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"Special edition!
The Triumphal Arch has finally been approved!" a newsboy shouted, waving a newspaper high in the air.
People swarmed around him like ants drawn to sugar water.
Among the crowd was Eileen, who handed the boy a coin and took a copy of the paper.
The cheap newsprint featured a bold, towering headline:
**[Parliament Approves Construction of Triumphal Arch Today...
A True Victory for the Grand Duke]**
Cesare Traon Karl Erzet, the Grand Duke.
He was the wealthiest landowner in Erzet, the Commander-in-Chief of the Imperial Army, and the Emperor’s only brother.
He was the most illustrious figure in the Traon Empire.
Three years ago, Cesare had placed his brother on the throne, putting an end to a bloody struggle for succession, and received the title of Grand Duke in return.
Immediately following the coronation, he had set out to conquer the Kingdom of Calpen.
After three years of fierce warfare, he had achieved a resounding victory.
Upon hearing news of the Grand Duke’s triumph, the citizens of the Empire had poured into the streets in celebration.
Having returned from the war, Cesare had shaken the foundations of Parliament by demanding that a triumphal arch be erected in honor of his victory.
Parliament had fiercely resisted.
It was an unprecedented display of arrogance—demanding an arch that even the Emperor himself had not been granted! they declared it an absolute impossibility.
Their true motives, however, were obvious.
Cesare’s incredible victory had already elevated his fame to the heavens.
Allowing the arch to be built could be perceived as a direct challenge to the Emperor's authority.
The Parliament, composed mostly of career aristocrats, would never have agreed to such a thing under normal circumstances.
In response to their resistance, Cesare had set up camp on the plains just outside the capital.
He declared that he would not enter the city until the Parliament capitulated, and he remained there with his men in a display of defiance.
After months of standstill, the Parliament had finally surrendered.
"It’s about time.
At least they’ll have the triumph ready for the ball season."
"Exactly.
I wonder which lady will become the Duchess?"
Listening to the whispers around her, Eileen adjusted her sliding glasses.
Her messy bangs were constantly falling into her eyes.
The ball season was in full swing.
Young unmarried women were diligently attending every ball and tea party in search of suitors, but Eileen—who had not yet made her official debut in society—had nothing to do with such matters.
*‘A Duchess, of course, sounds interesting...’*
But she had more than enough research to keep her busy without indulging in idle daydreams.
Eileen shook her head, dispelling the useless thoughts.
Tucking the newspaper under her arm, she hurried along.
In the distance, a small inn came into view.
Her laboratory was located on the second floor of this modest, aging establishment.
As she approached, Eileen felt something was wrong.
The street, usually bustling with life, was uncharacteristically quiet.
At this hour, children were usually playing nearby, but now there was no one.
Looking around, she noticed that all the windows in the houses were tightly shut.
Although it was the beginning of summer and the midday heat was stifling, everyone had barred their doors and windows.
It felt as though everyone was hiding, waiting for something terrible to happen.
Eileen shuddered and quickened her pace.
She didn't know what was going on, but she decided to take refuge in her lab as quickly as possible.
However, the closer she got, the slower her steps became.
Men in uniforms stood before the inn.
Like black spots against the midday sun—the soldiers of the Grand Duke.
At the front of the group stood a familiar man.
He was a man of immense height with a face half-disfigured by burn scars.
"Lady Eileen."
He gave her a respectful salute.
"Lord Rotan?"
She was glad to see him after such a long time, but the unexpected meeting caught her off guard.
As she shifted uncertainly from one foot to the other, Rotan graciously opened the door.
"His Grace is waiting for you."
The tone was soft, but it carried the weight of an order.
Before Eileen could hesitate, she was ushered inside.
The inn was empty.
Usually, the place was filled with noise and the scent of food.
The empty tables and chairs looked ominous, as if everyone had suddenly vanished.
Without even seeing the owner, Eileen slowly climbed the wooden staircase to the second floor.
It was quiet there as well.
