The moment Philip returned from the imperial palace, he made his way directly to the outbuilding where Asella's room was located.
"What did you discuss with Count Cardon?"
Raizen Cardon was precisely the sort of man Philip found most difficult to handle. The Count rarely spoke more than necessary, and his influence and power were so formidable that threats proved utterly useless against him. Any misstep in his presence could have dire consequences. Philip had once attempted to deal with Raizen directly, back when his business affairs had stalled due to Calix Benvito's interference.
It had failed spectacularly.
That failure was why Philip feared this man—why he could not afford to treat him carelessly. But today he had suffered a complete humiliation, and his rage demanded an outlet.
Asella would serve.
"What the hell was the point of speaking with you *privately*?" His voice rose with each word.
"Nothing of consequence." Asella's tongue darted across her dry lips. "Truly."
It was the truth. Aside from a few brief phrases just before the Count's departure, they had barely exchanged words at all.
But Philip's expression darkened. He suspected she was deliberately concealing something.
"I'm *asking* you." His jaw tightened. "What were you talking about?"
When the girl failed to provide a clearer answer, Philip's anger swelled. His face flushed crimson. The veins in his neck stood out like purple cords. Asella retreated instinctively, her eyes squeezing shut in anticipation of the blow.
But no pain came.
When she cautiously lifted her eyelids, she was startled to see Philip's hand slowly lowering back to his side. Strange. Most strange.
Then she understood.
*Damn it all—what was the Archduke thinking, giving her this?*
Philip's gaze had fixed upon the golden box resting on her shabby dresser. The extravagant object looked grotesquely out of place in such a neglected room, like a crown jewel displayed in a pig's sty.
And the contents...
The "Glory of the Goddess" carried many meanings. It was a treasure of astronomical value—a magnificent work of art created by Rossen, the master jeweler unsurpassed for centuries. But beyond its monetary worth, the tiara held another significance entirely: it marked its wearer as the mistress of the Benvito family. Every previous Grand Duchess had worn it at official ceremonies.
Yet this did not mean it was personal property. The tiara had always been passed from generation to generation as a family heirloom.
But Count Cardon had made one thing unmistakably clear: this was a *personal* gift from the Grand Duke, presented in honor of their engagement.
Which meant the tiara now belonged to Asella herself.
Philip's mind churned with confusion. *What are his motives?*
Calix Benvito felt no personal affection for the woman who would soon become his wife. Philip was certain of this—absolutely certain. The Charts and Benvito families had been rivals for centuries, enemies in all but name. The meaning of this marriage proposal was obvious. Asella Charts would be a Grand Duchess in name only. In reality, she would be a hostage—an unwanted woman, unloved, trampled beneath the heel of a foreign power, unable even to seek the mercy of death.
Perhaps she would endure horrors even worse than those she suffered in her childhood home, which had long since become her prison.
This prospect had been one of the reasons the marriage pleased Philip so greatly.
His thoughts drifted, as they often did, to his late wife: the noble Marchioness Adele Charts. While she lived, Philip had suffered a constant, gnawing sense of inferiority. Even seven years after her death, he couldn't shake the feeling entirely. A woman who had surpassed him in status, in wealth, in beauty, in *everything*—the mere thought of completely destroying her daughter's life made him tremble with anticipation.
And the beauty of it was that he would face no condemnation from the nobility. It was like cleaning one's hands without dirtying a single finger.
Besides, for Philip, this arrangement was enormously profitable. The Grand Duke required a pedigree. Asella was simply a tool to produce an heir. Nothing more. And Calix was willing to pay handsomely for the privilege.
*But what if I'm wrong?*
The thought surfaced unbidden. *What if Calix Benvito actually desires her?*
The Benvito family's wealth and connections exceeded imagination. If Philip could win favor with even one person in that household... who knew what fruits such cultivation might bear? Perhaps, through the Grand Duke's personal connections, Anthony might someday marry into the royal family itself.
*Wait—the princess's age matches Anthony's perfectly.*
The more he considered this, the dizzier he became with possibility. His anger evaporated of its own accord, replaced by greedy calculation.
*Isn't this far more useful than I anticipated? I should act immediately.*
Philip rubbed his hands together in anticipation and arranged his features into a warm smile.
"Well now. I'm not a beast, Asella. I know you've already suffered a great deal today." His voice emerged smooth as silk. "But you must understand—everything I do is for your own good."
Asella froze, struck by the unexpectedly friendly tone.
Philip was only ever like this under two circumstances: when speaking to her in public, where his reputation required performance... or immediately before a beating, when false gentleness made the violence that followed more devastating.
But the room was empty. There was no audience to impress.
The girl began to tremble, her lips quivering with fear.
"Come now, don't look so frightened. I'm sorry I was harsh earlier—truly I am. But you made me angry, and I'm quick-tempered by nature. Don't take it to heart."
Asella couldn't respond. Her throat had closed entirely.
"I think you need treatment. I'll send for the physician."
Despite the brutal physical punishments she endured, Asella rarely received medical attention. Only when she fell seriously ill—when her condition grew truly grave—would Philip reluctantly summon a doctor, fearing the nobility's disapproval should his stepdaughter die from neglect. Whip wounds, however, had never qualified for such concern.
"As soon as your wounds heal, I'll call a priest. We must rid your body of those unsightly scars."
*This merchandise shouldn't have any flaws,* Philip thought, his smile widening with satisfaction.
