler, and knights, who had no idea whom their lady intended to meet, stamped their feet in frustration. But since their noble-born mistress was stubbornly insisting on leaving her bed for the very first time, there was simply no stopping her.
“Then wait just a little while, just a little! A guest is expected to arrive for lunch today!”
“He’s Father’s guest, not mine.”
Oh dear, our lady—even her voice wouldn’t come out properly, and she was gasping for breath with every word. Where on earth was she planning to go? The butler was near tears.
“He’s your fiancé! His Grace, the Grand Duke Lusenford, is coming!”
She wanted to scream, “Since when did he become my fiancé?” but her throat felt like it would tear apart.
“Butler, I see His Grace’s carriage!”
“Oh, milady, I beg you, please. Stay put, won’t you?”
Duke Ostein had just left again for the imperial palace to finalize negotiations with Kerujan, leaving the butler no choice but to rush out and beg the Grand Duke to wait just a moment.
The butler watched as the young lady reluctantly perched herself back on the bed, then hurried downstairs in a panic. Unlike the Ostein ducal carriage, the Grand Duke’s horse was astonishingly swift—by the time the butler reached the entrance, the Duke had already dismounted.
“Welcome, Your Grace. I apologize, but my lord has urgently gone to the imperial palace to conclude negotiations with Kerujan. He asked that you kindly wait a short while.”
“And the Princess?”
It had been he himself who had immediately scooped up the Princess when she collapsed in the audience chamber.
“She awoke this morning, but she still requires close observation. She’s been severely ill all this time.”
The Grand Duke Lusenford didn’t look at the butler—his eyes were fixed on the top of the stairs from which the butler had just hurried down.
“If she still requires close observation, why is she walking about?”
“Pardon?”
Following the Duke’s unwavering gaze, the butler looked up—and nearly fainted from shock. Standing defiantly at the top of the stairs was his lady, wearing only her nightgown and a hastily thrown-on shawl.
“Look at me, Your Grace.”
Caella, summoning the loudest voice she could muster, turned sharply—but staggered and grabbed the wall as dizziness washed over her. She needed to recover quickly; she had to confront Pheon, that hopeless man, without delay.
She took deep, hurried breaths, waiting for the vertigo to subside. Her maids fidgeted anxiously and tried to support her, but she leaned briefly against the wall before stepping forward on her own.
“Excuse me for a moment.”
At the deep, low voice behind her, her body suddenly lifted effortlessly into the air. Caella stared blankly around her before reacting a beat too late—her reflexes were still sluggish after barely surviving the crisis.
“Put me down. I’ll go by myself.”
“Where is your bedroom?”
Pheon ignored her completely and asked the maidservant instead. The maid, bowing her head, guided him. Caella opened her mouth to speak again but held back. It was better to conserve what little strength she had left.
“Lie down for now, Princess.”
“Is this really the time to lie down?”
“I’ll stay by your side until you tell me to leave. Get into bed.”
The maidservant quickly arranged pillows so Caella could lean back. She swiftly drew back the bed curtains and cleared away the basin of towels and medicine bottles. Pheon indifferently tucked her back into the thick blankets, then dragged a chair over and sat down.
“Everyone out.”
Was it really proper for a grown young lady to be alone with her fiancé? The maids and knights showed clear unease, but given Caella’s unusually adamant stance, they had no choice but to close the door.
“I heard a princess from Kerujan is coming to marry into our empire?”
That was precisely what Caella had learned upon waking to find her father absent. Though her tone remained formally polite, it carried a distinctly defensive edge. Pheon quietly nodded.
“Yes. His Highness the Crown Prince is now engaged to the Princess of Kerujan. Have you eaten anything yet?”
Krania was forming a marriage alliance with Kerujan. A Crown Prince and a Princess—it was a fitting match.
It was a far grander and more significant union than Prince Elkanan, a distant branch of the imperial family, marrying Caella, who was practically a branch within a branch. And yet, Caella was being ordered to marry the Grand Duke Lusenford. Why?
“What was Your Grace’s response?”
Father couldn’t defy the Emperor—that she knew. And neither could Caella.
Despite holding the prized Ostein duchy granted to him by the late Emperor, her father had never dared to challenge the cunning Emperor, even with money. Doing so would only invite the Emperor’s army to crush the duchy instantly.
Thus, the only person Caella could rely on was Pheon—the very man who had fiercely resisted this forced marriage right until the end. And precisely because of that resistance, he had been pressured even harder and forced into the marriage.
Hadn’t Pheon realized that the Emperor actually enjoyed this? This clueless blockhead didn’t know that the Emperor took special pleasure in humiliating those who defied him most strongly. But right now, even that defiance was desperately needed.
“My response holds no sway over His Imperial Majesty’s decision.”
“So now you’re saying you’ll marry me instead of Lady Lavalle?”
Caella was truly furious—her rage boiled over to the crown of her head. Was this man insane? What on earth was wrong with him?
Throughout their marriage, the incessant obsession of the Lusenford household with that wretched Beatrice made Caella feel as though she’d married Beatrice, not Pheon.
If Beatrice was so precious, so cherished—then why didn’t they just love each other until death! Since their love saw her as nothing but an intruder, she’d gladly vanish so they could enjoy eternal happiness!
“Do you seriously think that makes sense? Is that what you truly want? The entire empire already knows whom Your Grace loves! Why insist on a love you can’t even protect?”
Saying it aloud felt surprisingly relieving.
“You should’ve just run away together!”
They should have. Caella de Chasser—the woman who, after marrying, became Caella Ferraro—should never have been treated as if she didn’t exist, as less than air. They should’ve just eloped, those two who supposedly adored each other so deeply.
