"Mrs. Tiziana, though it's rather late, would you be so kind as to prepare some lunch for me?"
The request for food was Helena's cue to vacate the dining room—and the elderly housekeeper recognized it immediately.
"Yes... of course. I'll have everything ready shortly." Mrs. Tiziana cast a worried glance toward Adelina before departing. She could sense the storm brewing between the Duke and his cousin, and she feared for how the seemingly fragile princess might weather it.
The moment the door clicked shut, Helena rounded on Alexio.
"Are you *deaf*? Or simply *blind*?" She stamped her foot against the marble floor, positioning herself directly beside the Duke's chair. Her fist came down on the table with enough force to rattle the plates and send cutlery clinking against porcelain.
Alexio continued to act as though she did not exist.
He turned his head toward Adelina, expression perfectly composed. "Princess, did you enjoy the meal?"
"Yes, thank you." Adelina's gaze flickered briefly to Helena before returning to her husband. "Mrs. Tiziana has been most attentive. Everything was delicious."
"I'm pleased to hear it." The Duke nodded as though they were engaged in the most ordinary of conversations. "The weather is particularly fine today—I'd recommend a swim, if you're inclined. Or, if you prefer, you might take a stroll through the woods behind the villa. My grandfather installed several sculptures along the paths." A slight grimace crossed his features. "Frankly, I find them rather grotesque, but perhaps they'll appeal to your tastes."
He spoke as if no one else occupied the room—as if Helena had simply ceased to exist.
Her patience shattered.
"*Alexio Pembroke!*"
The shriek pierced the air like shattering glass. Helena seized the back of his chair and yanked with all her strength, attempting to replicate his earlier trick.
The heavy oak furniture didn't budge an inch.
"*Agh!*" She released the chair with a cry, clutching her strained arm and glaring daggers at her cousin. Her flushed cheeks stood in vivid contrast to his expression of absolute calm.
"Helena Crino." Only now did the Duke deign to acknowledge her presence. His gaze, however, remained fixed on her empty plate rather than her face. "I believe I requested that you remain in the guest quarters. We are enjoying our honeymoon, and I would prefer not to be disturbed by ill-mannered relatives."
"Alexio." Helena's voice dropped, taking on a dangerous edge. "I simply wish to conclude our conversation from last evening. You still haven't answered my question."
She mentioned their previous discussion with deliberate emphasis, her pointed gaze sliding toward Adelina in a way that imbued the words with special significance.
The Duke's expression darkened.
"I believe we discussed everything that required discussion."
"*You* ended the conversation unilaterally." Helena's lips curved into a smug smile—the expression of someone who knew she had finally captured her quarry's attention. With exaggerated confidence, she placed her hand on Alexio's shoulder. "How can something be considered finished when only one party has spoken?"
She snorted delicately and turned toward the princess, tilting her head at a sympathetic angle.
"I'm terribly sorry, Princess. I never intended to intrude upon your blissful honeymoon. But I simply *cannot* leave without receiving a clear answer from Alexio."
Her demeanor was every bit as assured as when she had criticized Adelina's eating habits moments before.
"You see, Alexio has promised to take my precious Luka and raise him as the future Duke of Pembroke." Helena pressed her palm against her chest, as though deeply moved by her own words. "It would be such a *brilliant* future for him. Becoming a duke—what an extraordinary honor! Times may change, class distinctions may blur, but the privileges of the aristocracy remain ever intact. Even my grandfather would be pleased by such an arrangement."
She looked like a seasoned theater actress inhabiting her role with complete conviction. And every performance, of course, required an audience.
Alexio realized immediately that his cousin had set her sights on his wife. Helena had apparently concluded that the seemingly innocent princess would prove a more receptive spectator than her stubborn cousin.
The situation was growing increasingly volatile. The Duke pressed his fingers against his temple, watching Adelina's reaction carefully. The wisest course would be to dismiss Helena and explain the situation privately to the princess afterward.
But to his surprise, his wife appeared remarkably composed. Given the theatrical ambush she was witnessing, perhaps *too* composed.
"Luka is so eagerly anticipating admission to a prestigious academy," Helena continued, her expression shifting to one of profound sympathy. "He absolutely *adores* learning. Unfortunately, there are no schools of comparable quality in our region—they only exist here in the kingdom, and they accept only children of noble birth." Her voice grew plaintive, weighted with sorrow. "This has made my poor child terribly sad."
