Marin stood modestly at the very end of the line of servants arranged on both sides of the path.
The Duke, whom she hadn't seen in what felt like an eternity, appeared to have lost weight. The line of his jaw had grown sharper, more severe.
*How much has he been through? Is he sleeping at all?*
As the Duke walked slowly between the rows, the servants bowed their heads in perfect unison.
Marin followed suit.
But his steady footsteps stopped—directly in front of her.
It was as though he had come specifically for her. As though he had known exactly where she stood.
Marin glanced up timidly. Her gaze fixed on the toes of his polished boots. With his back to the sun, his face was cast in shadow, and she couldn't read his expression.
The servants beside her bowed even lower.
Sensing the tension around her, Marin glanced about with a troubled expression. When she spoke, her voice carried a note of uncertainty:
"Welcome back... Your Grace?"
The Duke leaned toward her—just slightly—and spoke in a voice so low it was nearly a whisper.
"I'm back. Just as you asked." A pause. "I was careful."
Marin's eyes went wide.
*He remembered.*
Those had been her parting words to him.
A bright, genuine smile broke across her face.
"Yes!"
---
## — Preparations for Departure —
"Your Grace, everything is ready for departure. I'll settle matters here, then set off with the young heir and the young ladies. We're also continuing the investigation into who orchestrated this."
"Order our spies embedded in the other ducal houses to dig deeper." Gerald's voice was flat, cold. "Either the Emperor or one of them is behind this."
"Yes, Your Grace." Olive inclined his head. "Also—here is the quarterly report from our agent in the East. The 'child' is growing up in ignorance. All is well."
"Understood."
"Yes, Your Grace."
A pause.
"Perido still cannot speak?"
"According to the physician, it's a temporary symptom of shock." Olive's voice carried a note of regret. "It will take time."
"I see."
It was time to go.
"Ah—but there is one small problem."
Olive glanced cautiously at the Duke.
Gerald waited.
"The eldest lady has agreed to relocate to the ducal castle for safety. However, she has set conditions. She requires a small, separate outbuilding, and she refuses to allow anyone near her. She's even declined a governess." Olive exhaled. "After everything that's happened... she trusts no one."
"Do as the children wish."
"A governess can wait until the wounds have healed somewhat. But there is a more pressing matter." Olive's brow furrowed. "The eldest lady is approaching her debut in society. She will require a noblewoman to serve as her chaperone. Technically, any adult noblewoman of good standing may fulfill this role—but the eldest lady desires no contact with any noble household outside ours."
"No one at all?"
"No one." Olive paused, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "At times like these... if Your Grace had a wife..."
He let the sentence hang unfinished.
Gerald sank into silence.
---
## — The Dark Study —
The office lay shrouded in shadow, heavy curtains blocking all light.
Gerald sat motionless, his thoughts circling back to the conversation with Olive.
*A governess can wait. But a chaperone for Daya is another matter entirely.*
As their guardian, he intended to provide impeccable care for his nieces. Daya's debut was an event of the utmost importance.
A noblewoman who failed to make her proper debut would find herself marginalized—whispered about, looked down upon, excluded from the circles that mattered. The thought of his eldest niece suffering such treatment was unacceptable.
*Someone must serve as Daya's chaperone. But Daya refuses to interact with other houses.*
*Marry the first suitable woman I encounter?*
He turned the thought over in his mind.
*No—marriage isn't even necessary. A formal engagement would suffice. One that could be dissolved at any time.*
His fingers found the black ribbon lying on the table—his blindfold. He had only recently removed it, yet somehow it felt as though a century had passed.
At that moment, familiar footsteps sounded outside the door.
Gerald's lips moved before he consciously willed them to.
"Come in."
"Good evening, Your Grace! You've only just arrived—you must be exhausted. I thought you should rest early tonight, so I came a little earlier than usual."
Marin pushed her cart into the room, chattering like a cheerful bird, answering questions he hadn't asked. Yet she remembered to keep her voice soft—out of consideration for him.
She smelled of familiar things: book dust and mandrelson grass.
The corners of Gerald's lips twitched upward, though he wasn't aware of it.
"I'll apply the herbs to your eyes now. Did you use what I prepared for you?"
"Yes."
Marin approached, ready to drape the cloth over his eyes—then froze.
It seemed she had only just noticed he wasn't wearing the blindfold.
"You're... not covering your eyes anymore? Is it alright to apply it like this?"
"Yes."
The moment the mandrelson-infused fabric settled over his eyelids, a pleasant coolness spread through them.
"Tonight, I'll tell you the story of the crown prince and the beggar."
She gathered her voice and began to read—low, distinct, measured.
Her soft tones tickled his ears. Sleep crept toward him gradually, but he resisted, clinging to consciousness. He had missed her voice. He wasn't ready to let it go.
*The prince, disguised as a beggar, returned to the palace and declared to a knight, "I am the crown prince." The knight ridiculed him. Leaving the palace in despair, the prince told an old man passing by, "I am the crown prince." The old man called him a liar and threw a stone at him.*
*A life where the real and the false had swapped places... where lies had become truth...*
Gerald hated lies.
But sometimes, he knew, they were unavoidable.
As he listened to the tale, a thought crystallized in his mind.
*A suitable false bride from among the nobility...*
*...is very close indeed.*
A slow, deep smile curved the Duke's lips.
---
## — The Next Morning —
A tea table stood in the center of the dark study, bathed in the warm, flickering glow of candles.
Gerald could sense Marin fidgeting across from him—practically vibrating with restless energy, as though she might burst from impatience at any moment.
He spoke slowly, deliberately.
"How are you finding life in the ducal castle?"
"Thanks to Your Grace's generous care, I live very comfortably and peacefully. I am always grateful."
*A phrase straight from a small-talk textbook.* And yet, somehow, coming from her, it sounded almost comical.
"Do you like it here?"
He was circling toward his point, testing the waters.
*Will she accept what I'm about to propose?*
"Yes. Very much."
"Then let's get engaged."
He said it without preamble. Without emotion.
"S-sorry—did I mishear?"
"Do you have hearing problems?"
"No! I mean—it's not exactly—"
"Let's get engaged."
"Yes, that's exactly what I thought you—*hic.*"
Her startled reaction was precisely what he had expected. It amused him, though he kept his expression neutral.
"Your Grace, I... I believe I really *am* having hearing problems. Perhaps I should see a doctor, so if you'll excuse—"
"Sit down."
"...Yes, Your Grace."
"Shall we return to the matter at hand?"
"...Yes, Your Grace."
"Your answers are too short." Gerald ran his long fingers slowly across his lips, concealing a smile. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Yeeees..."
This time, the word stretched out far too long.
"Shorter would be better. And more natural, if possible."
"...Yes."
*How to convince her?*
He decided to begin with a question.
"What do you want?"
"What do I...?"
"Lady Marin Shuvenz."
She stopped breathing.
Her restless fingers, which had been fidgeting ceaselessly, went utterly still.
*She needs to breathe.*
Her sudden stillness concerned him, but he pretended not to notice. He continued, his voice calm and even:
"When you concealed your noble origins and took a position in this castle... you must have had a goal. Didn't you?"h