Raizen silently swallowed a groan.
What he had dreaded most had come to pass. Benvito's wild, ancient nature seethed within the prince, thirsting for bloodshed.
"Bring them all. Every last one."
"Wait, Your Highness."
A calm, quiet voice echoed through the hall.
"You've misunderstood the situation."
She spoke softly, carefully—as though treading barefoot across the razor edge of a blade.
The prince's expression shifted the instant he heard that voice. He turned toward Asella, and something in his features relaxed slightly.
Everyone in the hall held their breath, awaiting the princess's next words.
"I'm simply not feeling well today."
Silence.
"But I believe I could manage this dish if it were prepared properly."
"If you're attempting to protect them—"
"That's correct, Your Highness."
Calix regarded Asella with searching intensity. However, she sat with apparent composure, her expression completely sincere.
She was profoundly grateful he couldn't see her hands—trembling uncontrollably beneath the table.
"Did you hear? Take this away and prepare it properly. There won't be a second chance."
The servants hastened to execute the order, which carried an unmistakable warning. A short time later, a new portion of perfectly roasted meat was placed before Asella. The elaborate presentation and carefully arranged garnishes clearly betrayed the cooks' desperation.
Asella released a resigned sigh.
_I have to eat this._
However, her hands still trembled treacherously, and she struggled to maintain her grip on the silverware. Fortunately, no blood was visible this time.
For a while, the only sound in the room was the delicate clatter of knives and forks against precious family porcelain.
"Well? How is it now? Should I spare them?"
"Yes. It's delicious."
Asella was lying.
She harbored no doubts about the chefs' considerable skill, but she possessed absolutely no sense of taste. She painstakingly cut the meat into the smallest possible pieces, then forced them into her mouth, chewed thoroughly, and somehow managed to swallow—each bite requiring monumental effort.
It was almost mechanical. Like a wound-up doll performing its programmed function.
The cooks' desperate efforts hadn't been entirely in vain. Though the experience felt more like torture than a pleasant dinner, Asella somehow managed to empty half her plate.
Finally, her ordeal concluded. The servants brought tea.
The refreshing aroma of black tea with lemon filled the room.
It was her favorite.
_I just have to hold on a little longer._
Asella barely registered the delicious fragrance. She desperately wanted this entire evening to end.
But then she noticed the tea's color appeared strange.
A deep, unsettling red.
"Is something wrong?" asked Calix, who had maintained sharp vigilance over Asella throughout the entire meal.
"No. Everything's fine."
Her blue eyes blinked anxiously at the man, trying in vain to decipher his intentions.
But his impassive face remained utterly unreadable.
"Bring it," he ordered his assistant curtly.
Raizen placed a folder of documents on the table before him.
When Calix picked up the papers, Asella's pupils contracted with wild terror.
"It would have been so much simpler if you'd agreed to sign the divorce papers. Then perhaps everything would be different."
The nightmare's words crashed through her mind.
She was overcome with indescribable horror. A glass of poisoned wine materialized before her eyes. Her body went completely numb, and her heart pounded so violently it seemed ready to burst from her throat.
"Very well. Satisfactory." Calix finished reviewing the documents and returned them to Raizen.
A moment later, the teacup was removed, and the folder landed on the table before Asella.
She couldn't bring herself to examine its contents. She simply sat frozen at the table, her head held rigidly upright.
Finally, Raizen—his patience wearing thin—spoke with careful politeness.
"This represents a deposit ensuring the upkeep of Her Highness the Grand Duchess."
Only then could Asella lower her gaze.
One by one, she read through the documents, written in precise, elegant calligraphy. And she couldn't believe what she was seeing.
The figure on the final page was simply staggering.
"You mean... I may use all of this?"
"Is it insufficient?"
Asella swallowed against a dry throat and stared at Calix, thoroughly stunned.
_Insufficient?_
It was far too much. The amount was so enormous it could easily sustain a wealthy noble family's entire annual budget.
"The thing is—it's excessive. I couldn't possibly spend this amount in an entire year."
"You've misunderstood." Raizen's correction came gently. "This isn't an annual allocation. It's for one month."
"But why would I need so much money?"
There was simply too much. The scale of potential expenditures defied imagination.
"Additionally, you'll have access to your own secure vault. It will contain the annual budget for estate management. Please utilize it as you see fit."
Asella suddenly felt she'd fundamentally misunderstood something.
"No, Your Highness."
It wasn't that she feared money itself. She simply understood what such generosity entailed.
Asella had observed Philip's example for years. Despite harboring no genuine feelings for Rebecca, he had been forced to tolerate her—pretending to be her devoted lover—for the sake of the Lawrence family's wealth.
"You truly don't need to give me this much."
