Raizen released a resigned sigh.
The only basement in Benvito Castle was an underground prison—one equipped with instruments of torture that had remained unused since the war's end.
He shuddered involuntarily, remembering the cries of unfortunate prisoners the Archduke had coldly interrogated during those dark campaigns. The sounds had echoed through the stone corridors for days, sometimes weeks. Pleas for mercy that went unanswered. Screams that dissolved into whimpers, then silence.
_Could it be happening again?_
"Ensure that everything is prepared properly."
"Yes, Your Highness."
A cruel smile played across the Archduke's divinely beautiful features—an expression that made Raizen's blood run cold despite years of service.
"They shouldn't die too easily." Those crimson eyes flashed with glacial menace.
It seemed that very soon, the cries of the unfortunate would echo through the castle's cellars once more—desperate pleas for a swift and merciful death that would never come.
"The Grand Duchess must know nothing of this."
"I'll ensure it, Your Highness."
"Anyone who dares open their mouth will die." The prince's voice dropped to something barely above a whisper—far more terrifying than any shout. "And they'll be fortunate if they aren't carved into pieces first."
His eyes now burned with something raw and terrible. A murderous intent that Raizen had witnessed only on blood-soaked battlefields.
Raizen swallowed against a dry throat and carefully redirected the conversation.
"What shall we do regarding Rebecca Lawrence?"
"Observe for now. It appears Fernando won't surrender her so readily."
"I suspected as much. A message arrived from our informant this evening. Rebecca Lawrence will likely be departing the Empire for an extended period."
Calix chuckled—a sound entirely devoid of warmth.
"Her father is far from foolish."
"Indeed. Reports indicate that Viscount Lawrence has offered the Emperor a monopoly on maritime trade with the Xian Empire." Raizen paused deliberately. "As a gift."
An intrigued expression crossed Calix's features.
"How generous. That constitutes the bulk of his fortune. The unfortunate viscount—famous throughout society for being utterly besotted with his daughter. The same daughter who was shamelessly exploited as a mistress for seven years, then cruelly discarded."
"And the price he's demanded?"
"The head of Philip Charts."
---
Following Asella's wedding, the Lawrence family had intensified their pressure on Philip considerably. Anthony was preparing to receive the long-awaited title of Marquis, and nothing now stood in the way of the marriage that had been postponed for far too long.
However, Philip—who possessed no genuine intention of ever marrying Rebecca—had devised what he considered a particularly clever stratagem.
First, he arranged a prenuptial agreement conspicuously lacking any specific wedding date. Though Rebecca felt some disappointment at this omission, she remained pleased that they were finally, officially, a couple.
What she didn't know was that Philip had never sought the Emperor's consent for this arrangement. Had that been the extent of his deception, he might have maintained some flimsy justification.
But Philip, determined to sever Rebecca from his life entirely, ultimately overreached.
The cunning fox dug his own grave when he hired assassins.
Something went terribly wrong. The assassination attempt failed. Philip assumed all the hired killers had been eliminated by Rebecca's guards, but this proved to be a fatal miscalculation. One assassin was captured alive—and after an extended, heated conversation with Viscount Lawrence, the man revealed everything.
Rebecca had never anticipated such betrayal from her beloved. The realization that she'd been stabbed in the back by the man she'd trusted completely left her in profound shock for days.
Viscount Lawrence's fury defied description. He raged through his manor, threatening Philip with every conceivable means of death. Meanwhile, Viscountess Lawrence, overcome with anguish for her daughter's fate, lost both sleep and appetite entirely.
But what proved most surprising was that Rebecca herself recovered first.
It wasn't easy to accept that the person you had loved so devotedly had attempted to murder you. Even contemplating such betrayal was unbearably painful. But the evidence was irrefutable.
Rebecca finally confronted the truth.
Yet she refused to reconcile herself to the insult Philip had inflicted. She resolved to exact tenfold revenge. Hatred—as powerful now as her love had once been—transformed into a merciless weapon. The Viscount and Viscountess Lawrence undoubtedly became their daughter's most steadfast allies.
