Chapter 16
The news that the Monde family’s carriage had gone to Grand Duke Lusenford’s townhouse and then headed straight to the Imperial Palace quickly spread throughout Klein City.
It was rumored that the Grand Duke was so overwhelmed with work at the palace he hadn’t even had time to return home, so Duchess Monde had chased after him all the way to the Imperial Palace.
High society was burning with curiosity—desperate to know immediately whether Duchess Monde had met with Grand Duke Lusenford and, if so, what they had discussed.
Of course, Duchess Monde had naturally succeeded in forcing her way through to meet Pheon, abandoning all dignity and decorum in her shameless insistence.
“How can you possibly do this? Our Beatrice has had eyes only for you—how can you just toss aside such a perfectly respectable maiden!”
Pheon stared at Duchess Monde with weary eyes. She had been famed for her extraordinary beauty in her youth, and though traces of it remained, years of hardship and fleeing creditors had badly aged her face.
That wasn’t her fault—it was the fault of Duke Monde and his ancestors, who had accumulated gambling debts.
But in the process, Duchess Monde had cast aside all sense of shame, becoming brazenly shameless, beginning to treat others’ possessions as her own—and her own spending was far from modest.
“How old is Beatrice already? If you were going to marry her off, you’d have done it long ago. Do you even know how many marriage proposals she’s received?”
He knew. It was just that none of those suitors possessed enough wealth to fully settle the Monde family’s debts.
Only someone with the Lusenford name and fortune could simultaneously rescue House Monde and restore its honor—and that point was absolutely crucial. Duchess Monde didn’t merely want her debts repaid; she wanted far more.
“And yet, what reason could she possibly have for remaining unmarried at her age! Huh? Obviously, I let things be because I knew how deeply you cared for Beatrice!”
Her voice grew steadily louder. Sensing the line had finally been crossed, Pheon signaled his furious-looking aides to step back.
Then he braced himself—or perhaps simply watched passively—as Duchess Monde launched another barrage of irrational accusations. Soon enough, she would cunningly invoke the Empress to prod at Pheon’s weakest spot.
“And don’t I treat you like my own son? Had Her Imperial Majesty the Empress not collapsed so suddenly, she would’ve agreed with me! I’ve cared for you like my own child all these years!”
In truth, Duchess Monde had received private financial assistance from the Empress and used those personal funds to provide Pheon with whatever he needed. It was something anyone else could have done—not just her.
“Our Beatrice has always looked only to you! Yet you cast her aside like a stray dog in the rain! How could you, Pheon!”
Pheon felt his already frayed nerves snap. He’d heard enough.
“It seems there’s been a misunderstanding—”
“A misunderstanding! The Emperor Himself announced your engagement because you agreed to it!”
Pheon leaned his head back slightly, sinking into his chair. At the sight of Grand Duke Lusenford’s cold, violet-eyed glare, Duchess Monde flinched belatedly—finally realizing she’d let her emotions run away with her.
“Well? Isn’t that right?”
Just as expected, Beatrice hadn’t told her mother that Pheon himself had proposed marriage. No wonder she’d stormed over here, fuming with indignation. Duchess Monde, face flushed red, now glared at him as if daring him to say something.
Pheon weighed his options. He could have claimed he’d proposed to Beatrice and even informed His Imperial Majesty.
But if those words reached Duchess Monde’s ears, the rumor would spread everywhere, the Emperor would be condemned for tearing apart a loving couple—and Caella would once again be forced to live in Beatrice’s shadow. It would all repeat itself.
Yes—this far, it mirrored exactly what had happened in his previous life.
“I appreciate your care for me when I was young, Duchess. But haven’t you already received your compensation for it—from my mother? A considerable sum was transferred from the Empress’s palace directly to the Monde duchy. I’d be troubled if you assumed I was unaware of that.”
A child pointing out financial transactions between adults made Duchess Monde’s face flush crimson.
“Pheon! How dare you speak to me like that!”
In his past life, as soon as the imperial decree ordering his marriage to Caella arrived, he had immediately gone to propose to Beatrice.
Or rather—he’d intended to. Before he could even ask, Beatrice had burst into tears, saying it was the Emperor’s command and there was nothing to be done—and in his despair, he’d just wept with her. Duchess Monde had then stormed in and berated him in exactly the same way.
Back then, he’d simply knelt in apology for hours, calling himself a sinner. He’d always been foolish, powerless, and blind to what truly mattered. Now, he was utterly sick of it—he was choking on self-loathing.
“Isn’t it the truth? And more importantly—if anyone should come to speak with me, shouldn’t it be Beatrice herself, not you, Duchess?”
