In the atmosphere of the duchy's founding anniversary, the grand hall shimmered like a carefully polished jewel. Candlelight reflected off marble pillars, and crimson banners hung from the balconies like history suspended—untouchable, almost sacred.
All eyes turned at once toward the main entrance as the Verchi family gathered again. Their presence alone was enough to disrupt the silence and reset every breath in the room.
The hall was crowded with the people of the south—from high-ranking nobles to minor lords:
marchionesses in their heavy gowns,
countesses with rigid expressions, calculating influence before courtesy,
and barons clinging to their titles as if they were lifelines.
Even lesser lords arrived with their families, their eyes shifting between the throne and the Verchi family, trying to determine where the true balance of power lay.
The Verchi family advanced toward the emperor's throne with measured steps.
Before anyone could bow, Theobald cast a quick sideways glance—silent, yet decisive.
No bow.
Not today.
He stepped forward, standing tall, and spoke in a steady, noble voice:
"Welcome, Your Majesty. You have honored us with your presence at this celebration."
The emperor laughed, leaning back against his throne—a laugh more calculated than warm.
"Theobald Verchi… this celebration seems different from previous years. Truly impressive.
Congratulations on your years of loyalty, strength, and stability. We wish you an even stronger… more progressive future, from a true man."
The phrase echoed through the hall like a subtle poison.
Some smiled.
Others ignored it.
But Osana… did not.
She caught it instantly.
"True man."
Deliberate. Without a doubt.
She stepped forward slightly, smiling calmly as if adding a passing remark:
"Yes, of course. We will have a true heir… whether male or female."
The emperor's smile widened just a little, and he nodded—agreeing outwardly while calculating inwardly.
The family soon dispersed.
Theobald remained with the emperor and several high nobles, engaged in a conversation heavy with politeness and quiet scrutiny.
Osana moved toward a group of noblewomen, including the concubines, with Karina following quietly behind.
Anne, the second concubine and mother of the third prince Jake, looked around with admiration.
"This celebration feels different this year… I like it very much."
Osana smiled with undisguised pride.
"Karina and I designed it, and the rest of the family contributed as well."
She placed her hand gently on Karina's shoulder and smiled at her.
Karina simply nodded—her eyes observing more than participating.
Marchioness Leryas stepped forward, her gaze sweeping the hall before she spoke with feigned surprise:
"I didn't expect such work to be accomplished by both the lady and the young princess…
But I don't see Lord Yuri. His absence is quite noticeable."
There was mockery beneath the question.
Osana raised her fan to cover half her face and replied calmly:
"He works tirelessly for the people and progress. My son and I allowed him to continue his duties instead of attending."
The concubines nodded, as if his absence was perfectly reasonable.
At that moment, Karina noticed something else missing.
The princes.
She glanced at her grandmother. Their eyes met.
They had both noticed.
Osana spoke aloud,
"It seems the princes have not arrived yet… I had hoped to see the imperial family gathered in full."
Asti, the first concubine and mother of the first prince, replied:
"We apologize. They have patrols and studies today. They will arrive together soon."
Osana nodded in understanding.
One of the noblewomen added,
"It's clear the princes sacrifice greatly for the nation."
Asti sighed, resting her hand against her cheek.
"Especially my son, the first prince… he carries a heavier burden than his brothers."
Anne cast her a sharp sideways glance.
"Don't exaggerate, Asti. Everyone works hard."
Asti suddenly stood, her voice rising:
"No! My son is different!"
Karina watched them, her thoughts cold and sharp:
Now I understand why the first prince is an idiot…
He's exactly like his mother.
Then, silently:
Anne is clever. Calm. She knows how to win a room without raising her voice.
Beautiful, elegant… attentive to every detail.
No wonder she's the emperor's favorite.
Anne approached Asti gently, holding her arms.
"I know, I know. Everyone recognizes how hard your son works. Just calm down."
She turned to the others:
"I apologize. Asti has a kind heart… she loves her son dearly and worries about him."
Murmurs spread:
"Anne is truly kind."
"She deserves to be empress."
"Asti is jealous."
"Anne is better."
Karina observed it all—once again recognizing Anne's cunning.
But Osana's voice cut through the air with calm authority:
"Don't apologize, Anne. You are indeed kind.
And you, Asti—it is your right to love your son that way."
The tension eased.
Osana continued,
"When my children were young, I didn't allow anyone to touch them.
I suffered greatly when Yuri was hurt as a child… I understand your feelings completely."
Silence settled, and Asti smiled again.
"You are truly wise, Lady Osana."
Admiring looks spread—
except from one person.
Karina.
What about Damian?
He lost his mother… so who will defend him?
Who will give him that kind of love?
At that moment, the hall doors opened.
"We welcome the three princes."
