The bell rang at last.
Philip's face—which had been poorly concealing his anxiety—brightened immediately. He rose from his chair with practiced ease, arranging his features into an expression of paternal warmth.
"My daughter says she is ready to receive you."
"Excellent."
"However..." Philip's smile flickered, uncertain. "She requests that you come to her."
Raizen's brow creased almost imperceptibly.
"She is usually in perfect health," Philip added hastily, his nervous smile stretching too wide. "But today, she is feeling somewhat... delicate."
"That is fine. Lead the way."
"You understand, of course—my daughter is terribly shy. I do hope you'll be patient with her."
Raizen rose without reply. It wasn't difficult to deduce what was happening, given how long it had taken Lady Charts to prepare for this meeting.
By order of his lord, Archduke Calix Benvito, Raizen had long known everything about Asella Charts—from the circumstances of her birth to the details of her present existence. He was perfectly aware of where she truly resided and what was being done to her within these walls.
_In any case,_ the Count mused, following Philip through the ornate corridors, _the man's desperate desire to prevent the truth from surfacing is almost commendable._
"Please, this way." Philip insisted on escorting him personally, his manner hovering somewhere between obsequious and proprietary.
They ascended the central staircase and emerged into a wide corridor lined with gilt-framed portraits. Raizen's eyes narrowed as they walked deeper into the mansion's heart. This wasn't the direction he had expected. Asella Charts's actual quarters were not in the main building at all, but in a distant outbuilding—a neglected wing far from the central halls, poorly maintained and all but abandoned.
Yet here they were, in the finest section of the residence.
"This is my daughter's room," Philip announced, gesturing grandly toward an ornate door. "You know, things have been... difficult since Adele left us. Asella is my only consolation in these trying times."
Raizen suppressed a bitter smile. *How predictable.*
"Your Excellency, Lord Raizen—welcome." The secretary greeted them with a formal bow, then turned and rapped his knuckles against the polished wood. "Lady Asella, Count Cardon and His Excellency have arrived."
"Excuse me," Philip interjected, stepping forward with barely concealed nervousness. He cracked the door open just enough to peer through.
_Acceptable. Nothing appears amiss._
He examined Asella through the narrow gap, searching for anything that might betray them. Her posture seemed correct. The dress appeared to fit well enough. No visible damage.
Before the guest's eyes, the man transformed seamlessly into a doting father who treasured his daughter above all else. He performed the role with considerable skill—which was hardly surprising. This was the same man who had once deceived Adele herself, concealing his true nature throughout their entire marriage. Near the end, it had grown increasingly difficult; she had clearly begun to suspect. But even so, the deception had held.
A malicious smile flickered across Philip's lips before he smoothed it away.
"Asella, my dear, it's your father. May I enter?" His voice dripped with deliberate tenderness.
Silence.
He knocked again. Still nothing.
*Why isn't the wretched creature answering?*
Philip's expression began to shift unconsciously, the mask slipping.
"Is something wrong?" Raizen inquired from behind him.
"No, no—everything is perfectly fine." Philip hastily rearranged his features and knocked more insistently. "Asella, darling, are you not ready? Is something the matter? You can tell me honestly."
A long pause stretched through the corridor.
"...No." The voice that finally emerged from behind the door was barely audible.
Philip exhaled with visible relief, then turned to face Raizen with a practiced smile.
"Please."
Fortunately, the Count appeared to be staring at the door, seemingly oblivious to his host's anxious fumbling. Philip allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. He still wanted to appear the devoted father.
*Once this pompous fool leaves the mansion,* he thought, jaw tightening, *I will teach her a lesson she won't soon forget. I don't yet know what I'll do to her, but it will be memorable.*
"Asella! My daughter! We're coming in!"
"...Yes."
---
Philip swung the door wide.
They entered a room furnished with obvious expense but questionable taste. Fine pieces crowded against one another, their elegance undermined by an assortment of garish knick-knacks scattered across every surface—porcelain figurines, gilded boxes, silk flowers in crystal vases—each item fighting for attention and succeeding only in creating visual chaos.
Philip, having slipped through the door first, rushed to Asella's side. He bent close, his whisper sharp as a blade.
"*Behave appropriately.*"
Asella bowed her head in mute obedience.
Philip pursed his lips with satisfaction and turned back to address the Count.
"This is the finest room in the entire mansion. I personally—"
But Raizen walked past him without acknowledgment, heading directly toward the frail figure seated motionless on the sofa.
Philip's eyes bulged at this blatant dismissal. His body trembled with suppressed rage, fists clenching at his sides. He forced himself to breathe, to maintain control. For now, he would have to endure such slights. Though he ruled this estate like a petty king, he was utterly powerless before Calix Benvito. And he *needed* this marriage—which meant he must restrain himself.
*But soon,* he consoled himself. *Soon I will hold the full title of Marquis, and everything will change.*
---
"It is an honor to meet you, Lady Charts."
Count Cardon approached the girl, lowered himself to one knee, and bowed his head in formal respect.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Count Raizen Cardon, representative of His Highness the Grand Duke."
"Good afternoon, Lord Cardon."
Raizen raised his head and studied her properly for the first time.
The girl sat rigidly upright, maintaining the dignified posture expected of nobility despite her obvious distress. Her face was drawn and pale, her body held painfully stiff—yet her manners remained impeccable. There was something almost mechanical about her composure, as though she had been wound up like a clockwork doll and set into motion.
