"Helena is currently Luka's legal guardian. If we adopt the child, she loses that status—and she is *not* the sort of person who would relinquish it willingly."
"But Luka himself wishes to inherit the title." Adelina's brow furrowed as she worked through the implications. "It's his path to a better future. Surely Lady Helena understands that..."
"Of course she understands. That's precisely why she cannot openly object." Alexio leaned back in his chair, his expression coolly analytical. "It isn't only Luka who favors this arrangement—my grandfather is delighted by it as well. If Helena were to voice opposition, she would instantly fall from the old man's favor and forfeit her own inheritance."
"Ah..."
As the Duke laid bare the mechanics of the situation, the scattered fragments in Adelina's mind began assembling themselves into a coherent picture.
Watching comprehension dawn across her features, Alexio glanced toward Helena's vacated seat.
"The adopted child's name would never have appeared in grandfather's will if not for his particular... *whims*. That's why maintaining guardianship over Luka is so crucial to Helena. It's her claim to legitimacy within the family."
"Duke of Pembroke..." Adelina spoke slowly, testing her understanding. "So you didn't decide to take Luka on a whim?"
"It was never a spontaneous decision." A faint smile crossed his lips. "However, Helena clearly assumed no woman would agree to my rather... unconventional conditions. She allowed herself to view the situation with optimism, confident everything would resolve itself in her favor."
"In other words..." The princess's eyes sharpened with understanding. "Because a wife appeared who *did* agree to your arrangement, she rushed here under the pretense of maternal concern—hoping to determine whether you might abandon the idea entirely?"
"Precisely." Alexio inclined his head, something like approval flickering in his gaze. "She couldn't openly oppose the decision without incurring grandfather's displeasure. So instead, she attempted to pressure *you* into refusing the adoption."
He shrugged and studied Adelina with renewed interest.
"By the way, Princess—it seems you're quite aware that the marriage I proposed was, shall we say, *unconventional*. You accepted so readily at the time that I half-believed you hadn't fully grasped what you were agreeing to."
"How could I not understand?" Adelina met his gaze directly. "I may know little of the world, Duke of Pembroke, but I am not stupid."
The confident, unguarded admission brought an involuntary smile to Alexio's face.
The Duke of Pembroke had built his reputation on never allowing a discovered weakness to go unexploited. And the likelihood that the princess remained ignorant of this fact was vanishingly small. Which made the ease with which she revealed her own vulnerabilities all the more remarkable.
If this was strategy, it was surprisingly effective. After all, someone who struggled desperately to conceal their shortcomings inevitably appeared far less confident than someone who acknowledged them openly.
"However," he continued, watching her carefully, "you didn't seem particularly surprised when Helena raised the subject of the child. Though we haven't properly discussed it ourselves."
"Ah." A delicate blush crept across Adelina's cheeks, and she lowered her gaze. "I must apologize. I... accidentally overheard your conversation last night."
"Did you?"
Fortunately, the Duke appeared more intrigued than annoyed. His expression remained neutral, and the tension in Adelina's shoulders eased.
"I couldn't make out every word," she admitted, "but the essence was clear enough. I didn't know the child's name then, but I understand now—it's Luka." She lifted her eyes to meet his. "I'm quite looking forward to meeting this sweet child."
"I wouldn't be so certain..." Alexio's eyes narrowed slightly, his voice taking on a cryptic edge. "Luka may not live up to your expectations. He doesn't strike me as particularly *sweet*."
"Truly?" A note of surprise entered her voice. "You seem rather impartial in your judgments, Duke of Pembroke—even when it comes to children."
"One cannot apply double standards simply because of age." His tone was matter-of-fact. "Fairness is important."
At that moment, Mrs. Tiziana appeared bearing a fresh tray of food. Her gaze swept across the dining room, lingering on Helena's conspicuously empty chair, and she released a weary sigh.
"It seems Lady Helena has suffered yet another defeat." The housekeeper's voice carried gentle reproach as she set down the dishes. "Must you be so merciless with your own cousin, Your Grace?"
"Merciless?" Alexio accepted a cup of tea with perfect composure. "I merely return what I receive."
"If you approach every relationship with such careful calculation, you'll bitterly regret it someday. Surely you understand my concern?"
"I'm not certain I do." A slight smile played at his lips. "I think it far more likely I'll be stabbed in the back due to some miscalculation on my part."
Mrs. Tiziana shook her head but said nothing further.
The Duke turned to Adelina, his expression shifting to something more businesslike.