They entered with dignity—synchronized steps, calculated presence.
The emperor laughed from his throne.
"There are my sons!"
They bowed first to him, then to Theobald.
The first prince spoke,
"We apologize for the delay. We were occupied."
Theobald smiled calmly.
"Best of luck with your duties."
But beneath those smiles…
other chapters were already being written.
---
"I heard you were busy… weren't you?"
Karina's voice was calm—not accusatory, not overly curious, but something softer. A quiet test.
She walked beside him through the long corridor, the marble floor reflecting the tall windows like a cold lake. The hem of her dress glided smoothly, as if she had mastered the art of silencing her steps.
Damian walked beside her in composed silence.
Straight posture, eyes forward—but at the corner of his gaze lingered a faint shadow of caution. Not toward her specifically… but toward something he refused to name.
"Yes… I was busy. And I don't think I'll be staying long."
He paused slightly, as if giving his words more weight.
Karina stepped ahead, then turned to face him. Her smile didn't change—but it deepened.
"That's fine… what matters is that I'll show you all the furniture and heritage pieces before you leave."
Her enthusiasm was clear—
but in her eyes, something else lingered. A quiet desire to keep him just a little longer.
Damian nodded silently.
He looked around—the faded golden carvings on the walls, the scent of aged wood and dried flowers.
Her energy today felt different. Lighter. Faster.
As if she was trying to fill the space between them with words before silence could settle.
He didn't ask what was on her mind.
Not because he didn't care—
but because he wasn't ready for the answer.
Then suddenly—
She grabbed his wrist.
Her grip wasn't strong, but it was real. Warm. Direct.
She pulled him lightly until they stopped in front of a wall of family portraits.
Time… hung there in frames.
"This is us… when I was little! I look so cute… oh!"
She placed her hands on her cheeks in playful exaggeration, though her smile wasn't entirely an act.
In the picture—a young girl with flowing hair and wide eyes, not yet aware of how empty a palace could feel when something went missing.
Damian didn't respond immediately.
He stepped closer.
Studied the image slowly.
The family gathered. Formal. Coldly arranged.
Then he looked at her.
She was no longer that child.
Her features had matured—but something sharper had crept into her eyes.
"You look more like your father now."
He said it quietly—but meant more than resemblance.
She nodded.
For just a second, her smile softened—then returned, controlled.
"Let's see the rest."
She pointed to an older portrait.
"This one is before I was born… it looks boring without me… but my mother lights it up."
Her voice softened unconsciously at the mention of her mother.
Damian's gaze lingered on Duchess Rivelina.
Golden hair flowing like silk, catching the light.
Green eyes—not sharp, not weak… but quietly tired.
A gentle smile, shadowed by something heavy.
He saw it.
A life of long sacrifice.
Even as a duchess…
peace had never truly reached her eyes.
The air around him slowed.
Karina noticed.
"Look… it's clearer here."
Another portrait—larger, framed with carved flowers.
Elegant clothing, fine golden threads.
And features…
Strikingly similar to Doja.
---
"Oh! Your blonde hair looks like Mama's!"
Without thinking, she reached out and touched a strand of his hair.
The gesture was innocent…
but too intimate.
Damian froze for a second.
Then stepped back slightly.
"It looks nice."
She smiled—then realized.
"Oh no! I mean—Mama's hair is beautiful! Don't misunderstand!"
She grabbed his shoulders, lightly shaking him.
"Alright, alright… I get it, Rina. Stop."
He laughed softly.
When she stopped, he exhaled—this time genuinely laughing.
She placed her hand on her chest like she'd survived a disaster.
Then moved on.
"This is the third one… no Mama, no me… and this ugly man… my grandfather."
She smirked.
Damian looked.
Sharp features. Proud chin.
"Honestly… he looks like you."
He said it seriously—then burst out laughing.
Her eyes widened.
"What—WHAT?!"
He laughed again.
"I'm joking… relax."
She exhaled, then smiled slowly—mischievous.
She stepped closer.
"And you… look like the emperor."
His laughter stopped.
For just a second—
Silence.
The emperor.
Not just a joke.
Then—
A small sideways smile.
He understood.
She had returned his joke…
and something more with it.
---
They wandered through the vast hall, a space that was not merely for celebration, but a living memory of the Verchi lineage.
Crystal chandeliers hung high above, casting warm light that fractured across rows of marble statues.
The faces of their ancestors were carved with eternal severity—straight noses, unwavering gazes.
Each statue bore a small plaque: a date, a battle, an achievement.
Karina passed one, lifting her eyes to a distant ancestor's face, as if searching the marble for something of her own blood.
Ancient armor stood nearby, edges worn by time yet still gleaming with pride.
Ceremonial garments, heavy with gold embroidery, whispered of eras when power was measured by crowns, not intellect.
