*Wow!*
Mariel's eyes widened to their fullest extent the moment the door to her room swung open. Asella released the girl's hand, and she darted inside like a silver-haired arrow.
"Sister! This is like a *princess's* room! I've seen rooms like this in fairy tale pictures!"
Light green curtains framed the windows, their soft fabric accentuating delicate yellow wallpaper that seemed to glow with captured sunlight. Crisp white furniture—a vanity, a bookshelf, a small writing desk—completed the picture, creating the impression of a fresh summer morning frozen in time.
A cozy, impossibly fluffy carpet covered the floor, so thick that Mariel's feet sank into it with each step. In the center of the room stood a spacious bed with a luxurious canopy, its edges trimmed with fine lace so delicate it might have been spun from spider silk.
And there was more—*so much more*. A shelf overflowed with children's books, their spines bright with color. Toys suitable for a ten-year-old girl were arranged on low tables: dolls in elegant dresses, a miniature tea set painted with roses, a music box that glinted gold in the light. Musical instruments waited in their stands—a small harp, a recorder, a set of bells.
But what captured Mariel's attention completely was the enormous teddy bear seated in the very center of the bed. It was twice her size, its fur a warm honey-brown, its black button eyes regarding her with patient kindness.
The child's face lit up like stars emerging at twilight.
"Can I touch it?"
"Certainly, my lady."
Mariel needed no further encouragement. She launched herself onto the enormous toy, wrapping her arms around its soft bulk, and laughed with pure, unrestrained joy.
Watching her sister's delight, Asella smiled faintly. But beneath that smile, anxiety coiled like a serpent in her chest, growing stronger with each passing moment.
*This is too much. Too generous. Too perfect.*
*What does he want in return?*
"Is something wrong?" Fabian peered at her with evident concern, noting how the color had drained from her face.
"No. Everything is fine." Asella composed her expression with practiced ease. "I would like to see my room now."
"Oh, yes, of course. Please follow me, my lady."
---
Asella had been expecting something wonderful, especially after seeing Mariel's chambers.
But she soon realized how utterly inadequate her imagination had been.
The moment she stepped through the doorway, her breath caught in her throat. Words abandoned her entirely.
The bedroom was... *fairytale* was the only word that came close, and even that felt insufficient.
High ceilings soared overhead, painted with delicate murals of clouds and distant mountains. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, draped in silk the color of moonlight, flooding the space with soft natural light. The bed was enormous—a canopied masterpiece of carved wood and embroidered fabric, piled high with pillows that looked soft as dreams.
Crystal chandeliers caught the morning sun and scattered rainbows across walls papered in the palest rose. A sitting area near the windows featured chairs upholstered in cream velvet, positioned around a low table of polished mahogany. A vanity stood against one wall, its mirror framed in silver, its surface gleaming with perfume bottles and jewelry boxes.
And the flowers—*oh*, the flowers. A massive crystal vase on the central table overflowed with peonies in full bloom, their petals ranging from the softest blush to the deepest crimson. Their fragrance filled the room, sweet and intoxicating.
*Peonies,* Asella thought distantly. *But it's not the season...*
The attentive butler, observing his new mistress with growing concern, began to worry about her prolonged silence.
"We were not aware of my lady's preferences," Fabian said carefully. "So we prepared everything according to our own judgment. You may change anything here—everything, if you wish. Simply give the order, and we will arrange the chambers precisely to your liking."
More than twenty years had passed since a Grand Duchess had set foot in this castle. A month ago, their master had suddenly declared his intention to marry. The servants, severely pressed for time, had worked tirelessly to prepare these rooms.
They had expanded the apartment by incorporating the adjacent chamber, knocking through walls and rebuilding from the foundation up. The wall hangings, window frames, and doors had been completely replaced. Every piece of furniture, every textile, every decoration and small accessory had been selected with the utmost care.
Everything was of the highest quality. Everything represented the absolute height of luxury. Everything the new mistress saw was meant to demonstrate, beyond any possible doubt, that she now belonged to one of the most powerful families in the Empire.
The peonies alone—blooming magnificently out of season in their crystal vase—had required incredible effort. Magical intervention from three separate botanical specialists, rushed from the capital at enormous expense.
