When Julia drew back the curtains, morning sunlight spilled across the bed in a golden flood.
She unlatched the window to release the stale night air, and immediately the room turned sharp with cold. *Winter*, Marin thought blearily. *Definitely winter.*
"Julia... how is Mother?"
"She woke briefly, took her medicine, and fell back asleep. She seems better today than yesterday."
"Thank goodness." Marin exhaled slowly, then burrowed deeper into her cocoon of blankets. "I don't want to do anything. I want to lie here and do absolutely *nothing*."
She rolled to the right like a swaddled sausage. Then to the left. Then back again.
Julia watched this display with open curiosity.
"You always say you don't want to do anything," she observed, "and yet you push yourself harder than anyone. Is it a habit at this point?"
"Perhaps you really *should* rest today, my lady."
Marin's face emerged from the blanket's edge, just enough to shake her head.
"No. The advisor has returned, which means the real work begins today."
"Then I'll prepare your washing water."
Julia smiled softly, but hesitated at the door—hovering, as though something weighed on her tongue.
"What is it?"
Marin caught the hesitation immediately.
"It's regarding the young ladies and the young gentleman from the Count's house. The ones staying in the outbuilding." Julia clasped her hands together. "The maids keep asking how they should be treated. Since I'm responsible for the outbuilding, they direct all their questions to me, but I don't know the answers myself."
"They're staying *here*?"
Marin was so startled she forgot the cold entirely. She threw off the blanket and sat bolt upright.
"You didn't know?" Julia blinked. "They're on the second floor. Right above us."
"I had no idea." Marin frowned, bewildered. "In a ducal castle this enormous, I assumed there would be *several* outbuildings..."
"There's only the one," Julia corrected gently, shaking her head.
"Truly?"
Embarrassed by her own ignorance, Marin pulled the blanket back up to her shoulders. The cold was already biting at her skin.
"Yes, my lady. The main castle has more than enough rooms on its own. This wing, they say, was built three generations ago so the Duchess could have a private place to rest and take leisure."
"A separate *building*. Just for relaxation." Marin shook her head in wonder. The opulence of the ducal house never ceased to astonish her.
"I understand. So—what should the maids do?"
Julia watched her expectantly.
*Oh. Right. The question.*
Marin thought for a moment, then spoke carefully. "They've just suffered a terrible tragedy. The maids should be respectful and quiet—no unnecessary chatter, no prying. And it's winter: keep a close watch on the temperature in their rooms. As for meals, find out what each of them prefers before cooking. Don't assume."
"Understood. I'll pass that along."
Julia's face brightened, and she slipped out the door.
Alone again, Marin wriggled deeper into her blankets like a caterpillar retreating into its cocoon. A long, heavy sigh escaped her lips.
*The main reason I agreed to become the Duke's bride was to help Daya make her debut in society.*
But after last night—after the cold fury in Garnet's eyes and the stone wall of Daya's composure—she couldn't help but wonder:
*Will it even be possible to become friends with them at all?*
---
## — The Duke's Study —
"Come in."
Olive entered at the Duke's command.
The moment he saw his lord's face, his eyes widened slightly.
No blindfold.
Olive had grown accustomed to seeing the Duke bare-faced during their time in the South, but he had assumed that here, in the castle, the bandage would return. Yet there it lay—a coil of black ribbon resting untouched on the desk.
*Gerald returned from the South a changed man*, Olive reflected. *The sounds no longer irritate him. And in many other ways, he's... different.*
What had caused this transformation?
"Your Grace, did you sleep well?"
"Are you truly so eager to interrogate me about my engagement first thing in the morning?"
"Yes."
The Duke's fingers brushed lightly against the ribbon on the table.
"Marin is someone I desperately need."
"I see." Olive's smile remained perfectly pleasant. "You fell in love with Miss Marin—whom you so desperately needed—and found yourself suddenly engaged..."
"You've learned to speak a great deal of nonsense during our separation," the Duke cut in, his voice cold as frost.
"I must say, I didn't expect you to resolve the matter of a chaperone for the elder lady so flawlessly," Olive continued, undeterred, his radiant smile never faltering.
The Duke leaned back in his chair.
He neither confirmed nor denied.
*That was confirmation enough.*
"I'm told Lady Marin was once a home tutor."
"Is that so?" Olive's brows rose with genuine interest. "Miss Marin—forgive me, *Lady* Marin—seems to possess many talents."
"She does. She is an exceptionally capable woman."