Of course, judging from what she’d heard before her death, Beatrice Lavalle likely never even considered such a thing. That made Pheon the only fool—the utterly incompetent idiot.
“Did you even speak to Lady Lavalle about this?”
“Yes. I proposed.”
This was news to Caella. Her eyes widened as she stared at Pheon.
“On the very first day the Kerujan delegation arrived, I informed His Majesty as well—but all he said was that it was time for me to marry, and now this has happened.”
In other words, he’d told the Emperor he wished to marry Beatrice—but had been ordered to marry Caella instead.
“And then?”
Pheon looked at Caella, who was angrily huffing with reddened eyes. She didn’t even have the strength to properly receive a guest. Worried she might collapse again, he anxiously studied her pale, ashen face.
She was far too thin and bloodless—especially with her pale platinum hair and sheer white muslin dress, she looked as if she might snap at the slightest touch.
Yet her eyes, like the cold winter sky, burned fiercely with indignation.
He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he’d spent the entire time she was unconscious frantically trying to stop this marriage. Failing meant that any such claim would be nothing but a coward’s excuse.
“So you’ll abandon Lady Lavalle and marry me just because His Majesty commands it? You’ll never, ever forget Lady Lavalle for as long as you live.”
Caella spoke as though she’d already seen the future. In her previous life, when the Emperor had similarly commanded their marriage, she’d obeyed silently without protesting to Pheon like this.
Back then, the Emperor had deliberately excluded Ostein, forcing Caella—the rightful Ostein heir—onto Pheon. To him, Lusenford was nothing but a dumping ground for waste.
“I fully understand that this marriage is utterly unreasonable for you, Princess.”
Though both Adeo and Pheon were bastards, their statuses differed greatly. Adeo de Chasser was a bastard openly acknowledged by the late Emperor as his own blood, granted a surname and title—truly ‘the Emperor’s’ bastard.
Pheon, however, was the Empress’s bastard—naturally looked down upon. And with everyone assuming his lover would one day become Grand Duchess Lusenford, he was utterly unworthy of being matched with Caella.
Yet marry they must. After exhausting every effort for three days straight to stop the wedding, the outcome had been infuriatingly clear.
“His Majesty believes it unacceptable for the Duchy of Ostein to pass to Prince Elkanan’s eldest son.”
Noble marriages were always calculated. This time, with Duke Ostein perfectly healthy and the Empress having collapsed, the Emperor—eager to strengthen imperial unity—had readjusted his calculations.
“The marriage between the Crown Prince and the Kerujan Princess solidifies our alliance.”
“And keeping the Duchy of Ostein within the empire instead of letting it fall to Kerujan is also to the empire’s benefit.”
Caella instantly grasped his meaning and shot back. Pheon nodded.
“Then what benefit do I gain? What about you?”
She wanted to shove both him and Beatrice off a cliff. This violent impulse was something the well-raised Princess Caella had never experienced before.
Clenching her fists, she forced her frail body upright and pushed him—toward Beatrice, toward the woman who would become his noose. She’d pushed him once more this time—so why?
“You’ll be unhappy for the rest of your life.”
The same was true for Caella. Yet Pheon was still better off in many ways—at least when she died, he’d be perfectly alive.
“You’ll think of me every time you look at her. Since you love her so deeply, then go! With Her Imperial Majesty the Empress now fallen ill too, what’s the point of any of this? Go. Fulfill your love.”
Caella’s fury was so intense it had turned cold and icy. Her wide-eyed, manic gaze urged him to go—to the woman he loved so obsessively, even if it led to utter ruin.
Beatrice wasn’t the real problem. If Pheon ever dared elope with Beatrice, the Emperor would never let him be. The Emperor loathed nothing more than defiance of his orders or damage to imperial honor.
Even Caella—the noble princess who had done her utmost as Grand Duchess Lusenford—still had a shred of shattered pride remaining.
She’d fulfilled her duties to the utmost and dedicated herself to Lusenford, yet her husband had always ignored her, lower-ranking nobles mocked her, and she’d suffered the unspeakable humiliation of imprisonment and starvation unto death.
“No matter how much you persist, His Majesty will never acknowledge your loyalty as merit. Look—even when you declared your wish to marry Lady Lavalle, he immediately ordered you to marry me instead.”
She was already breathless after just a few sentences. Caella knew this anger was fleeting.
It would flare briefly, then inevitably fade into resignation. But until that last ember burned out, Caella raged freely—she simply needed to vent.
“At this rate, you’ll lose everything. Hold onto something certain.”
Go ahead—pursue your infatuation with Beatrice to the bitter end. Knowing exactly what kind of person Beatrice truly was, Caella’s words were practically a curse.
“I’ll help you. If it truly can’t work out, at least elope for love—what are you waiting for?”
She ranted until she was gasping for breath, finally collapsing onto the pillows. Yet her pale, sharp eyes remained locked squarely on Pheon.
If Beatrice was so precious that he could utterly ignore and disregard Caella—then he ought to risk his very life for her right now!
After silently enduring her torrent of accusations, Pheon finally spoke, his voice heavy.
“I clearly understand now that you absolutely wish to avoid marrying me. I comprehend entirely. I also know you deserve a husband far better than I.”
“And then?”
Her sharp retort sliced through the air, aimed directly at him. As Pheon searched for words, a sudden question struck him.
Had Caella, who’d been widowed and pushed onto him by her father, also hated this marriage this much back then? Or was the Caella before him now… could it be?
“You have no intention of being with Lady Lavalle?”
The Caella who had always approached him calmly, never losing grace or decorum, and repeatedly tried to reason with him—now snapped before he could even answer.
“Then I’ll show you.”