"Well?" The butler's mouth had gone dry from the Grand Duchess's extended silence. "What do you think?"
"It's very beautiful."
Fabian had served the Benvito family for over thirty years. He had been at this castle since before the current Grand Duke was born—since Mariel's age, in fact. So he knew, with the certainty of long experience, that his master's mood always came first.
However, *pleasing* a Benvito was never simple.
All members of this family, for centuries, had possessed harsh and demanding dispositions. They expected perfection and punished failure with memorable severity. And the current Grand Duke was the perfect embodiment of his ancestors—outstanding abilities paired with a temperament like winter steel.
"I am so relieved you find it acceptable, Your Highness," Fabian said, allowing himself a moment to close his eyes and release the tension he'd been holding.
*This woman...*
He had noticed something peculiar during the Grand Duke's arrival. His master's gaze—always so haughty, so cold, so utterly impenetrable—had *relaxed* when he addressed his young wife. The harsh lines around his eyes had softened. His voice had gentled.
At first, Fabian hadn't believed what he was seeing. He had known Calix Benvito for the man's entire life, and never—*never*—had he witnessed such a change.
But he had seen it clearly, and now he understood.
*The well-being of everyone in this household will henceforth depend upon this woman's happiness.*
"Isn't this..." Asella's voice emerged as barely more than a whisper. "Isn't this rather extravagant for me alone?"
"What are you saying? Not at all!" Fabian's response was perhaps more emphatic than strictly necessary. Noticing her startled expression, he modulated his tone. "His Highness gave explicit orders that no expense be spared in furnishing your quarters. Whatever you need, whatever you desire—you need only ask. And we will provide it."
"I see." Asella nodded slowly. "I'll keep that in mind."
Only after these words did the tension finally drain from the butler's face.
And almost immediately, a commotion arose beyond the bedroom door—footsteps, the rustle of fabric, a murmured exchange of words.
Fabian's expression brightened. "Your Highness! It seems she has arrived."
"She?"
But before he could explain, the door swung open and a beautiful woman entered the room.
---
Her hair was a pale, luminous blonde, neatly combed and gathered into an elegant high ponytail that accentuated the graceful line of her neck. Her eyes were a striking shade of violet—unusual enough to be memorable, sharp enough to be unsettling. Silver-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose, lending her an air of scholarly authority.
Her dress, at first glance, appeared quite modest: a simple maroon gown without embellishment or ornamentation. Yet closer inspection revealed that the fabric was of exceptional quality—beautifully tailored, falling in perfect folds without a single crease. The cut was impeccable, designed by someone who understood both fashion and function. A high white collar framed her face with pristine precision.
She appeared to be no more than thirty years old. But those razor-sharp eyes spoke of a woman far more intelligent and experienced than her years might suggest.
"Greetings, Your Highness." Her voice was crisp, cultured, each word precisely enunciated. "I am honored to serve you. My name is Margot Roman. It would be my privilege to attend you."
Her manners were polished to absolute perfection—the kind of deportment that took years to cultivate.
"Roman?" Asella repeated, recognition flickering in her eyes.
She knew the family name well. The Romans had served House Benvito for centuries, their loyalty legendary throughout the Empire. Like the Cardon family, the County of Roman had provided the Principality with its bravest military commanders for generations—warriors whose names appeared in history texts and heroic ballads alike.
Margot, correctly interpreting Asella's expression, confirmed with a slight nod:
"Indeed. My husband, Richard Roman, serves His Highness the Grand Duke directly."
"Greetings, Countess."
"You may address me simply, without title." Margot's tone remained impeccably polite, but there was a subtle firmness beneath the courtesy. "As of today, I am in Your Highness's service."
She spoke with such dignity, such perfect composure, that her words could have served as a model of aristocratic speech. Her tone was correct in every particular. Her posture was so straight it might have been compared to a fine steel needle—elegant, precise, unyielding.
It wasn't difficult to guess that this was a woman who demanded perfection from herself and everyone around her. A woman who never permitted the slightest deviation from her standards.
*Most likely,* Asella thought, keeping her expression carefully neutral, *he needs someone to keep watch over me.*
Not a single servant had accompanied her from Chartreuse Manor. So, whether she wished it or not, House Benvito had been forced to provide staff for her—staff whose loyalty belonged entirely to the Grand Duke.