"His Highness the Grand Duke presents this gift to his betrothed in honor of their engagement." Raizen gestured to the maid, who stepped forward with a square box wrapped in midnight velvet.
The servant untied the silk ribbon and placed the box carefully on Asella's lap.
When the girl lifted the lid—her movements slow, indifferent—the maids standing nearby gasped involuntarily, then clapped their hands over their mouths in alarm.
Inside lay a smaller box of pure gold, its surface richly encrusted with precious stones of extraordinary quality. Rubies like frozen drops of blood. Sapphires deep as twilight. Emeralds that seemed to hold captured sunlight.
*What treasure could possibly warrant such a container?*
Everyone in the room swallowed dryly. Even Philip, his earlier anger forgotten, watched Asella's fingers with naked greed. The maids leaned forward, straining to see.
But the girl simply stared at the gem-studded box without moving.
"Well? What are you waiting for?" Philip's voice cracked with impatience.
"Indeed, my lady—you should examine the contents," the maids urged, unable to contain their curiosity. "His Highness selected it for you personally!"
"Very well."
Asella's fingers found the clasp. It released with a soft click, and the lid rose slowly, accompanied by the delicate mechanical sounds of a hidden music box playing a graceful melody.
"Oh, *God*... This is..."
The faces of everyone who glimpsed inside froze in shock. Gasps and exclamations of disbelief filled the room. The maids stared with wide eyes, hands pressed to their chests.
Philip couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Inside the box, nestled on a bed of black velvet, lay a tiara.
Not just any tiara.
**The Glory of the Goddess.**
One of the Empire's most precious relics—so renowned that it possessed its own name, its own legend, its own place in history. Hundreds of flawless diamonds caught the afternoon light and shattered it into a thousand rainbow fragments. Each stone was of the highest possible quality, cut with supernatural precision. The setting itself was the work of the legendary Rossen, the master jeweler whose pieces commanded fortunes and appeared on the market perhaps once in a generation. This tiara—*this* particular piece—Rossen had called his finest masterpiece.
The magnificent treasure that had adorned generations of Benvito women now lay in Asella's lap.
"His Highness wishes to see you wear this at the wedding," Raizen said quietly.
"Very well. It shall be as His Highness desires."
Asella's voice held no emotion whatsoever.
The tiara's beauty was undeniable—breathtaking, even—but to her, it meant nothing more than that. She understood her situation perfectly. Better than anyone present. She was merchandise in this transaction. And merchandise required attractive packaging.
This magnificent crown was merely decoration. A ribbon wrapped around the goods.
She lowered her eyes in silence.
---
Philip, meanwhile, continued to stare at the impossible spectacle before him.
*He sent her the Glory of the Goddess?*
A bewildered, avaricious gleam flickered in his greedy eyes as he struggled to divine Calix's intentions. Nothing about this made sense. The legendary "Imperial Treasure"—given as an engagement gift to *this* worthless girl?
Even if he mined precious stones for a hundred years using the resources Calix had offered as bride price, the total profit wouldn't amount to a quarter of this tiara's value.
"How can this be?" the maids whispered to one another, unable to restrain themselves. "They've barely even seen each other's faces! Unless..."
No one could fathom the reason for such extraordinary generosity.
No one except Asella.
Philip was the first to recover his composure.
"Asella! What is the matter with you? His Highness has bestowed upon you a gift beyond price!"
"Please convey to His Highness that I am grateful." The words emerged flat, colorless, automatic.
"I shall certainly do so," Raizen replied, unsurprised by such mechanical obedience. Then his expression shifted, becoming more serious. "However, there is a matter I must discuss with the lady privately. I must ask everyone to leave us for a moment."
At these words, Asella raised her head.
For the first time, she looked directly at the Count—truly looked at him—her gaze sharp and searching.
"But that is quite impossible!" Philip intervened immediately.
Raizen turned from Asella, regarding the man with undisguised displeasure.
"Acting Marquis... is there a problem?"
"But—" Philip faltered, unsure how to proceed.
"His Highness the Grand Duke is now this lady's official betrothed. There are certain matters of importance he wishes to communicate to his bride before the wedding ceremony. Unfortunately, circumstances prevented him from delivering this message personally. Therefore, he has sent me in his stead." Raizen's voice hardened. "Unless you have specific objections, I must insist that you grant us privacy."
Philip's stomach churned with anxiety. What if Asella said too much? He had always maintained careful control, watching every situation, manipulating every conversation. But now he felt events slipping beyond his grasp.
"What father would leave his unmarried daughter alone with a strange man?" he blurted without thinking. "Who knows what might—"
The air in the room turned to ice.
Raizen's gray eyes, which had been merely cool, became glacial. He regarded Philip as one might regard an insect—or perhaps something to be crushed beneath a boot.
Philip shuddered. A chill spread through his entire body, raising the hair on his arms.
"Explain yourself." Lord Cardon's voice dropped to a terrifying register, each word falling like a hammer blow. "I have never in my life received such an insult. I am not here of my own volition—I am here as the Grand Duke's representative. Am I to understand that your remarks constitute an insult to His Highness Archduke Calix Benvito himself?"
"N-no! That's not—I didn't mean—" Philip began to stammer, his face draining of color.
The mere thought of this reaching the Grand Duke's ears made him physically ill. A man might sooner survive an encounter with armed bandits in the forest than face Calix Benvito's wrath. Those who stood against him did not live to tell of it.
---