She sighed heavily.
"Luka is already preparing for the entrance examinations, you see. He believes with all his heart that Alexio will provide him this opportunity." Helena's eyes glistened with the suggestion of tears. "Princess, if you were to change your mind... my little one would have to return home. And believe me—his heart would be utterly *shattered*."
She approached Adelina and clasped the princess's hands between her own, gripping them tightly.
"Please, I beg you—give me your firm promise." Her voice trembled with emotion. "Will you truly make Luka your son? If there's even the *slightest* chance you might reconsider, it would be kinder to say so now—before his tender heart breaks any further."
On the surface, it appeared Helena was genuinely concerned for her child's welfare. But something in her phrasing felt *off*—as though her words were designed not to secure a promise, but to plant seeds of doubt.
Sensing the discrepancy, Adelina glanced toward Alexio.
The Duke merely shrugged—a gesture that confirmed her suspicions without explaining them.
*But why?* The princess studied the face of her husband's cousin, those eyes now bright with unshed tears. *Why would she want me to refuse?*
*Perhaps she's simply heartbroken at the prospect of parting with her son.*
Maternal love, Adelina reflected, was a complicated thing. One wanted the very best for one's child—and yet letting go was terrifying.
*This feeling... unknown to me... will remain something I can never truly understand.*
She thought of her own mother—perpetually exhausted, perpetually unwell, her entire existence consumed by the duty of producing heirs.
Adelina met Helena's gaze steadily.
"Lady Helena, please do not worry." Her voice was calm, assured. "My decision is irrevocable. I will officially adopt your son and make him the heir to the Duke of Pembroke."
"You... you're *certain* you won't change your mind?"
Helena's voice wavered with emotion, and the princess offered a gentle, reassuring smile.
"Of course. If my word alone is insufficient, I would be happy to provide written documentation." Adelina tilted her head thoughtfully. "A formal guarantee would surely put a member of the Crino family at ease."
The moment the words left her lips, Helena's mouth fell open. She stared at the princess as though struck mute.
Adelina blinked, uncertain what had provoked such a reaction.
Behind her, Alexio chuckled softly.
"Helena Crino." His voice carried a note of dark amusement. "As a member of the Crino family, you would certainly trust a written assurance—just as the princess suggests. Would you not?"
Only then did Adelina realize how her offer might have sounded. The Crino family's wealth was built on contracts and commerce—their entire legacy rested upon the sanctity of documented agreements. To offer Helena a *receipt* for her own son...
"Oh—Lady Helena, I never meant to cause offense." The princess's eyes widened with genuine dismay. "Please forgive me, I—"
But Helena had already released her hands. She regarded Adelina with an expression the princess couldn't quite decipher.
"I thought you were merely a naive princess." Helena's voice had shed its theatrical warmth, becoming cool and assessing. "Now I see there was good reason for you to marry Alexio." A faint, grudging smile crossed her lips. "Quite formidable, actually."
Unlike her earlier performance as the devoted, anxious mother, there was nothing artificial in her tone now. And the gaze with which she studied Adelina held something unexpected—a glimmer of genuine admiration.
"You've made quite an impression on me, Princess." Helena straightened her shoulders. "No written confirmation will be necessary. On the contrary—that would prove rather... *inconvenient*."
"I beg your pardon?" Adelina frowned, uncertain of the woman's meaning.
But Helena merely smiled enigmatically and turned to face Alexio.
"I'll be watching closely." Her voice carried the weight of a promise—or perhaps a threat. "If you cause Luka even the *slightest* unhappiness, I will remove him to the Crino mansion immediately."
"As you wish." The Duke inclined his head with elegant formality, the very picture of aristocratic grace.
Apparently startled by the scene she herself had orchestrated, Helena departed the dining room in a flurry of rustling skirts and clicking heels.
Adelina watched her retreating figure with furrowed brows.
"Perhaps we should explain the situation to her more thoroughly?" she ventured, concern threading through her voice. "She seems genuinely worried about Luka."
Alexio's soft chuckle drew her attention back to him.
"Don't trouble yourself, Princess." His eyes glinted with something knowing—almost amused. "In truth, Helena desperately *hopes* that Luka will not become my heir."
Adelina stared at him.
"What do you mean?"
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