At the mention of Marin's name, something in the Duke's expression softened—just barely, just at the corners of his mouth.
A spark flickered in Olive's hazel eyes.
*Last night's ball.* The image surfaced unbidden: the Duke and Marin dancing together, closer than propriety demanded, moving with an ease that bordered on tenderness.
The Duke had always suffered from a pathological intolerance to touch. Even necessary contact—medical treatment, formal greetings—had been difficult for him to endure. Yet throughout the entire evening, Marin's hand had rested on his forearm without the slightest flinch from him.
*Whatever arrangement these two have made*, Olive mused, *not all of it is purely transactional.*
"How is the investigation progressing?"
The shift in topic was abrupt, the Duke's voice sharpening.
"There's a report that Gelmia Rose was spotted in the capital. However, she vanished again before we could apprehend her."
"The capital." The Duke's jaw tightened. "Then the likelihood that the Emperor is involved has increased."
His voice could have frozen fire.
"I'll continue digging."
"I'll need to prepare a gift for His Majesty."
The corner of the Duke's lips curved upward—not a smile, but something far more predatory.
Olive swallowed involuntarily. A flicker of genuine fear passed through his eyes.
A knock interrupted them.
"Come in."
The Duke turned his head toward the door as Butler Sebas entered, bowing with practiced elegance.
"Your Grace. Good morning."
"The man?"
"We didn't need to resort to torture." Sebas's tone carried a note of disdain. "He was such a coward that he confessed everything before we could lay a finger on him."
Contempt glinted in the old butler's eyes.
"And?"
"Everything has been confirmed. As proof, I personally visited the Viscount's residence and retrieved the original documents."
Sebas handed a bundle of papers to Olive, who accepted them in silence and unfolded the first page.
"An investment agreement," Olive murmured.
His eyes widened when he read the name of the contracting party.
"Viscount Shuvents is listed here."
"Correct." Sebas nodded grimly. "That is the *original* investment agreement—the authentic document. It was hidden in a secret safe within Viscount Gobius Norman's private bedchamber. As you can see, after Viscount Shuvents died in that carriage accident, the *former* Viscount Norman fabricated a false version of this agreement and used it to siphon away the entire Shuvents fortune."
The butler's white mustache quivered with barely suppressed anger.
He glanced at the Duke's impassive face, steadied himself, and continued:
"Using this original treaty as leverage, Gobius Norman then blackmailed his own father—the former Viscount—and forced him to surrender the title. The old man, still harboring a soft spot for his son despite everything, accepted exile to the provinces rather than expose the family's crimes."
"The father is a fraud," the Duke said, his voice like ice cracking. "And the son is an utter scoundrel who tramples on filial duty without remorse." He paused. "Was the carriage accident truly an accident?"
"It appears so, Your Grace. Upon learning of Viscount Shuvents's death, the former Viscount Norman immediately seized the opportunity to execute this scheme."
"Bring the former Viscount here. Immediately."
"Yes, my lord."
"And the physician?"
"The Viscount's personal doctor initially refused to speak." Sebas permitted himself a thin smile. "However, upon hearing that the Norman title will soon be abolished, he became remarkably cooperative. He confirmed that he did indeed treat Gobius Norman on the day in question."
The butler paused, savoring the next words:
"He also confirmed that Gobius Norman is *physically incapable* of fathering children."
"Ha."
The tension in the Duke's voice eased, replaced by something almost like amusement.
"She truly is an remarkable woman."
"I am exceedingly proud of Lady Marin," Sebas agreed, satisfaction warming his weathered features.
Olive looked between them in confusion. He could not connect Norman's inability to bear children with the assertion that Marin was *amazing*.
Sebas caught his bewildered expression and winked—*I'll explain later.*
*Time will clarify everything*, Olive decided, and set aside his curiosity for now.
"Butler." The Duke's voice hardened again. "Cut it off."
"With pleasure, Your Grace!"
Sebas's reply came instantly, as though he had been waiting for precisely this command.
"As for Marin..." The Duke's tone shifted, softening almost imperceptibly. "Inform her when they bring the former Viscount. She deserves to hear the truth herself."
"Understood," Sebas said, his expression turning solemn.
Olive studied the Duke's face in silence.
*Angry on Marin's behalf. Concerned for her well-being. Gentle when speaking her name.*
There was something unusual about this Duke—something Olive had never witnessed before.
*So this arrangement isn't purely a transaction after all.*
The thought settled into his mind like a seed taking root.
*Interesting.*