She simply wanted nothing that would render her beholden to this man.
Whenever Philip had the opportunity, he'd insulted Asella and Mariel—calling them parasites, useless kept women. He'd begrudged them even bare necessities. In the end, he hadn't even provided his eldest daughter a proper dowry.
Asella had come to the Archduke empty-handed. She understood perfectly that she possessed no right to demand any allowance for herself.
She was terrified because she couldn't comprehend the intention behind this strange generosity.
"I still won't be able to spend it..."
Suddenly, she recalled the conversation she'd overheard in the pastry shop.
"Have you heard the news? That spicy story about Viscount Wilpin."
"About how he gifted the Viscountess an estate on Pairont's finest lands?"
What had they discussed?
"It's common practice in society for the head of a family to pay compensation to his wife in exchange for her agreement to accept an illegitimate child into the household and legitimize their rights."
_A child..._
There had been no mention of a child. But then again—who could say for certain?
Though Asella rarely ventured out, she was well aware that countless women were utterly infatuated with Calix Benvito.
He was a singular figure in the Empire. Whether in wartime or during demonic beast attacks, the Emperor invariably relied upon Benvito's strength. An ancient lineage, immense wealth, a powerful army, and the Archduke's own exceptional abilities—he lacked nothing whatsoever.
Calix Benvito's influence rivaled the Emperor's own.
_Come to think of it..._
It would be peculiar if such a man didn't have a mistress. Therefore, the likelihood of illegitimate children was considerable. It would be naive to assume otherwise.
_If this concerns a child he wishes to make his heir and formally accept into the family..._
A sudden dinner. An enormous sum of money.
Everything fell into place.
And then there was the dream. So vivid. So terrifyingly real.
And the button her mother had pressed into her hand just before dying. What if it truly represented the symbol of the secret organization Karma? What if the Grand Duke led that organization?
She had clearly witnessed the identical engraving in her dream.
_And one more thing..._
In her vision, she had been murdered. Because she refused to sign divorce papers?
_Mother, I'm so confused. I don't understand what's happening. How can I possibly protect Mariel?_
Her rational mind attempted to argue that it was merely a dream—nothing but the unconscious mind's meandering labyrinths. But to no avail.
The anxiety continued mounting.
And Asella was no longer paying attention to her own words.
"Please don't trouble yourself so much. I truly don't need that much money. You really don't have to—"
Calix's eyebrow rose with evident displeasure.
"Asella Benvito, what exactly is your position?"
His question threw her completely off balance.
However, the prince was carefully attempting to suppress the unpleasant emotions that had consumed him throughout the day. He feared that if he overreacted again, his wife would become even more frightened—and begin avoiding him more assiduously than before.
"You are Grand Duchess Benvito. The only woman in the Garmanian Empire who bears that title, regardless of the Emperor's will. Please conduct yourself in a manner befitting that status. Ensure that everything you possess and utilize represents the absolute finest available."
"But—"
"I will never permit anyone to diminish the name of Benvito."
---
Indeed.
He couldn't forget her smile—the one she'd bestowed upon another man today. A smile she had never shown him.
Only today had he suddenly realized that this woman could interact with someone else wearing such a sweet, pleasant expression. That calm, friendly smile—directed at a complete stranger—drove him absolutely mad.
Initially, he'd convinced himself he shouldn't pay it any attention. However, he'd proven utterly incapable of concentrating on anything else. Even conducting routine business had become extraordinarily difficult.
Every time he glanced up from his papers, even momentarily, that delightfully bright and welcoming face materialized before his eyes.
"Raizen."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Double the amount allocated for Her Highness's maintenance."
"But, Your Highness—the sum you've already designated for the lady represents the largest budget in recorded history..."
"Prepare the documents immediately and deliver them to my desk."
Calix remembered well the simple travel bag she'd brought before their journey to the duchy. Since she'd never possessed any money in Philip's household, he'd assumed she would certainly be pleased now.
Just as she'd appeared while strolling through the city with her younger sister.
Without realizing it, he harbored a secret hope that perhaps—just perhaps—he might witness such a smile directed at him.
However, these expectations were cruelly shattered.
Instead of appearing content and happy, she had turned pale as death. She'd attempted to refuse his offering, declaring it excessive.
Instead of recognizing his care, she'd grown afraid.
And yet—this same woman had smiled at another man simply because he'd brought a basket of pastries.
"You don't wish to accept what your husband offers you?"
He couldn't comprehend what was wrong with her.
Yes, of course—she'd been forced into this marriage. She'd been powerless to resist her stepfather's pressure. Even their wedding night, which might have mended their relationship, had ended in complete failure.
But money...
While he struggled to understand, the words that escaped her lips struck with the force of an exploding bomb.