"I'm afraid I must apologize, Princess. It appears we'll need to conclude our honeymoon earlier than anticipated. Word has arrived from the capital—it seems they cannot manage without me."
"If urgent matters require your attention, then of course we must return." Adelina's response came without hesitation. "I had a wonderful time here. When do you intend to depart?"
"In two days."
"Very well. I'll begin packing my things." She spoke as though the change in plans caused her no inconvenience whatsoever, then turned to the housekeeper with genuine warmth. "Though I confess, Mrs. Tiziana—I'm sorry we must part so soon."
"What nonsense is this?" The elderly woman waved a dismissive hand, though her eyes softened. "Whenever you wish to rest and recuperate, you must return to the villa. The Duke will be only too pleased if you do as you like here." She cast a long-suffering glance at Alexio. "Lord knows *he* never takes proper holidays."
Her expression grew more serious as she met Adelina's gaze.
"You are the mistress of this villa now. Come whenever you please—this is your home."
The warmth in Mrs. Tiziana's smile weighed unexpectedly heavy on the princess's heart.
*My life as the Duke of Pembroke's wife is limited to exactly three years.*
All the hospitality, the kindness, the affection being shown to her—it was temporary. Borrowed. There was no room for sentimentality.
Soon, she would return to the capital and begin her new life as a duchess in truth.
The *real* contract marriage was only just beginning.
---
## — The Pembroke Estate —
"Place it *there*. No—how can you possibly leave it *here*?"
Madame Pembroke's voice cut through the entrance hall several octaves sharper than usual. The servants, long accustomed to her demanding nature, nonetheless felt as though they might collapse under the weight of her heightened expectations.
"Why is she like this today?" one maid whispered to another as they hurried past with armfuls of linens. "She's criticizing things she's never even *noticed* before."
"She's nervous about the new mistress," her companion murmured back. "She'll have to surrender power soon enough."
"You think so? I suspect she won't relinquish her position so easily."
"Perhaps not—but the new duchess isn't some minor noblewoman from an obscure family. She's a *true princess*. How can even Madame Pembroke hope to resist that?"
"Princess or not, she'll have a difficult time matching Madame's experience. That woman has ruled this house for *years*."
The servants continued their furtive exchange, stealing glances at Madame Pembroke as she prowled through the receiving rooms. Despite their speculation, the woman herself did not appear particularly anxious.
A young princess stood no chance against someone who had commanded the Pembroke household for decades. Of that, she was absolutely certain.
And yet.
The thought that Alexio had snatched his brother's intended bride—had stolen her right from under Derek's nose—ignited a slow, simmering fury in her chest.
For years, Madame Pembroke had deployed every connection, every resource at her disposal to isolate Alexio from high society. A true aristocrat without influence in social circles was nothing more than an empty title—a hollow shell. By systematically humiliating the new Duke, she had preserved both her own authority and her son Derek's standing.
But by marrying a famous princess, her despised stepson had instantly acquired the very social currency she had worked so hard to deny him.
*No matter.*
This was merely a setback, not a defeat. If Alexio's newfound influence derived entirely from his wife, then all Madame Pembroke needed to do was win the princess to *her* side. Once Adelina's loyalty shifted, the Duke's social standing would crumble accordingly.
And winning over the girl would be child's play.
*That much is obvious from the luggage alone.*
While the Duke and Duchess enjoyed their honeymoon, the princess's personal belongings had been delivered from the Roche estate to Pembroke Manor. Inspecting another person's possessions without their permission was, of course, a grave breach of propriety.
Madame Pembroke had done so without a moment's hesitation.
*Old. Cheap. Low-quality rags.*
Every item of the princess's wardrobe was painfully simple. The gowns couldn't begin to compare with Madame's own collection—vibrant silks, exquisite embroidery, fabrics imported from the finest weavers on the continent. Adelina's jewelry, with the notable exception of pieces Alexio had provided, was hopelessly outdated. Her shoes and accessories were so worn they might easily have been discarded years ago.
*This* was the wardrobe of a princess? If society discovered the truth, the scandal would be extraordinary.
It seemed Adelina had inherited none of her father's famous taste. She was a princess who looked nothing like one.
*Well. Someone so easily impressed will be simple to control.*
First impressions were everything. If she could establish dominance over the girl the moment Adelina arrived at the mansion, everything that followed would be infinitely easier.
"Good *Lord*—what is *this*?" Madame Pembroke's shrill voice echoed through the corridors as she discovered another offense to her sensibilities. "Replace it *immediately*!"
The servants scattered in all directions, scrambling to obey.
---