"Sophie?"
Adelina turned toward her maid with a puzzled expression, and the girl realized she had no choice but to confess.
"I discovered that someone had been rummaging through your belongings—the items sent from the Roche estate."
"Someone went through my things?"
"Yes." Sophie's voice dropped, guilt threading through her words. "Nothing valuable was there, and nothing appeared to be missing, so I didn't mention it. I didn't want to worry you unnecessarily." She hesitated. "But I feel uneasy about remaining silent."
Adelina's expression remained composed, though her mind worked rapidly.
*Who would dare search the Duchess's personal luggage?*
It seemed unlikely to be some servant's idle curiosity. Far more probable that this was Lady Pembroke's handiwork—surveying her new adversary, cataloging weaknesses.
"That's why I'd prefer to stay close to you for the time being," Sophie continued earnestly. "Perhaps we could postpone sending the letter for a few days?"
"Hmm... well..." Adelina's lips curved into a mysterious smile. She withdrew an envelope from her writing desk and extended it toward Sophie.
"Oh my *God*!"
The maid's eyes went wide the instant she glimpsed the contents. She thrust the envelope back toward her mistress as though it had burned her fingers.
"Th-that's—it's a *check*!"
"Indeed it is." Adelina accepted the envelope with remarkable calm—a stark contrast to Sophie, whose hands trembled visibly despite having held the document for mere seconds.
"What *is* this, my lady? Where did you acquire such a fortune?" The maid was so shocked she forgot entirely to use Adelina's new title.
"This is the sum of my ransom," the princess explained, her tone matter-of-fact.
"Your... *what*?"
"The amount my father and the Duke of Pembroke agreed upon as the marriage payment." Adelina's expression remained placid. "My price is quite substantial, wouldn't you say? Perhaps because I'm a purebred princess."
Despite comparing herself to merchandise, there was no trace of self-pity in her voice. She had long since accepted her role as a commodity in a profitable transaction. She was merely stating fact.
"Father desperately needs this money to repay his debts. The deadline must be pressing by now."
Sophie pressed her lips together, staring at the envelope for a long, weighted moment.
"Even if you give him this money now," she said finally, her voice firm, "the same thing will happen again."
"I expect so."
"Now that you've become mistress of a wealthy estate, whenever trouble arises, your father will constantly petition you for funds."
"That's also true."
The future was blindingly obvious. Even with her eyes closed, Adelina harbored no illusions about what lay ahead. Such patterns had repeated themselves countless times before.
She studied the envelope Alexio had placed in her hands—the envelope he'd presented with the declaration that she could use it however she wished.
*Could this promissory note truly serve as a weapon?*
Absolutely. In a world where money determined everything, a check was quite literally a sword. And since she had already taken up arms, she must learn to wield them.
"Sophie, first we need to explore the mansion properly." Adelina's voice shifted, taking on a brisk, practical edge. "I'm particularly curious about the library's collection. I've heard it rivals even the royal archives."
Sophie blinked at the apparent change of subject. "The *library* is what interests you most?"
"Among other things." Adelina carefully folded the envelope and tucked it away. Her expression had settled into something resolute—the quiet determination of someone who had decided to play the game according to its rules.
As she always had.
---
## — The Roche Estate —
"Your Highness, how do you do? With the payment deadline approaching, I thought a visit was in order."
A powerfully built man lounged in the receiving room with casual insolence, greeting Prince Arthur as though they were old friends rather than creditor and debtor. His gaze wandered appreciatively over the elegant furnishings.
"Ah, every time I see this mansion, I never cease to admire it." He clicked his tongue approvingly. "If we converted this place into a casino, customers would line up around the block. I wouldn't mind accepting the house itself as payment for your debt."
The man's coarse manner and crude speech marked him unmistakably as lower class. Yet his clothing was expensive—*more* expensive, in fact, than anything Prince Arthur currently wore. This was a well-known moneylender who had amassed a considerable fortune through methods respectable society preferred not to examine too closely.
Arthur couldn't object. He merely exhaled heavily, struggling to contain his irritation.