Asella understood immediately why his attitude had shifted. *He wants to erase the evidence of his hands on me before the wedding. It wouldn't do for Calix Benvito to see this ugly side of him.*
She was fortunate today.
But for how long?
"Madame Epordieu will arrive soon. We need to have your wedding dress made."
"...Yes."
"And one more thing," Philip added, as if the thought had just occurred to him. "If you need anything—anything at all—be sure to tell me. I'll buy whatever you ask for."
The words were so absurd that Asella had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Calix Benvito was covering every wedding expense. She knew this perfectly well.
When a bride took her husband's surname, tradition held that the ceremony would take place at the bride's home, but the groom bore all costs. Great importance was placed on decorating the bride's residence—yet even these expenses fell entirely to the groom. In exchange, the woman brought a corresponding dowry to her new family: property that belonged to her by inheritance.
All of this was negotiated in advance.
But Philip had refused to contribute a single coin toward Asella's dowry, citing the family's "dire circumstances."
Every expense—the wedding dress, the flowers, the decorations, the ceremony itself—was being covered by the Benvito household. Asella had learned this from the servants, who took particular pleasure in pointing out that she was marrying as a pauper.
*This man has no sense of propriety. How utterly shameless.*
Remarriage without a dowry was possible, certainly—or when children of ruined noble families wed. Philip himself had come to the Charts family practically empty-handed, the third son of an impoverished house with nothing to offer but ambition.
But Asella's marriage was different.
One of the Empire's wealthiest families. Its eldest daughter. Marrying without a dowry.
It was a disgrace—fodder for the most vile gossip imaginable.
*She was sold.* That was the truth, and everyone knew it.
But at the very least, appearances should have been maintained. In aristocratic society, whatever the reality, it was essential to preserve the facade. Asella's dowry would have constituted only a small fraction of the vast Charts fortune. Yet Philip had sacrificed both Asella's honor and the family's reputation to save a few pennies.
Now the girl was entirely dependent upon her husband's will. Whatever Calix Benvito chose to do with her in the future, society would justify it. They would always take his side.
*What difference does it make?* she thought bitterly. *Even if I escaped Philip's grasp... Calix Benvito is far worse.*
Her blue eyes wandered the shabby room and settled upon the golden box.
*What if... Mariel...*
Perhaps this tiara could secure her sister's future. For Asella herself, it was already over. But perhaps Mariel would be luckier. Perhaps she might live a completely different life—one nothing like her sister's.
Asella remembered Mariel's last letter and clenched her fists.
---
Philip noticed the movement. His eyes narrowed.
"You're thinking about useless things again."
He bore the surname Charts, having once become the husband of the Marchioness and, through her death, head of an ancient aristocratic family. It wasn't difficult for a seasoned schemer to guess what was passing through the young girl's mind.
"You're very fortunate, Asella. I suggest you reflect on that."
She turned at the sound of his voice and saw a smile spreading across his face—a smile that made her skin crawl. Her body trembled involuntarily, and she looked away, unable to bear the malicious gleam in her stepfather's eyes.
Those serpent's eyes traveled over her from head to toe. Her face was as beautiful as her mother's had been. Calix Benvito, spoiled by society's finest offerings, could hardly have fallen for her so easily.
But one never knew what transpired between husband and wife.
"I hope," Philip said softly, "you're not planning to do anything *foolish* with that tiara."
Asella stopped breathing.
He continued in a gentle voice—so gentle that a stranger might have thought he was asking a favor of his beloved daughter. But Asella knew the true meaning of that tone.
"You shouldn't insult your husband by mistaking his politeness for generosity. Especially not for the sake of a little girl who might not be able to open her eyes tomorrow." He leaned closer, his whisper intimate, almost loving. "Anything can happen in life."
The threat was unmistakable.
Asella's body began to shake. The tiny spark of hope that had flickered to life was immediately crushed beneath this cruel man's heel.
Philip watched her tremble like a wounded animal, satisfaction spreading across his features.
"And yet," he added, "I confess I'll be somewhat sad when you leave your father's house. It would be pleasant if someone else could console me in your absence."
"*Father!*" Asella's eyes widened with horror. "Mariel is my only sister."
---
This was Asella's most vulnerable point.
And it was the reason she had meekly endured every beating, every humiliation, every cruelty for years.
It had happened three years ago.
Philip had flown into a rage when young Mariel grew too rambunctious, accidentally breaking an expensive vase during play.
"You useless little wretch!" he had screamed. "Do you have any idea how much that thing was worth?"
"Forgive me, Father... I'm sorry... I—"
"*Stop!*"
Asella had thrown herself between them, blocking the heavy hand Philip had already raised over the child.
The desperate need to protect her sister had ignited something within her—a courage she had never known she possessed.
It was her first rebellion.
Her last.
"If you touch Mariel," she had said, her voice steady despite her terror, "you will *deeply* regret it."
"Oh? And what exactly will you do about it?"
"You think I'll simply watch and keep my mouth shut?"
Despite her diminished status, Asella remained an important figure in high society. The aristocracy still valued her opinion, still remembered who she had once been. Unlike Anthony, whose position as heir was merely formal and largely unrecognized, Asella carried genuine weight.
Philip had needed to rid himself of her through advantageous marriage to strengthen Anthony's claim. Therefore, the Charts family had to maintain its prestige at all costs—which meant Asella's voice still carried power.
She had used that power exactly once: to protect her sister.
And Philip had found a way to turn that love into a chain.
---