Chapter 17
In the aristocratic society of the Cranian Empire, where etiquette had already been intricately codified based on age and status, failing to receive a greeting was a serious issue.
Duchess Monde deliberately ignored Caella’s greeting to clearly show just how displeased and upset she was. To be honest, it was an emotionally driven act.
‘It would’ve been nice if someone had seen it… No, wait—what does it even matter?’
What good would it do now? Caella had already reached her conclusion during her grueling days as Grand Duchess Lusenford.
No one would ever side with her, no matter how unjustly she complained. It was better to simply swallow it all silently. After all, that way it stayed quiet—nothing bad would happen. Or, if she protested, she’d only end up looking strange and villainous herself.
‘Or perhaps everything would just fizzle out… In that case, they’d surely tell me to understand and let it go.’
Duchess Monde had lost a potential son-in-law, and poor Lady Lavalle had been robbed of the man she’d loved for so long.
If Caella tried to argue about this, people would surely say she was a wealthy heiress who not only stole another woman’s man but also threw a tantrum on top of it.
Moreover, this was the Imperial Palace. With the Emperor already on edge due to the Empress’s condition, Caella—walking on thin ice, never knowing when she might die—had no desire to become the subject of gossip or scandal. She genuinely just wanted peace and quiet.
“Miss, a guest has arrived.”
Thus, after finishing her business at the palace and verifying that her father wouldn’t be granted a private audience with the Emperor today, Caella returned home immediately and looked up at the butler.
“It’s Grand Duke Lusenford.”
Hearing that name instantly made her even more exhausted.
‘Why did he come? Should I have gone to Duchess Monde to beg for forgiveness? Is he here to scold me for not doing so?’
Of course it was obvious. He’d always blindly defended Beatrice. That’s why every moment spent with him as her husband had felt suffocating.
Those unreadable violet eyes had always stared at her in silent accusation, and Caella had constantly struggled to endure that gaze and maintain perfection. As if she could ever truly be a perfect wife.
Yet, because she was foolish enough to cling to hope that never vanished, Caella had gradually worn herself down in silence. So naturally, upon hearing the Grand Duke had come, the first thing that flooded her mind was that familiar, soundless condemnation wrapped in silence.
“Why did he come?”
“He said he has something to give you… and added that if you’re tired, he’ll return in three hours.”
The Duke had thus clearly conveyed his firm intention to meet her.
“Tell him to wait a bit.”
“Yes, miss.”
Caella finally rose from her seat and tidied her attire. Well, it wouldn’t hurt. Let’s think positively.
She’d already thrown tantrums, run away from home, and shown every unbecoming side of herself—so if he wanted to provoke trouble over this matter, she had no reason to stay passive. Better to live angrily and die than pretend to be nice half-heartedly. At least she could still feel anger—that was a blessing.
Seated before the mirror, she paused while combing her hair. Duchess Monde’s abrupt turn of her head, refusing to acknowledge Caella’s greeting, flashed vividly in her mind again.
‘It’s not my fault.’
If anyone had reason to be angry, they should direct it at the Emperor or Grand Duke Lusenford—not at Caella, who had always been polite and courteous, the easiest target around.
It would at least make sense if Beatrice herself confronted Caella in anger, but the fact that her mother was throwing a fit was utterly ridiculous.
If we’re talking about proper decorum, Duchess Monde should have gone directly to Duke Ostein to demand why he took her prospective son-in-law—wouldn’t that be more appropriate?
Everything involving that family or Grand Duke Lusenford always turned out this way. Long afterward, she’d find herself alone before her dressing table, brushing her hair out, or sitting with tea when a sudden pang of sorrow would make her press a hand to her aching heart.
Caella slammed the comb down and strode quickly toward the drawing room.
Duchess Monde had taken out her anger on a random, convenient target—so who was to stop Caella from doing the same? Although, of course, that didn’t mean the man pacing in the drawing room was an easy mark.
“…I’m sorry for coming unannounced.”
Though he wielded a sword with exceptional skill, when standing still, he exuded the air of a well-educated scholar.
She’d seen him a few times—returning with a war-worn face, lighting a lamp, and quietly recording his journal. Caella hated how she remembered each of those trivial moments and sometimes recalled them against her will.
“I should have contacted you in advance before visiting…”
“It’s fine. What brings you here?”
The atmosphere between them was stiff and awkward, overly formal. One was reading the other’s every reaction with great caution, while the other burned with unwavering determination.
If he’d come to confront her over Duchess Monde, Caella truly wouldn’t hold back this time. Yes—let’s do this. Since she was already doomed to marry again into certain death, there was a huge difference between dying after speaking her mind and dying in silence.
The only problem was that, after suppressing her feelings for so long, she kept forgetting it was perfectly alright to be angry.