*A luxurious prison.*
The thought crystallized with bitter clarity.
*A place where the prisoner cannot relax her guard for even a moment. Cannot feel safe for even a second. Everything appears presentable on the surface. But you cannot take a single step beyond the invisible bars—which are, in truth, far stronger than any iron.*
She thought of the palace guards she had seen, armed to the teeth, their eyes watchful and alert.
She released a soft, silent sigh.
"We have selected approximately a dozen candidates so that Your Highness may choose her own maids," Margot continued smoothly. "Would you like to review them?"
"I trust your judgment."
It didn't matter much to Asella who served as her maid. They would all be Calix Benvito's eyes and ears, their primary function being to observe her and Mariel and report everything they witnessed.
"Very well." If Margot was surprised by this response, she gave no indication. "Then perhaps you would prefer to select the maid who will attend Lady Mariel?"
"Ah—" Asella paused, considering this more carefully. "*This* matters."
She would like to choose someone with a kind and cheerful disposition for her sister—someone who would be gentle with the child, patient with her questions, warm in her presence. But how could one determine such qualities from a mere cursory glance?
Noticing her hesitation, Margot apparently intuited her concerns.
"Perhaps we might proceed this way," she suggested. "All the candidates will serve you and your sister in rotation over the coming weeks. You may observe them at your leisure and ultimately select those who please you most."
"That would be wonderful," Asella agreed, her relief evident.
---
What followed was a masterclass in conversational manipulation.
Margot led the discussion with such skill, such seamless grace, that Asella barely noticed she was being interrogated. The topics flowed naturally from one to the next: preferences in cuisine, opinions on current fashion, favorite pastimes and hobbies.
Somehow, imperceptibly, Margot extracted a comprehensive picture of Asella's tastes, habits, and inclinations—information that would have taken a less skilled interrogator weeks to compile.
Fabian, watching from his position near the door, clicked his tongue in quiet admiration.
*Remarkable.*
This woman had accomplished in a single hour what Raizen's intelligence operatives had failed to uncover in months of surveillance. She had done it without pressure, without obvious manipulation, without making her subject feel cornered or defensive.
She was, quite simply, *extraordinary*.
*Margot Roman,* Fabian mused, studying the woman's profile. *Or as she was known before her marriage: Margot Blair.*
The second child of the Blair family, she had been a brilliant student at the Imperial Academy—graduating with highest honors in political science, her achievements so remarkable that the department chair had openly declared her his successor. A position of genuine power and influence had awaited her.
But Margot had been concerned about her family's future.
Her older brother had been designated as heir to the Blair estates—a decision she had opposed with vehement passion. She had seen, even then, that he was unfit for the responsibility. She had tried to convince her father to reconsider.
Her reward for this foresight was punishment.
Her enraged father had stripped her of her title and forced her into marriage with Richard Roman—a match beneath her station, designed to remove her from family affairs entirely. Had circumstances been different, she might well have become a professor at the Imperial Academy, perhaps eventually rising to positions of genuine influence in imperial politics.
Instead, she had been exiled to the provinces.
And as she had predicted, the Blair family had subsequently tumbled toward ruin.
Her brother proved utterly incapable of managing affairs. He earned a reputation as both fool and profligate, squandering the family fortune on gambling, women, and ill-conceived investments. He fathered two illegitimate children with different women. His legal wife—humiliated beyond endurance—eventually filed for divorce and sued for what remained of his property as child support.
The once-glorious name of Blair had become a punchline.
*That's what I thought then,* Fabian reflected, shaking his head at the memory. *That it would all end exactly like this.*
But Margot had survived. More than survived—she had *thrived*, carving out a position of genuine authority in the Roman household, earning a reputation that transcended her diminished circumstances.
They still called her "Diamond Blair" in certain circles. Those unfamiliar with the full story assumed it was a compliment to her beauty and brilliance.
But those who knew understood the darker meaning.
*A diamond sparkles even in dirt.*
"Your Highness."
A servant entered the room with a deferent bow, interrupting Fabian's reminiscence.
"A priest has just arrived at the estate."