Asella was drowning in congratulations.
In truth, all she did was listen to the endless stream of chatter swirling around her, nodding occasionally when it seemed appropriate. Yet even this passive role exhausted her completely.
She hadn't slept a single moment the night before—worry had kept her eyes open until dawn. Then came the ordeal of being dressed for the ceremony. The hours that followed had passed in a state of constant, grinding tension, her weary body screaming for rest it was never permitted to take.
Unexpectedly, the person who rescued her was Calix Benvito.
"Asella."
Again, her name sounded strange on his lips—foreign, somehow, yet oddly intimate.
With a single cold glance, he cleared the space around her in an instant. The nobles who had been pressing close scattered like startled birds.
"Yes, Your Highness?"
"Is the dress uncomfortable?"
Asella hesitated, then nodded. The gown Madame Epordieu had crafted was made of the finest, most supple fabric available in the capital. It was surprisingly light compared to the voluminous garments she usually wore, and the flowing material allowed her to move with relative freedom.
But even so, it wasn't everyday wear. And she had been trapped in it for hours.
Calix studied her face—even paler now than before—and confirmed his suspicion.
"Why don't you take a break and change into something more comfortable."
"...?"
"There's no one here who would dare object if the Grand Duchess wished to rest for a while."
His gaze found Raizen across the room. Within moments, several maids approached and bowed respectfully before Asella.
---
The place where they escorted her was Rebecca's private chamber.
This was also where she would spend her first night with Calix.
The plan was to remain at the mansion overnight, then depart for the Grand Duke's estate the following morning. Considering that most aristocratic celebrations stretched across several days, this was an unusually brief wedding.
"Your Highness the Grand Duchess, please allow me to escort you."
Hearing her new title, Asella felt the reality of her situation crash over her like a cold wave.
She was truly married now.
She would leave the Charts family forever.
"This way, please."
The maids had become significantly more polite. Their hands, which had been careless before, now moved with exaggerated caution. The dramatic shift in their behavior left Asella quietly astonished.
The servants had witnessed the wedding ceremony. They had overheard the nobles' whispered conversations. And apparently, they had concluded that deference and attention toward Asella represented the wisest investment in their own futures.
Noticing all this, Asella felt a familiar melancholy grip her heart.
She had long since resigned herself to such treatment—accustomed to surrender, to being overlooked. But sometimes the weight of it became unbearable. Like now. Only because of the Grand Duke's influence had these people changed their attitudes toward her.
Those who hadn't considered her human now looked at her with servility.
_He was right_, she thought bitterly. _I should pretend. If only for my own sake._
"What dress would my lady prefer?"
Asella turned her attention to the array of banquet gowns laid out before her. Like her wedding dress, they had all been crafted in Madame Epordieu's workshop, and each one was magnificent.
"Perhaps this one."
"An excellent choice, Your Highness."
In truth, there wasn't much difference between them. All the dresses were white. Traditionally, both bride and groom were expected to wear white at weddings—a symbol of the clean slate upon which newlyweds would write their shared future.
But Asella had no future.
---
## — Philip Charts —
Philip was in excellent spirits.
"Your Excellency, congratulations! You're becoming family with the Benvitos!"
He broke into a wide, satisfied smile.
"Endless success surely awaits you now!"
Throughout the banquet, he found himself surrounded by nobles who made no effort to hide their servility—or their envy.
Anthony would soon become a full-fledged marquis. But frankly, Philip worried about that clueless fool.
"Oh, come now! What success?" Philip replied with practiced modesty, struggling to contain the glee threatening to spill across his face. "It's all simply for my daughter's happiness."
But his joy was impossible to fully conceal. It radiated from him like heat from a flame.
_This wedding! A truly incredible success!_
Although that *bitch* had nearly ruined everything.
When Asella had taken so long to respond—refusing to utter her vows, standing there in stubborn silence—Philip had been ready to seize her by the hair and *force* the words from her throat. Outwardly, he had managed to remain calm, to save face. But inwardly, he had been terrified that everything might collapse.
_Well. I'll have to teach her a proper lesson afterward. Train her more thoroughly._
As long as Marielle remained in his hands, Asella would be soft as silk. She wouldn't dare go anywhere. He needed to knock some of her arrogance out of her before she settled into her role as Grand Duchess.
He had also feared that His Highness might be disappointed—dissatisfied with his chosen bride. But fortunately, the bitch's smooth face had done its work. The Archduke's reaction had been... tolerable. Much better than Philip had anticipated.
_But that doesn't mean anything._
Calix Benvito was a man of immense power. If he desired, he could hold in his arms as many women as there were stars in the sky. The romantic tale of a war hero falling in love at first sight didn't even register as a joke to Philip.
_I think he simply found her convenient._
The corners of Philip's lips curled with greedy satisfaction.
He planned to extract every possible advantage from Asella while holding Marielle hostage. Everything was proceeding perfectly. His Highness had always wanted a docile, quiet doll with an impeccable pedigree for a wife.
_And I delivered exactly that._
Since Philip had negotiated the marriage himself, he understood Calix Benvito's requirements better than anyone. The Archduke was not the sort of man to pine for an illusory princess.
"Have you noticed how His Highness dotes on his bride?"
"Did you know the *Glory of the Goddess* was merely an engagement gift?"
"He paid a fabulous price for her."
"Indeed—gemstone mines *and* a chest of gold bars."
