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Chapter 3
As she returned to her room, Grace rubbed her right wrist—the one she had swung the bottle with.
Maybe I should have wrapped a towel around my wrist before hitting him. I guess things really are different in actual combat.
She swallowed her rather murderous thoughts.
Grace was walking down the dark corridor when she suddenly stopped.
She turned her head.
Her reflection appeared in the pitch-black window.
Long, wavy golden hair.
Delicate features perfectly harmonizing with her small, slender face.
Soft, light-green eyes.
She was not particularly short, but her slender build made her look smaller than she actually was.
The maids praised her beauty every single day, but for a long time, Grace had not liked her appearance at all.
She had even tried wearing heavy makeup in an attempt to look intimidating, but she had only looked ridiculous, like a child pretending to be an adult.
When she had complained about how wonderful it would be if she could make someone’s knees tremble with nothing but her gaze, the master who had taught her how to hunt had laughed and said,
“If you ask me, Lady, you already possess a very fine weapon.”
“A weapon? My appearance?”
“When you’re trying to take down someone bigger than yourself, you mustn’t look strong. Usually, the strong-looking one dies first. You need to make your opponent completely lower their guard, and then strike them from behind.”
From that day onward, Grace made her appearance her weapon.
Like an innocent, sheltered noble lady who knew nothing of the world, she wore gentle expressions and behaved demurely.
No matter what insults were thrown at her, she translated them in her mind into the barking of a dog and simply let them pass.
As a result, the Duke and Duchess of Taylor came to regard Grace as nothing more than a useful pawn—something they could exploit and discard when they were finished with it.
They even left her to handle all the documents that required the head of the family’s confirmation and decisions.
Amidst their complete lack of vigilance, Grace patiently waited for the right moment while gathering information.
She was just about to start walking again when a mocking voice came from the end of the corridor.
“Your husband-to-be is quite a catch, isn’t he?”
Rosette Taylor, who looked remarkably like the Duchess of Taylor, approached her.
“He’s the nephew of Her Majesty the Empress, after all. You must be thrilled, Grace.”
Translate every insult into the barking of a dog.
As Grace repeated the words to herself out of habit, Rosette smiled brightly.
“You’ll be the Empress’s nephew’s wife starting tomorrow, won’t you?”
In her heart, Grace wanted nothing more than to throw ashes into that smiling face.
But she could not afford to ruin everything now.
Grace smiled faintly and tilted her head.
“Thank you, Rosette.”
Her elegant, gentle voice sounded almost sincerely grateful.
Rather than calming down, Rosette’s face twisted violently.
Grace always responded that way.
Even when someone said something that should have made her tremble with anger and snap back, she would simply answer with a smile.
That was what drove Rosette insane every single time.
There must have been more moments when Rosette had wanted to throw a stone at that noble face than there were grains of sand on a beach.
Rosette moved right up to Grace and spoke viciously.
“Yes, keep smiling like an idiot for the rest of your life. He’s a husband perfectly suited to you, so spend your whole life serving him and enduring everything.”
As she listened to Rosette’s insults, Grace thought,
I just swung a wine bottle at that future husband of mine.
“Don’t ever come back to Taylor, even after you die, Grace. This isn’t your home.”
“……”
“It’s mine.”
Rosette imitated Grace’s gentle manner of speaking as she whispered those words, then abruptly turned away.
Grace stood there motionless, staring at the place where Rosette had disappeared.
The expression that had become second nature to her remained peaceful even at a moment like this.
Even the little laugh that escaped her almost like a cough was closer to a smile than a mockery.
But there was one thing she simply could not endure.
Those words cut into her heart like a blade.
“‘My home’?”
Grace pressed her lips tightly together and began walking again.
How ridiculous.
Everything belonging to the Taylor ducal family.
Its people.
Its possessions.
Even a single sip of water from the rivers flowing through the territory, even a handful of its wind…
“None of it belongs to you.”
Her murmur, barely more than the shape of words upon her lips, was swallowed by the wind outside the window.
＊ ＊ ＊
Around that time, a stranger arrived in the Taylor territory.
His jet-black hair was neat and smooth, strangely immaculate for someone who had traveled through the night.
His features were exceptionally handsome, but the sharpness of his eyes made his overall impression seem severe.
The territory gatekeeper was overwhelmed by the extraordinary aura emanating from the tall man.
He did not even dare look directly at his face.
After merely checking his identification, he opened the gate.
The person accompanying the man grumbled quietly.
“Why did you even go to the trouble of creating a forged identity? You received an invitation, so you could have simply attended.”