And now Philip, blissfully convinced that Rebecca remained ignorant, suspected nothing at all.
Cherishing sweet dreams of elevating Anthony to the title of Marquis of Charts, he failed to notice that he was floundering in viscous honey—never suspecting that he was merely bait.
And the fisherman in this elaborate game was the Emperor himself.
It was already finished. All that remained was to feed Philip to those who had paid for the privilege. The Lawrence family had commissioned this bloody feast. Someone simply needed to serve it.
Rebecca's survival throughout this ordeal was partly fortune. But mostly, it was thanks to her father's cunning.
---
"Prepare an article announcing that the Emperor has approved Anthony's claim to the Marquis of Charts title and will formally appoint him as the rightful successor." This tactic was entirely uncharacteristic of Calix Benvito. He typically preferred to eliminate his enemies without fanfare—quietly, efficiently, leaving no trace.
But not this time.
Lord Cardon ventured to clarify his master's intentions, which he couldn't entirely comprehend.
"There's no need to inform the Emperor directly? Is that correct?"
"Fernando will understand I've made my move the moment the information appears in print."
Cheap, scandal-hungry newspapers proliferated throughout the Garmanian Empire like weeds. All one needed to do was scatter a few crumbs of information, and they would descend like a famished flock of carrion birds—seizing the story and embellishing it in the most outlandish ways imaginable. This fabrication would spread through society instantaneously, like wildfire fanned by a relentless wind.
Which would undoubtedly raise the stakes for Philip considerably.
_A relative of the Grand Duke himself. Favored by the Emperor._
Everyone would scramble to invest in his ventures. His reputation would soar to unprecedented heights.
Rebecca Lawrence had made the correct choice. The strategy was entirely her conception: an incredible rise, followed by a precipitous plunge into the abyss of absolute despair.
Had she remained by her lover's side, she would undoubtedly have lost her head alongside him. But despite the arrangement between the Viscount and the Emperor, Calix's decision to spare Rebecca was personal—and unusually merciful. This clemency was possible partly because no evidence existed linking her to the violence Asella had suffered.
Of course, she wouldn't escape consequences entirely.
"Ensure my wife never hears this woman's name again."
"Yes, Your Highness."
This decree meant that when Rebecca Lawrence eventually returned to the Empire, she would find no place remaining for her in society. But compared to what the prince had planned for Philip, this was a trivial inconvenience.
"And what shall be done with those two?"
"Simulate their murders and deliver them to the castle alive."
All that was required was locating suitable corpses and presenting them as Anthony and Philip's remains. The bodies could then be burned, and the Emperor could be informed that his order had been fulfilled. There would be no witnesses regardless.
The corner of Calix's mouth twitched upward.
He had no intention of granting easy deaths to the people responsible for his wife's nightmares.
Not a single one of them.
---
## — The Capital's Drawing Rooms —
Lately, the capital's social scene had been rocked by constant sensations. Before anyone could fully recover from the wedding uniting the Empire's two most bitter enemies—Benvito and Charts—fresh scandals emerged daily.
Moreover, persistent rumors circulated that His Highness the Archduke had completely lost his head over his new wife.
"That's certainly true—don't even question it. He even permitted her to bring along her younger sister."
Thick cigarette smoke wreathed the table where the Empire's most distinguished nobles had gathered. No one paid the haze any mind.
"They say His Highness involves himself personally in all affairs concerning the Charts family. And very soon, Anthony will receive the rightful title of Marquis."
"Truly? But didn't Asella Charts reach her majority last year?"
"Well, she's married to Archduke Benvito now. And Marielle Charts remains far too young."
A pregnant silence descended over the gathering. Everyone present contemplated the same troubling thought.
_Anthony is the wrong man. He isn't even a blood relative._
Their aristocratic sensibilities recoiled at the notion of some impostor claiming a legitimate family name and title.
However, voicing such opinions aloud was extraordinarily dangerous. Philip had ascended too high on the political ladder to criticize openly. Especially now, when he basked in the reflected prestige of the Grand Duke himself.