The conversations swirling around him warmed Philip's soul like fine wine. His mood soared higher with each passing moment.
Time flew by amid congratulations and whispered negotiations.
"It seems Her Highness has left to change her attire."
"His Highness the Archduke is nowhere to be seen either."
Moving in elaborate ceremonial dress was difficult, so it was natural for newlyweds to change into simpler, more comfortable clothing midway through the reception. Philip glanced around the hall. Rebecca was chatting with a cluster of noblewomen at the far end of the room. And...
"By the way—where is Anthony Charts?"
"I couldn't say. He was spotted earlier, already quite tipsy."
Anthony was nowhere to be found.
_Where has that fool gone?_
Anthony couldn't handle his drink. This worried Philip greatly. What disaster would that *idiot* cause now?
Philip maintained his welcoming smile, but anxiety coiled tighter in his chest with each passing second.
"Excuse me. I'll return in just a moment."
Seizing an opportunity, he extracted himself from conversation with a visiting count and slipped out of the hall.
Philip summoned the butler immediately, threatening to dismiss him on the spot if Anthony wasn't found within minutes. But in the midst of the reception, the entire household staff was overwhelmed with duties.
"Sir, I truly don't know his whereabouts. Isn't he with the guests?"
The kitchen operated at a frantic pace. Dozens of hands were required to keep dishes and drinks fresh and flowing. There was literally a mountain of work. The butler couldn't afford a moment's distraction—he was responsible for ensuring everything ran smoothly. Of course he had no time to monitor Anthony's movements. And frankly, it wasn't his place to know where the young master was or what he was doing.
"Damn it! Where *is* that idiot?" Philip snarled under his breath.
He had explicitly ordered Anthony to remain at his side throughout the event. But Anthony had ignored the command entirely.
Even the night before, Philip had caught him drinking. He had wanted to seize the fool by the scruff of his neck and drag him away from public view.
The finest wines and strongest spirits were always served at wedding receptions. But becoming visibly intoxicated was considered deplorable manners. Most guests merely held their glasses for show, occasionally bringing the rim to their lips for appearance's sake.
This was because a reception was far more than an excuse for celebration. It was an arena—a place to cultivate partners and allies through the art of natural conversation. For any nobleman worth his title, a wedding represented a critical social opportunity.
No one wanted to squander that opportunity by getting drunk.
Yet Anthony...
Philip's jaw tightened with barely suppressed fury.
"Anthony, it's only *morning*. And you're already drinking."
"Don't start, Father. Just a couple of glasses."
Anthony *loved* to drink. That was putting it mildly.
In truth, he was an alcoholic. And worse—he didn't know his limits.
At social gatherings, Philip always kept him close, watching him like a hawk. But sometimes Anthony still managed to get drunk, which inevitably led to... unpleasant incidents.
Until now, Philip had always managed to cover things up.
_Where is that idiot? How could he get drunk in front of such important guests?_
He should have kept the fool chained to his side. He would be lucky if Anthony had simply collapsed somewhere, passed out cold. The alternative...
Philip suppressed his mounting dread and gave himself a firm command: *Find him. Immediately.*
"Your Excellency!"
His secretary came running, face drained of all color.
"We have a serious problem."
---
## — Anthony Charts —
Anthony was in excellent spirits.
And why shouldn't he be? Asella—that insufferable *thorn*—was finally getting married. Which meant the Charts family estates would soon belong to him entirely.
The moment word of Asella's engagement had spread, he'd felt the shift in how people treated him. Now invitations from the capital's most prestigious families arrived several times daily. Even the highest-ranking aristocrats had begun paying attention to him.
And today—*today*—the Grand Duke himself was becoming his relative.
Everyone around him, even the most arrogant, had instantly fallen into line.
_Now no one will dare ignore me._
He chuckled quietly to himself, savoring the thought.
_And why was Father grumbling so much? So what if I've had a few drinks? With Calix Benvito standing behind me, who would dare say a word against it?_
But Philip's constant caution had begun to grate on Anthony's nerves. The man wasn't even his *real* father. Yet he meddled in everything—*literally* everything.
Let him hover around today, pretending to be the devoted patriarch.
_I'm sick of it._
Seizing an opportunity, Anthony quietly slipped away from the crowd.
_It would be nice to drink in peace while Father's distracted. I've been stone-cold sober for an entire month._
All because Philip hadn't let him out of sight, burying him beneath mountains of tedious business matters.
_This damn business. It's unbearable._
Anthony shook his head in disgust.
_I plan to enjoy myself today._
He approached a table where filled glasses shimmered invitingly—crystal catching the light like scattered jewels. He greeted the nobles who pretended to recognize him with polished courtesy. And imperceptibly, one by one, he emptied glass after glass.
Very soon, his mind grew clouded. He felt as though he were floating among clouds, weightless and free. Various fantasies drifted through his thoughts, and he quickly lost his grip on reality.
His face relaxed into a slack smile—he was still in excellent spirits, after all. But his appearance was deteriorating rapidly. His smartly knotted cravat had vanished somewhere. He'd unbuttoned his collar and cuffs, rolled his sleeves to the elbow.
Yet the glasses still beckoned.
_Too hot in here. I need something cold._
Anthony seized the moment, snatched a full bottle of champagne from an unattended table, and slipped out of the banquet hall. Anticipation building, he crept down the corridor, searching for a secluded spot where he could drink in peace.
"Hey!"
His attention snagged on a maid passing by with a stack of dishes.
---