“Our daughter hasn’t the strength to even stand! She collapsed into illness the moment she heard your engagement news! How can you be so heartless, Pheon?”
It wasn’t that she lacked strength—it was that she’d been sneaking in and out of Solay Palace all night and couldn’t get out of bed during the day.
“If you disapprove of my marriage, you ought to take your complaint to His Imperial Majesty, who arranged it. For me to refuse would be to defy an imperial decree—are you truly urging me to defy His Majesty, Duchess?”
People always bully those they perceive as weak and cower before those stronger than themselves—and Duchess Monde was no exception.
“How can you interpret my words that way? What I mean is—a man and a knight must show responsibility toward the lady!”
“Then I suggest you petition His Majesty directly. If it’s an imperial decree, I’ll obey.”
“What a coward you are, Pheon! A coward!”
“Yes. I am a coward. And one more thing, Duchess.”
He decided to say now what he hadn’t intended to declare so early in this life.
“My relationship with your daughter is over—completely.”
In truth, he’d even considered exploiting his connection with Beatrice. He could have used her—used anything—to drive the Emperor to ruin.
But if that relationship caused Caella pain or damaged her honor, then no matter how useful it might be, he had to abandon it. That was the right choice.
“We’ll simply cherish our fond childhood memories and wish each other happiness—that’s all our relationship will be from now on. I won’t permit anything more. Wilberk.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Please escort the Duchess out.”
“Yes, Your Highness. This way, Duchess.”
“How dare you, Pheon! You!”
At Duchess Monde’s furious outburst, Lord Wilberk’s expression instantly hardened.
“Show proper respect to His Highness, Duchess. This is the Imperial Palace, ruled by His Imperial Majesty the Emperor—and His Highness is the sole Grand Duke appointed by His Majesty Himself.”
Naturally, Duchess Monde flew into an even greater rage, but neither Pheon nor any of his subordinates paid her any heed.
Banished, Duchess Monde immediately stormed off, loudly proclaiming Pheon’s supposed betrayal throughout all of Klein City.
Thus, Pheon became branded as a scoundrel who’d abandoned his childhood friend—burdened by debt and extravagance—and chosen a wealthy heiress instead.
Still, he thought that label far preferable to being called an idiot who broke faith, couldn’t forget his childhood friend, and mistreated his wife.
*
Wedding preparations began hastily. Had the engagement lasted longer, they could have prepared methodically—but due to the extraordinary circumstances, everyone rushed frantically toward the wedding at an unprecedented pace.
“Your Highness?”
Lord Wilberk cautiously called out to Pheon as he delivered his report.
“Would you like to stop if you’re tired?”
The sudden engagement announcement had thrown the Lusenford household into chaos as well.
Years ago, when creditors swarmed the Monde estate, Beatrice had often taken refuge in Lusenford. Since then, the North had naturally assumed the Grand Duke would marry Beatrice.
So this sudden announcement of marriage to a southern duke’s daughter—arranged by the Emperor—left the Lusenford people heartbroken, feeling their Grand Duke was once again being dragged along by imperial will.
“No, I’m listening—continue.”
“Yes. The minerals from the newly discovered mine are indeed diamonds, just as Your Highness indicated.”
The secretly dispatched experts were astounded and excitedly called for a toast—but Grand Duke Lusenford, who’d ordered the precise location investigated, remained indifferent.
If anything, he looked exhausted—perhaps due to wedding preparations.
“The deposit is enormous.”
“For now, keep it hidden and begin mining in absolute secrecy. What became of the first diamonds extracted?”
Instead of answering directly, Lord Wilberk opened a large chest he’d brought with him, placing it before Pheon.
“After cutting the 4,300-carat rough stone, we obtained twelve diamonds.”
The artisans secretly commissioned for the delicate work had grown alarmingly thin from the stress of handling such a massive gem. Pheon looked down at the twelve magnificent diamonds—certain to ignite the Emperor’s greed.
This mine would greatly strengthen Lusenford’s finances. Lord Wilberk cautiously speculated that the other three mines the Grand Duke had ordered investigated might also hold tremendous value.
Ever since Her Imperial Majesty the Empress collapsed, the Grand Duke he served had changed in subtle but undeniable ways—more confident, more composed.
“Good. And then?”
The report was lengthy and highly confidential. It covered Lady Lavalle’s movements under constant surveillance, her suspicious regular visits to Solay Palace, and even internal investigations within Lusenford itself.