Yet in any gathering, there invariably existed those insufficiently cautious with their tongues.
"And yet, it's peculiar..."
"What specifically?"
"You witnessed events at the wedding, didn't you? His Highness was so enraged he severed Philip's cravat with his sword."
"Well, he deserved it. That upstart Anthony completely forgot his station and displayed blatant disrespect toward the Grand Duchess. Despite her being his sister."
"I don't know precisely what transpired, but I personally observed Anthony Charts kneeling before his adopted sister, resembling a pounded cutlet more than a living man. And the Archduke's smile!" The speaker shuddered visibly. "One doesn't forget such an expression. He positively radiated murderous intent."
"Enough! Discussion of these matters is forbidden under penalty of death."
"Please! They're whispering about it on every corner of the capital."
"Honestly, I never imagined obtaining a marquis title could prove so straightforward."
"Straightforward? Hardly. But with the Grand Duke's protection..."
"I possess even more intriguing intelligence from an exceedingly reliable source."
The conversation paused momentarily. The more cautious participants waited until servants had replaced the dishes and withdrawn beyond earshot before resuming their gossip.
"Apparently, Lady Charts has become heiress to a considerable fortune."
"But what of Anthony's position then?"
"This is the legacy of the Loctrin family."
"Loctrin?"
Everyone's eyes rolled upward, searching their memories.
"Asella and Mariel Charts' father. Their *biological* father."
"Ah! I recall now. But weren't all paternal relatives said to have perished from some rare hereditary disease?"
"Precisely so. But the girls could certainly continue the bloodline."
"I've heard that Her Highness the Grand Duchess will assume guardianship until Mariel reaches her majority."
"This is extraordinary! How is such a thing even possible?"
"What wouldn't one do for a beloved wife?" The speaker's eyebrow arched meaningfully. "Particularly when one happens to be Grand Duke..."
"So this means Marielle Charts is now a wealthy heiress once again."
"Undoubtedly." The lady who had delivered this remarkable news pursed her lips with evident satisfaction, then gracefully flourished her fan and cast significant glances at those surrounding her.
"I initially assumed the younger sister's position would prove quite precarious. However, circumstances have changed dramatically."
"Indeed! The Loctrin family is quite respectable. Their lineage supposedly traces back to distant nobility in one of the neighboring kingdoms."
"Yes, yes—the famous southeastern branch, if I recall correctly."
In reality, the Loctrin family was far from the Empire's most prestigious noble houses. But when the Archduke himself stood behind them, circumstances transformed radically.
Philip Charts served as the perfect example of this phenomenon. His meteoric rise in both politics and business demonstrated the principle eloquently. Whatever that shrewd man undertook, he achieved remarkable success.
"How old did you say? The youngest?"
The eyes of nobles with children of appropriate age gleamed with anticipation. Certainly, Mariel Loctrin remained far from marriageable age, but in aristocratic families, it was customary to arrange advantageous matches for offspring long before they reached adulthood.
The conversation paused briefly. Everyone fell silent, mentally calculating potential dividends from such an alliance.
Then the interlocutors stirred again.
"And what of Rebecca Lawrence?"
The discussion veered in a new direction.
"Yes, everyone knows discussions of marriage have continued for several years now."
"They're both already of considerable age. So why the perpetual delay?"
"Well, I suspect there's nothing worth waiting for here."
"Is that truly so?"
Although the Lawrence family possessed substantial wealth, their standing among aristocratic families wasn't sufficiently elevated to warrant intermarriage with the Charts line. Certainly, Rebecca could serve as Philip's mistress—a common enough arrangement. But becoming the Marchioness of Charts? With her lineage, such a marriage was simply unthinkable.
Everyone understood Philip's motivations regarding Rebecca: her family's business acumen and commercial connections, combined with Philip's role as her guardian. But now that he had acquired the marquis title, he no longer required such support.
The nobles exchanged knowing glances. They understood better than anyone how to defend their interests. So it wasn't difficult to predict what would transpire in the near future.
"Yes, most unfortunate."
The conclusion was brief and universally understood. Everyone silently concurred.