‘It’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to act however you want. You’re going to die anyway. It’s fine.’
Muttering to herself inwardly, Caella stood facing Pheon. He was so tall that she had to look up slightly from a distance to avoid neck strain. He held a notably large box, his expression shadowed.
“I… uh…”
Pheon, struggling to find the right words, gave up and spoke plainly instead.
“I came to apologize. I heard Duchess Monde ignored Your Highness’s greeting today.”
He came to apologize? Caella stared at Grand Duke Lusenford in utter bewilderment. He stood with his handsome eyebrows drawn down, head bowed. Was this man really at a loss for what to do?
“Because of me, Your Highness suffered humiliation. I’m truly sorry.”
Was he mocking her? Or was this a dream? Until now, she’d felt this reality was either magic or a curse—but seeing him go this far, perhaps she was still dreaming, dying in the northern tower of Lusenford.
Caella blankly stared at Pheon, who was offering a sincere and deeply respectful apology, before finally sitting down.
“Please sit first. Was that rumor already spreading?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t realize there were witnesses.”
For this indifferent, stoic man to come apologizing with a deathly pale face, the rumor must have spread throughout all of Kline City.
Besides, for Pheon to arrive just three hours after the incident meant the gossip traveled fast—clearly, there had been many onlookers. That was fortunate, though Caella carefully concealed her relief.
“It’s entirely my fault that Duchess Monde behaved that way. I sincerely apologize, Your Highness.”
Caella nearly blurted out “It’s not your fault,” but quickly closed her mouth. Actually… it really was mostly Pheon’s fault.
“Duchess Monde visited me this morning, but apparently didn’t accept my explanation or position. She took out her frustration on the innocent Your Highness. I’m very sorry.”
The man who kept apologizing at every sentence was utterly unfamiliar to Caella. Even apologizing to a younger sister wouldn’t come easily to most—but he did so with natural grace and sincerity.
Then again, she’d heard Pheon was greatly beloved and exceptionally kind to those he considered his own. From what she’d observed firsthand, that was true.
The problem was that Caella simply wasn’t one of “his” people—so she’d been excluded from that kindness. Having heard the clear message “you’re not one of us,” she’d been cast into the dark, forced to watch longingly from outside, left shivering in bitter loneliness.
“I see.”
Seeing Caella nod without any visible emotion, Pheon felt his blood run cold. He didn’t want to provoke her in the slightest—not the frail woman whose body ached, who’d defiantly run away simply because she hated the marriage so much.
Yet the trouble kept unfolding. At this rate, he couldn’t help but imagine how fiercely Duchess Monde must have berated Caella before her regression—his vision grew dark.
The woman who knew how to express anger had, back then, never once raised her voice, silently clenching her jaw through it all. That must have taken countless painful incidents—countless hardships he’d deliberately chosen not to see.
“I’m deeply ashamed. I’m sorry, Your Highness.”
“So you’re saying it’s because of you that Duchess Monde ignored my greeting?”
“I’m not trying to excuse myself. As Your Highness knows well, Duchess Monde had plenty of reasons to consider me a suitable son-in-law. But once the engagement was announced, she came to demand an explanation from me.”
“And Your Highness’s explanation wasn’t sufficient for her to accept?”
“Acceptance… was impossible.”
Caella looked up at the man whose seated height still surpassed hers. What did that mean?
“She didn’t want to hear that Lady Lavalle and I no longer share any relationship whatsoever.”
Wait—what? Caella doubted her own ears. What did he say? That Beatrice and Hyperion—the famously entwined pair—had “no relationship whatsoever”? And the Grand Duke himself was saying it? This was utterly unlike him!
Still, she showed no trace of surprise on her face.
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
Pheon offered no further elaborate justifications. After all, no amount of explaining would change the fact that he’d abandoned a woman—whether lover or childhood friend remained unclear—to choose Princess Ostein, marking him as a disloyal scoundrel.
“I’ll ensure nothing like this ever happens again.”
As he spoke, Pheon glanced at Caella, whose exhaustion was unmistakable. Her cheeks were gaunt and pale, dark shadows pooled beneath her eyes.
Through the gap in her shawl and collar, her neck and shoulders appeared even thinner. Pheon knew well this was the moment he should take his leave.
“I’m sorry for intruding unannounced when you must be tired, stealing your time like this. This is a modest gift—I’d be honored if you’d accept it.”
“There was no need to bring a gift, Your Highness.”
Caella shook her head, but Pheon didn’t withdraw the box he held out.
“Please accept it, Your Highness. I prepared it specifically for you. I don’t mean for it to mend your wounded heart—but I hope it brings you some small comfort.”
Had she ever received anything from Pheon before? The very idea of accepting something from him felt deeply unfamiliar, and Caella hesitated.
