"Wow! Duke—did you just say *diamond?*"
Suren's violet eyes went wide.
The emperor of her homeland, the Sanders Empire, had once melted down gold to build a golden palace.
But *diamond?* To construct a carriage from something worth many times more than gold?
"The diamond mines will go bankrupt," Butler Sebas murmured, stroking his mustache in a valiant attempt to remain composed.
"Madness," Zeromian said bluntly.
"Can you do it?" The Duke turned to Suren again, utterly indifferent to the others' reactions.
"If you make it from diamond, it'll be incredibly strong. And *dazzling.*" Suren's eyes sparkled with delight. "Wow—I couldn't even imagine such a thing. Handsome alchemist, what do you call this?"
"Monetary. Lawlessness." Zeromian smiled pleasantly and took his time enlightening her.
"Duke—you are a master of monetary chaos." Suren's admiration was entirely sincere.
"Suren, you cannot say that." Sebas's face went pale.
"Why not? I know how to praise well."
Sebas exhaled heavily.
Olive's absence was keenly felt. It was usually Olive who kept the ever-restless Zeromian and Suren in check.
"Zero." Gerald, who had not taken his attention from Suren until now, finally addressed Zeromian. "Figure out how to make it so one can see *out* from inside the carriage, but not *in* from outside."
"And why do we need such a strange carriage?"
"For my bride."
"Wow." Suren extended both thumbs toward the Duke. "Money chaos *and* love chaos."
"Suren!" Sebas lunged to clap a hand over her mouth.
"Precisely. Double chaos."
Zeromian regarded her with the air of a proud mentor.
A smile flickered across Gerald's impassive face—then vanished.
---
## — Across the Empire —
*Clap-clap. Clap-clap.*
Clouds of messenger birds, each bearing a secret note, soared into the sky.
The fastest reached the Imperial Palace and the great houses of every duke—save the Western one.
---
A bird landed on the shoulder of the Southern Duke, who was hunting in the forest.
While the creature preened its feathers, the Duke untied the note knotted around its leg.
*There was such upheaval in the South—and now the Western Duke is getting engaged?*
He crushed the note in his fist.
A cold chuckle escaped him.
---
The Eastern Duke remained bedridden, weakened by illness.
In his office, a gray-haired woman slowly traced her finger along the rim of her teacup as she read the note.
A mysterious smile curved her lips.
---
Adjutant John entered the Northern Duke's laboratory.
The Northern Duke took one look at the note John handed him—and leaped to his feet.
"Eh. I suppose I'll have to contact my son."
"You contact him constantly, even without such reasons." John's voice was flat with long-suffering patience.
"What nonsense? I haven't written in *two whole days.* And since this is important, of course I must reach out."
The Northern Duke—contrary to his stern appearance—bounded out of the laboratory like an excited child.
---
Finally, the Emperor received a report in his private office.
"The Western Duke is getting engaged."
"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty."
The old chamberlain, having completed his report, waited in respectful silence.
"How amusing." The Emperor's voice was soft, thoughtful. "What do you make of it?"
"I believe the cause was the death of the Countess, Your Majesty."
"Tsk-tsk. The Countess was a useful card. I underestimated..." He tapped his fingers against the desk, organizing his thoughts. "The Western Duke and the Countess never met after her marriage."
"Correct, Your Majesty."
"The Countess had only one son. With no nephew to inherit the ducal title, the Duke has likely begun thinking more seriously about an heir." The chamberlain offered his assessment carefully.
"Tsk-tsk. That is the worst-case scenario." The Emperor's eyes narrowed. "It would be better if the Western Duke died without an heir. Investigate his fiancée."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The chamberlain bowed deeply and withdrew.
Left alone, the Emperor continued tapping the desk, lost in calculation.
---
## — Western Society —
The birds carried their messages far and wide.
And when the news reached the nobility, those awakened by the announcement were *horrified.*
---
The news of the Western Duke's engagement—and the upcoming ball—sent shockwaves through Western society.
Nobles gathered in drawing rooms and parlors, gossiping endlessly about the Duke and his mysterious bride: her origins, her appearance, her sudden emergence.
Those who visited the jeweler's shop heard Yoreri's enthusiastic chatter: the Duke doted on his bride, and she herself was full of charm.
*They say the Duke has known her for years.*
*They say he bought her an entire jewelry store.*
*They say he's so blinded by her that he's lost all sense of propriety.*
The rumors swelled to absurdity: "The Duke was so consumed by love for the low-born daughter of a viscount that he lost his head entirely."
---
At a tea party in the greenhouse, the young ladies spoke of nothing else.
"I thought His Grace would remain a bachelor forever."
The round-faced lady made a sour expression. She was one of his longtime admirers.
"Oh, please. At his age, he's already overdue."
Her neighbor took a sip of tea and dismissed her complaint.
"I *know,* but still—he was our *eternal* Duke. Isn't that right, Lady Susan?"
The host of the tea party, Susan, sipped her tea in silence before setting down her cup.
Her golden hair, flooded with sunlight through the greenhouse windows, shone even brighter than usual.
Many suspected that the lady who had allegedly once sneaked into the Duke's bedroom was Susan herself. Her unrequited feelings for him were well known. But until she admitted it herself, it remained only rumor.
"Now His Grace will no longer be *ours.*" Susan's voice was calm—almost serene. "He will belong to one woman alone."
Everyone stared at her in surprise.
Knowing her fiery temperament, many had expected tears. Scenes. Drama.
Deep down, this was precisely why they had gathered.
"But has anyone actually *seen* this bride?"
Omanda's voice cut through the murmurs. She was clearly unhappy with the topic.
Wherever she went, *she* was supposed to be the center of attention. But now everyone was absorbed in the Duke's engagement.
*If I can't be at the center, then I'll drag the heroine of these rumors there—just so I remain in sight.*
"No."
"They say she's a viscount's daughter. And that she rarely attended young ladies' gatherings before."
Susan's eight guests were the core of Western high society.
If *they* didn't know the bride, then no one did.
Omanda, who had met Marin only recently, chuckled with quiet satisfaction. The encounter had been a disaster, admittedly—but the others didn't know that.
"Actually, the other day, I—"
"I know."
Christine, seated at the far end of the table, interrupted her.
Omanda shot her a look of displeasure. She had sent Christine a fortune in jewelry just to help her fit in with this circle—yet the girl still didn't know when to speak and when to keep quiet.
"Christine—do you know something about the bride?"
"Yes. I heard something."
"Well, we haven't actually *met* her. But just recently, I—"
Omanda began to preen, but Christine cut her off again:
"My fiancé said he'd heard about that girl." Christine's voice dropped conspiratorially. "Apparently, she *masterfully* seduces men for her own benefit."
The words landed like a bomb.
Even the indignant Omanda lost her voice for a moment.
Susan set her teacup down on its saucer with a deliberate *clink.* Every eye in the greenhouse turned toward her.
"Lady Christine." Susan's green eyes flashed with steel. "Would you care to elaborate?"