Dealing with this ignorant man—someone utterly incapable of comprehending the historical significance of an ancient noble residence—was deeply grating. The prince longed to have him thrown out bodily.
But such luxuries were denied to men drowning in debt.
Instead, Arthur forced his features into something resembling a smile.
"Surely you've heard that my daughter married the Duke of Pembroke?" His voice carried a note of condescension. "My son-in-law is the wealthiest man in the kingdom. Do you truly believe I cannot repay such a *trivial* sum?"
The moneylender's eyebrows rose in mild surprise.
This was the same man who, mere weeks ago, had begged pathetically for an extension. Now he strutted about as though he'd already claimed the Duke's fortune for himself.
The name Pembroke certainly carried weight. But the moneylender was not so easily intimidated. He chuckled—a low, knowing sound.
"The Duke of Pembroke isn't one to scatter coins carelessly. He's hardly the type to volunteer payment of his father-in-law's debts." The man leaned forward, eyes glinting. "Aren't you being a touch *overconfident*, Your Highness?"
"There's no cause for concern." Arthur waved a dismissive hand. "Once the Duke returns from his honeymoon, I shall have the funds—"
The moneylender snorted and cut him off mid-sentence.
"What are you talking about? The Duke of Pembroke and his wife returned to the capital *today*. The news has been trumpeted on every corner." His smile widened unpleasantly. "Did you truly not know?"
*So that's why this vulture appeared today.*
The impudent creature had hoped to collect payment the moment the Duke arrived—only to discover that Prince Arthur remained completely ignorant of his own daughter's whereabouts.
"What *nonsense*?" The prince's eyes widened with alarm. "They should still be on their honeymoon. Has something gone wrong? Are there... *objections* to the marriage?"
A terrible thought struck him.
*Could Adelina have some flaw I'm unaware of?*
If the marriage had collapsed after the wedding night—
"That would be catastrophic!"
Arthur had never genuinely considered the possibility that his daughter's union might dissolve so quickly. He had assumed that regardless of any imperfections, Adelina would manage well enough.
The moneylender laughed outright at the prince's mounting panic.
"Your Highness, why are you asking *me*? Shouldn't *you* be the one who knows what transpires between your daughter and her husband?"
Arthur fell silent, stung by the painfully fair observation. The absurdity of his behavior—scrambling for information from a common moneylender about his own child's marriage—brought a deep flush of humiliation to his cheeks.
"*Ahem*." He cleared his throat, scrambling to recover his dignity. "My son-in-law is clearly so occupied with pressing matters that he neglected to inform me of their early return."
*Yes*, he reassured himself. His son-in-law was the Duke of Pembroke—a man who fulfilled his contractual obligations with legendary precision. Moreover, Alexio would *never* reject Adelina publicly. To cast aside a princess so soon after their wedding would constitute an unforgivable insult to the royal family.
No calculating businessman would take such a reckless step.
After their grand ceremony, the Duke had bound himself irrevocably. He was now *obligated* to tolerate Adelina—regardless of personal feelings.
This reasoning steadied Arthur's nerves. Straightening his spine and squaring his shoulders, he turned back to face the moneylender.
"I knew from the start that you possessed little patience. Show some dignity. The payment deadline has not yet expired."
"Oh, oh..." The moneylender rose from his seat, his bulk casting a shadow over the prince. "I always assumed impatience was something of an occupational requirement for men in my profession."
He approached Arthur slowly, deliberately. The prince's fragile confidence evaporated with each heavy footfall.
"Allow me to offer a word of caution, Your Highness."
The man's voice dropped—no longer mocking, but cold. Businesslike.
"If you fail to repay your debt on schedule, things will become *very* unpleasant for you." He smiled, showing too many teeth. "Unless you wish a lowlife like myself to cause a public scandal, a noble prince must keep his promises. Wouldn't you agree?"
A meaty hand came down on Arthur's shoulder—not a pat, but a *grip*. The message needed no translation: sometimes brute force resolved matters more effectively than law or propriety.
This was precisely such a situation.
Prince Arthur swallowed hard and nodded.
He needed the Duke of Pembroke.
Or more accurately—he needed the money his wealthy son-in-law had promised.
---