Even the furniture seemed to breathe history—dark wood engraved with the Verchi crest since the family's founding.
Everything… from the very beginning.
This time, Damian walked behind her, watching as she explained with renewed enthusiasm.
He noticed how her voice changed when she spoke of her family—it grew deeper, more rooted.
When they finished, a brief silence fell.
Distant music from the celebration reached them, muffled through thick walls.
At last, Damian spoke, his tone returning to its formal coolness:
"The celebration is beautiful… and I thank you for it. I should leave now. I'm busy."
The words were polite—
but the distance between them returned at once.
Karina nodded with a composed smile.
The kind she had learned for formal occasions.
"Goodbye… and thank you for attending, you and the princes."
His expression softened for a moment, as if something remained unresolved.
He slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a carefully folded paper.
He placed it in her hand.
His fingers brushed her palm for a brief second—then withdrew.
"Goodbye."
He turned and left with the other princes, his steps steady and unhesitating.
Karina remained standing, the paper between her fingers.
A faint confusion crept into her chest.
Why a letter?
And why now?
She opened it.
Leaning slightly, the chandelier light spilled over the clear black ink.
~Greetings, Princess Karina Verchi…
You are required to attend at the beginning of next week at the Second Prince's palace.
Alone, without any family members.
Your attendance is mandatory.
~Second Prince Damian de Bosashi
She gasped.
It felt as though the words had left the page and pressed against her chest.
"Mandatory?!"
She read the last line again.
Mandatory.
Not a request.
Not a suggestion.
"How is my father ever going to agree—"
She lifted her head quickly, searching for him among the crowd—but the grand doors were already closing behind the last of the departing figures.
He had left.
She looked around, then back at the letter.
Her grip tightened.
"You sly brat!"
She stomped her foot, the sound of her heel echoing faintly in the hall.
"Oh… left all alone?"
A woman's voice slipped from behind her—soft, yet edged with something sharp.
Karina turned quickly.
Clara.
Her father's cousin.
She walked toward her with confident steps, her purple dress flowing behind her, her smile knowing more than it revealed.
In an instant, Karina straightened, composed her expression, and hid the letter behind her back.
"Ah…"
"You look beautiful, my cousin's daughter."
Clara stepped closer, her heavy perfume filling the space between them.
It wasn't a casual compliment… it was an assessment.
Then she noticed the paper.
"What's that letter? A love letter?"
She said it lightly—but her eyes didn't laugh.
Karina shook her head quickly.
"No! No, no! It's just something I dropped… the prince only handed it to me!"
Even she could hear how weak that sounded.
Clara laughed—a short laugh that didn't reach her heart.
"I see… I thought he might have fallen for your beauty. You resemble your father."
The last sentence wasn't entirely praise.
Karina replied immediately, a slight sharpness in her tone:
"And my mother."
The silence that followed wasn't comfortable.
Something in her quick defense made Clara's gaze shift—just for a second.
Then—
memories slipped in.
Inside Clara's mind… not on her face.
Once, she had been the one meant to become duchess.
The title had been close enough to touch.
But Osana…
had fought.
Arguments. Raised voices. Divided loyalties.
And in the end—the late duke's will had been clear:
Everything… to Osana.
She had used that right with undeniable intelligence.
Encouraged her son to choose his own bride.
And in the end… he married a commoner.
A commoner.
Not noble.
Not beautiful by the rigid standards of that time.
Fragile. Sickly.
And she bore a daughter…
even weaker.
And yet—
he cherished her.
Rumors spread like wildfire:
criminal, practitioner of dark magic, unfaithful.
When she became pregnant, whispers insisted the child wasn't a Verchi.
But she gave birth to a daughter unmistakably of their blood.
The resemblance was undeniable.
So the whispers quieted… partially.
Clara remembered how that woman stood in gatherings—
a faint tension in her fingers,
a barely visible tremor,
eyes always cautious, as if afraid the air itself might be taken from her.
But—
whenever a member of the Verchi family stood beside her—
everything stilled.
As if their presence was an invisible shield.
Clara returned to the present.
She looked at Karina.
She smiled.
But there was no warmth behind it.
Then, quietly—
And now…
I am pregnant.
The thought was no longer fleeting—it had settled into certainty.
A child… a boy, she felt it from the moment her hand touched her stomach.
From an ordinary lord.
A name that added nothing to her lineage.
Opened no doors that had once been closed to her.
And in the end… divorced.
The word still stung.
I was meant to be the duchess.
Raised to wear that title like a crown.
I lost.
But they lost me too.
They lost my blood,
my name,
and the child who will carry Verchi legacy in his veins—whether they acknowledge him or not.
A faint smile touched Clara's lips.
Not a complete defeat.
Not yet.