Without even looking into the rooms, she knew they were deserted.
Approaching the last door, Eileen swallowed hard and looked at the polished brass handle.
The door was already slightly ajar.
She pushed it open cautiously, revealing a scene of cluttered chaos.
Beakers, books, syringes, and tubes were heaped in complete disarray.
The familiar room now felt foreign, all because of the man standing by the window.
He was touching a flower in a pot on the windowsill.
The petals of a poppy were being ruthlessly crushed in his leather glove.
When he withdrew his hand and turned around, several bright red petals drifted slowly to the floor.
He wore a dark blue uniform—flawless, elegant, and without a single crease.
Only his medals and insignias glinted slightly in the sunlight.
From beneath coal-black hair that seemed to absorb the scorching sun, Eileen was met by eyes as bright and red as the poppies.
Those very eyes were praised by some as pure and noble rubies, while cursed by others as symbols of a bloody villainy.
"Eileen Elodd."
His velvet baritone spoke her name.
Eileen unconsciously held her breath, then exhaled sharply.
"Y-Your Grace."
Her heart pounded wildly at the unexpected encounter.
She swallowed and finally managed to squeeze out, "C-congratulations on your victory."
Cesare smir超ed upon hearing her greeting, seemingly not expecting such words.
Eileen also realized how ridiculous it sounded and added hesitantly, "I thought you would be preparing for your triumph."
Since the arch had just been approved, now was the time to begin arrangements for the celebration.
It was unclear why he had come to this run-down inn when he had so much else to do.
Of course, he had always treated her well—but only because she was the daughter of his late nanny.
In such a crucial moment, it was unlikely he would drop everything just for her.
Eileen waited for an explanation, but Cesare only stared at her.
His gaze was impossibly long and intent.
Just as she was about to break the silence, he smirked and stepped toward her.
His boots clacked sharply against the old floorboards.
The closer he came, the more she felt the overwhelming power he radiated.
He was much taller and broader in the shoulders than most men, with a strong, muscular build.
He was often compared to the gods for his incredible beauty.
But Eileen knew how cruel and terrifying he could be.
Even now, he smelled faintly of gunpowder and blood.
As he stopped directly in front of her, a chill ran down her spine.
Eileen lowered her eyes, her breath catching in her throat.
"I heard you’ve been making drugs."
"What?"
Hearing this, Eileen snapped her head up.
Cesare, catching her gaze, continued lazily, "Morpheus, Eileen."
Eileen’s eyes widened, usually hidden behind her glasses and bangs.
"T-that was meant for an analgesic!
A painkiller...!"
"And so?"
Upon hearing that blunt question, she fell silent immediately.
Morpheus was indeed a powerful analgesic, but it was derived from opium.
That meant it was highly addictive.
After the previous Emperor had died of an overdose, the Traon Empire had instituted the death penalty for the production and distribution of narcotics.
As Commander-in-Chief, Cesare had the right to summary execution.
He could shoot her on the spot, and no one would dare object.
Justifications swarmed in Eileen’s head.
She had wanted to help the Empire, to ease the suffering of His Grace's wounded soldiers...
But paralyzed by fear, she couldn't utter a word, trembling at the thought that he might draw his pistol at any moment.
Seeing her pale face, Cesare let out a soft sigh.
He took her chin in his hand and, rubbing her blanched cheek, murmured, "Ah, I suppose I overdid the intimidation a bit."
Though it sounded as if that were exactly what he had intended.
He brushed back her bangs, then removed her crooked glasses and placed them on his own face.
The round spectacles looked strange on him.
Pressing the bridge of the frames with a finger, he smirked.
"Listen, Eileen."
Without her bangs and glasses, the world seemed uncomfortably clear.
She looked at Cesare with a trembling gaze.
"I happen to be in need of a Duchess."
As Eileen stood there, barely breathing from the tension, he leaned in slowly.
His black, perfectly groomed hair brushed against her face.
"Would you like to marry me?"