What if accepting it led to disaster later? A vague unease crept over her. After everything she’d suffered, she feared anything and everything.
“Consider it a wedding gift. That’s why I prepared it. It belongs to you.”
Pheon placed the box on Caella’s lap. He desperately hoped she’d accept it.
“Go ahead and open it. Please.”
Reluctantly, she lifted the lid of the black velvet box and stared inside, puzzled by the twelve stone-like objects within.
Twelve perfectly refined, transparent stones of varying sizes and cuts lay nestled inside.
Yet even the smallest among them was remarkably large, and above all, they shimmered with dazzling brilliance. So these were… diamonds? Her blue eyes widened as she looked up at Pheon.
“Your… Your Highness?”
“It’s highly confidential, but a diamond mine was recently discovered in Lusenford.”
And despite its secrecy, he told Caella without hesitation.
In truth, Caella already knew of this mine. How could she not know of the Kerban Mine, discovered in the very year of her death? It had been one reason the Emperor finally decided to move against Lusenford.
The yield had been so immense that diamonds literally poured forth—and among them, Beatrice would later pester him into giving her several. Of course, none were ever meant for Caella.
The very first diamond rough found at Kerban Mine weighed a staggering 4,300 carats; after being cut, it yielded twelve diamonds known as the Kerban Diamonds.
Back then, the three largest had been offered to the Emperor as tribute, buying a slight delay in the looming war, while the rest were poured entirely into military funds. Well, actually, the two smallest went to Monde—Caella never even got to see them.
Remembering every small, unjust detail vividly, she now recognized these as those very Kerban Diamonds.
“These were cut from the largest rough found.”
He’d never intended to offer them to Caella because of Duchess Monde’s behavior. He’d wanted to present them properly—in a setting arranged solely for her, once things were settled. Pushing down his irritation toward Duchess Monde, Pheon gazed urgently at Caella’s wide-eyed expression.
“I know marrying me is a dreadful prospect for you. As I promised Duke Ostein, if you wish, we’ll divorce once the situation becomes safe. Until then, I’ll do my utmost—please accept this.”
Caella gripped the box tightly. Her pale hands turned white at the knuckles.
The Empress had collapsed, her father had been saved by this man’s wit right before her eyes, the mine—supposedly undiscovered for much longer—had already been found, and all these diamonds were coming to her instead of funding the war?
This was strange. Far too strange—it was terrifyingly unnatural.
“Your Highness, this is far too generous for me…”
“No. Nothing is too generous for Your Highness.”
Pheon cut her off firmly.
“There’s no such thing. Is there anything else you’d like as a gift?”
“Huh?”
After recklessly giving her the entire Kerban Diamond set, he was asking if she wanted another gift? Was this man truly mad?
“This marriage is something you dislike—so you shouldn’t lack for anything. Is there anything you desire from me?”
She had no wishes. Well, perhaps just one: if he was going to kill her later, please don’t imprison her in the northern tower—just end it swiftly. But of course, she couldn’t say that aloud. Caella stiffened and shook her head.
“Nothing for now? Then please think carefully and let me know later.”
“Your Highness, I appreciate your words, but wouldn’t it be better to allocate these toward state finances?”
“Lusenford’s finances are stable. This is well within what I can offer Princess Ostein.”
“But this is excessive. His Majesty will be displeased, and it’ll stir up even more scandal.”
If the greedy Emperor found out, it would be disastrous. If Beatrice found out? If Duchess Monde found out? What was this man thinking? He seemed utterly unlike the Pheon she knew.
After calmly watching her growing anxiety, he finally nodded.
“I see.”
“Yes, so I’ll return this to you. I’ll accept only your kind intention. Thank you.”
This wasn’t hers to keep. She needed to receive nothing and die quietly, without complications. Quickly closing the box, Caella handed it back to Pheon.
“I was thoughtless. I apologize. My conduct toward a lady lacked refinement. Of course you’d be startled—I presented it all at once without proper consideration.”
“No, your intention alone is more than enough…”
“I’ll have each piece properly crafted into finished items and present them to you again.”
“Huh?”
Grand Duke Lusenford stood as he took back the box.
“That would be better. I came in such a hurry, worried you’d be deeply upset, that I failed to consider this properly. I’m sorry.”
Having apologized “I’m sorry” countless times today, he bowed his head once more.
“Then I’ll visit again later. Please don’t concern yourself with Duchess Monde. As I mentioned earlier, I’ll handle it myself. Also, please think separately about the gift. Until then, I wish you peace.”
“Oh… um, yes?”
For the first time, Caella watched the Duke’s retreating back with an expression of utter incomprehension.
Why on earth was he acting like this? She’d thought she understood him perfectly—but her husband kept defying every expectation.
Yet before this astonishment could even settle, news arrived that Duchess Monde had been banned from entering the Imperial Palace.