The final part was utterly perplexing—but Lord Wilberk, alongside Sir Renard, was as loyal to Pheon as his own limbs. He simply carried out his orders silently and reported back.
“…thus, the entire Lusenford household is deeply shocked by Your Highness’s engagement announcement.”
“It’s because they think the Emperor forced this marriage on me.”
“Yes.”
It was an uncomfortable truth, but Lord Wilberk had no choice but to admit it. In the previous life, Caella had arrived in Lusenford already branded as the Emperor’s agent from the moment of her marriage.
Pheon well understood the Northern nobles’ fierce pride—and how far more rigid and insular they were compared to the capital.
“Still, we must properly prepare to welcome our bride.”
Lord Wilberk watched as Pheon stood from his seat. In just a few days, he’d grown visibly thinner and more haggard.
Serving Pheon closely, Wilberk knew he’d barely eaten or slept—understandably distressed by both the Empress’s collapse and the marriage dilemma.
“Forgive my presumption, but… will you really go through with this marriage?”
It made him sick. Pheon couldn’t bear himself—he was disgusted beyond endurance. No matter what he tried, the fact that he couldn’t escape this marriage was what revolted him most.
“They say a bastard must marry the daughter of another bastard.”
“You’ve heard that too, then.”
“It’s a marriage they’re pushing everyone to hear about—how could I not?”
The Emperor appeared smiling, but he was a sinister man.
He’d blocked the Ostein ducal house from ever marrying foreigners, paid lip service to his beloved Empress’s child—but ultimately bound two bastards together mockingly, as if to sneer. Pheon, especially sensitive to humiliation, couldn’t possibly miss the insult.
“So the Lady of Ostein is hearing hurtful words for my sake.”
Pheon muttered as he closed the chest containing the twelve diamonds. Lord Wilberk immediately recognized the deep respect and courtesy in Pheon’s tone toward the Ostein lady—and noticed there was no trace of childhood familiarity.
“Even with a short engagement, we must ensure everything is properly prepared. See to it.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“I won’t tolerate any foolish pranks.”
“Yes.”
The Emperor was herding Grand Duke Lusenford like livestock—forcing him to marry, allowing no room to consider Beatrice or devise alternatives.
The date had even been announced arbitrarily. Pheon knew coldly that this marriage clearly benefited Lusenford and himself—and that awareness only deepened his pain.
So what good was there in this for Caella? A husband who respected her enough and promised to divorce her afterward?
A noble lady like the Ostein Duke’s daughter deserved far better than a man who’d already sullied his name with scandal.
This time, he’d truly returned for revenge—but now on his shoulders rested the weight of Caella’s shattered happiness, broken by his own hands. Revenge would require time—and so would rebuilding her happiness.
Pheon covered his anguished face with his hands. He lacked the shamelessness to face the light.
*
Whenever Caella entered the Imperial Palace, she saw clusters of people whispering about her around corners or down distant corridors.
This had been common before her death too—she’d grown used to it as the unwelcome intruder who’d shattered a legendary romance.
Her father was busy with wedding preparations, but Caella didn’t care.
She merely went through the motions, handling the palace affairs the Emperor had entrusted to her after the Empress collapsed. Having been bedridden for days with illness, she needed to at least show her face today.
“Good day, Countess.”
“Good day, Your Ladyship.”
“The weather is lovely today, Your Ladyship of Ostein.”
“Yes, indeed, Marchioness Tullenang.”
Still, she had no choice but to exchange greetings when meeting people. She received congratulations on her engagement too. Ah, yes, thank you. Yes. Busy with preparations. Yes. She mechanically murmured these insincere phrases as she walked on.
Passing the noblewomen who’d gathered to pray for the Empress’s recovery, Caella continued deeper into the palace, her expression distant. Even after dying and awakening anew, it seemed her marriage to Grand Duke Lusenford was fated.
‘And then I’ll die again. How convenient and easy.’
Having died once, she figured she could manage a better death next time. As Caella walked, she unexpectedly came upon Duchess Monde, seated on a chair by a doorway.
“Good day, Duchess Monde.”
Polite greetings among nobles were basic courtesy, and Adeo had especially drilled into his daughter the importance of properly greeting her elders. The greeting came naturally.
But Duchess Monde gave her a cold glare, then abruptly shut her eyes and turned her head away.
Caella looked at the Duchess for a moment, then turned and walked on her way.
What was the point of confronting such a foolish woman? Better to stay silent—besides, she was tired. As she walked, she suddenly felt—as if belatedly—as though she’d been sharply slapped across the cheek for no reason.
It was a familiar feeling she could skillfully brush off, yet one she’d never forget.