At his adjutant Joseph Lexington’s complaint, Walter Richmond gave a small laugh and pulled a card from inside his coat.
To His Grace, the Duke of Richmond.
—From Grace Taylor.
The elegant handwriting suited its owner’s name remarkably well.
“I wondered whether this was really an invitation.”
“It says you’re invited to the wedding. Of course it’s an invitation.”
Walter shrugged and slipped the card back into his coat.
Then he looked up at Taylor Castle, which was shrouded in darkness, and murmured,
“Where have you ever heard of a bride personally sending an invitation?”
“……”
“She says that if I attend her wedding…”
Walter slowly blinked.
“…I’ll gain the sharpest blade capable of protecting my secret.”
He paused.
“And you still think this is merely a wedding invitation?”
Joseph scratched the back of his head, clearly unable to understand what his master was talking about.
Walter rubbed his chin with his fingertips, lost in thought.
The sharpest blade to protect his ‘secret’.
Just what could that mean?
What on earth did this woman know about him?
＊ ＊ ＊
Early the following morning, the enormous doors of the chapel inside Taylor Castle were thrown wide open.
Silver-white banners symbolizing holiness covered the chapel walls, while bouquets of lilies, symbols of purity and love, had been placed throughout the room.
The servants bustled about, busy making the final preparations for the perfect wedding ceremony.
Priests dispatched from the temple were also completely occupied with conducting the prayers for the ceremony that was about to begin.
The invited guests were likewise busy getting themselves ready.
A wedding at the historic Taylor Castle!
And since the groom-to-be was the young lord of the powerful Saxen family, the maternal family of the Empress, many people were filled with anticipation for the wedding that was soon to take place.
But at that very moment—
“How could you possibly have attended to your master so poorly?!”
With a sharp shout from the Countess of Saxen, the under-butler’s cheek was whipped violently to one side.
Apparently still unsatisfied, the Countess struck him across the face once more.
“I’m sorry.”
The Countess, who had been huffing angrily, turned toward her son.
Her furious expression transformed in an instant into one of deep concern as she let out a sorrowful sigh.
A bruise on that handsome face! And of all days, today!
There was a dark blue bruise around one of the young lord’s eyes and across his forehead.
A physician had hurriedly brought ointment to reduce the bruising and swelling, but because it made his skin shine, the bruise actually stood out even more.
And, perhaps because he had somehow developed a hangover he had not had before, Jack Saxen was suffering terribly from a pounding headache.
“How… How did this happen?”
The Countess asked with a miserable expression.
Jack Saxen was just as frustrated.
As was usually the case the morning after drinking, he could not remember a thing.
Apparently irritated by his mother’s concern, he replied curtly,
“Don’t worry about it.”
The Countess carefully examined the bruise on her son’s face and muttered,
“That bruise looks exactly like… some sort of disease.”
“Ah, I told you not to worry about it!”
At that, the Count of Saxen, who had been sitting on the sofa, suddenly exploded in anger.
“How can I not worry about it when you’re going into the chapel looking like that?! From the looks of it, you must have collapsed onto the table while drinking! You probably fell right onto a wine bottle, you stupid son!”
He glared at his son as though he were disgusted with him, then abruptly stood up.
“It’s too late to hide that face now! It’s time, so stop smearing that damn ointment on yourself and get ready! And you, stop dawdling and come out!”
Jack Saxen’s brow furrowed at his father’s harsh words, and a vicious aura emanated from him.
The Countess bit down hard on her lip, furious.
“They call themselves a ducal family, yet they can’t even manage their own castle properly! How could they allow such a large injury to be inflicted on the face of an honored guest?! And what about their young lady?! Do they even know what family Saxen is?! Her in-laws have arrived, and she hasn’t even bothered to show her face!!”
She cooled her heated face with a fan as she followed her husband out of the room.
“Once we return to our estate, I’ll have to teach that impudent girl the ways of the Saxen family!”
The Countess repeated several times that Saxen was the great family that had produced Her Majesty the Empress as she made her way toward the chapel.
She was so haughty and overbearing that even the noblewomen heading toward the chapel instinctively moved out of her way.
But when she arrived before the long corridor at the entrance of the chapel, even her confident stride came to a brief halt.
The distinguished guests who had been gathered in small groups chatting about the upcoming wedding all turned their eyes toward the same place.
Even the Duke and Duchess of Taylor, Lady Rosette, and the young Duke William turned their gazes in that direction.
A corridor ran in a straight line from the chapel’s main entrance.
Stretching across that corridor, a place that seemed to embody the long and prestigious history of the Taylor ducal family, the protagonist of this wedding was approaching.
