The next morning.
The knights of Del Marc stood in the training ground, pale-faced since the early hours.
“Argh!”
A comrade, unable to land a single counterattack, dropped his sword and tumbled to the frozen earth. Standing over him was Headrin.
Headrin looked down with icy eyes and gestured toward the perimeter of the field. A line of knights already waited there in a grueling penalty stance, their foreheads pressed against the dirt. They were the ones who had failed to mount even a decent defense during their sparring sessions.
“Next.”
At Headrin’s command, the next knight stepped forward, his face a mask of terror. The others watched him with the pained sympathy one reserves for a condemned prisoner walking to the scaffold.
They were trapped in a nightmare. A war hero. The only magic swordsman in the Empire to possess the power of divine beasts.
*Does a knight capable of defeating that man even exist? Not just in this Empire—in this entire continent?*
Those who had fought alongside Headrin on the battlefield knew the futility of this better than anyone. Landing even a single counterattack to avoid the penalty was considered a miracle. Usually, they would grumble about the Creator’s extreme favoritism while losing themselves in admiration of their Duke’s handsome face, but today, that face looked like the Grim Reaper’s.
One knight, currently praying for his predecessor’s survival, signaled to the man beside him.
“Hey, who is it?”
“What?”
“Who offended His Grace?”
“Offended him? We haven’t even seen him properly lately because of the wedding and the ceremonies.”
“Then why is our newlywed master, who should be enjoying his honeymoon, burning off his energy here at dawn?”
“Would you be in the mood to enjoy your honeymoon if you were forced to marry the daughter of your enemy?”
The point struck home. The bad blood between the Imperial Family and the Del Marc Duchy was common knowledge among the nobility.
The knight who had been nodding along suddenly exploded in frustration. “Then he should be taking his anger out on them! Why is he doing this to us?”
How should I know?
The knights shrugged in unison, then glanced toward their adjutant. *Does Ruth know?*
But Ruth merely shook his head, his expression as blank as theirs.
They were in the midst of being soundly beaten without even the mercy of knowing why when a stir went through the group. The knights at the edge of the training ground looked toward the entrance, their murmurs growing audible.
Headrin, having just downed another sparring partner, noticed the shift in atmosphere just as a small, polite cough echoed across the field.
Headrin turned. Blair was entering the training ground, accompanied by the butler.
“Mason, what brings you here?” Headrin asked, though his eyes remained fixed on Blair.
Blair answered for him. “I greeted the servants yesterday, but I wasn’t able to see everyone. I had a bit of spare time before heading to the Imperial Palace, so I thought I would stop by and introduce myself.”
They were briefly captivated by her beauty, but no one moved to welcome her.
*Did she come here to play the role of our mistress, too?*
Though they were physically broken from Headrin’s onslaught, they remained a brotherhood forged in war. The deeper their loyalty to Headrin, the stronger their instinctual resistance toward a member of the Imperial Family.
Was she naive, or just foolish? Headrin watched her, then stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension.
“You have all likely seen her face in passing, but I presume you haven’t been formally introduced.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping over them. “Greet her. This is the Duchess you will be serving from now on.”
As their liege stepped forward, the skeptical knights bowed, at least in form.
“The loyal blades of Del Marc offer our formal greetings to the Duchess.”
“It is nice to meet you, too,” Blair replied, her smile bright. But her eyes—carefully scanning each of their faces—remained eerily still. “Thank you for welcoming me despite my sudden visit. I look forward to working with you all.”
In truth, Blair had another purpose for being here. In her previous life, she had exhausted herself trying to earn their respect, only to be met with hatred. She no longer cared for their approval; these were people she would never see again once the contract ended.
The real reason she had come was darker.
*One of them might be the person who killed me.*
The Del Marc Duchy was one of the three great duchies of the Empire, and their knights possessed skills rivaling the Imperial Guards. The assassin who had breached the villa’s security was highly skilled—or someone who had easy access to the estate.
She had suspected Headrin, but perhaps the culprit was one of his men. She knew the servants, but the knights were strangers to her. If the killer was among them, she might not have recognized him during the chaos of her final moments.
She had come to look for herself, hoping against hope that the killer wasn’t here, that Headrin was innocent. But the mere thought of facing her murderer—or discovering her husband’s involvement—left her breathless, her blood running cold. Her hands trembled. She wanted to run.
*No. If I run, nothing changes.*
Blair gripped her hands together, forcing them to be still. She focused on the memory of that day, scouring the faces before her.
*The man had a hideous scar across the bridge of his nose.*
She couldn’t examine everyone in detail, but a man with such a mark should be easy to spot. She scanned the ranks quickly.
*…He’s not here.*
She let out a silent, ragged sigh of relief. The possibility of Headrin’s involvement felt thinner now.
Just then, Ruth approached Headrin. “Your Grace. It is time to prepare for the luncheon.”
Butler Mason withdrew to handle the arrangements, and after concluding the brief, awkward meeting, Headrin, Blair, and Ruth exited the training ground.
Walking beside Headrin, Blair noticed the beads of sweat on his brow and instinctively offered her handkerchief. “You might catch a cold.”
Headrin refused her with a sharp look. “I am fine.”
His tone was polite, but his rejection was absolute. Ruth, walking behind them, felt a bead of cold sweat trace his own spine. Blair, however, seemed entirely unfazed; she simply tucked the handkerchief away, her expression unchanged.
*Who would look at them and think they are a newlywed couple?* Ruth mused, his heart aching for the Duchess despite his loyalties.
Silence stretched between them as they made their way toward the main residence.
*Was the estate always this far?* Blair wondered, wishing for anything to break the chilling quiet.
Suddenly, a small shadow burst from the nearby bushes, colliding with Blair at high speed.
“Daddy-da! Huh?”
It was a small child, barely three, likely having escaped the servant’s annex. Ruth gasped in horror. He knew that while his liege was generous to his subordinates, most nobles would fly into a rage if their dignity were slighted—especially a member of the Imperial Family, and even more so if she were of Katrina’s bloodline.
Ruth hurried forward, scooping up the fallen child and bowing his head in apology. “I apologize, Your Grace! He must have slipped away from his mother. I will take him back and—”
“I am fine.”
Blair knelt, bringing herself to the child’s level. She brushed the dirt from his tunic and smiled. “Are you okay, little one?”
“Un.”
“What is your name?”
“Jeremy.”
“I see, Jeremy. You didn’t cry even after falling down. You are a very brave boy.”
“Hehe.”
The child beamed, a pure, unclouded smile—a stark contrast to the fear and disdain she usually encountered in the duchy. Blair smiled back, a genuine, soft expression that she had not allowed herself since returning to the past.
Ruth stood, stunned and ashamed of his own assumption that she would push the boy away. Beside him, Headrin stared at the two of them, dumbfounded.
*I thought she was a doll because she never showed any emotion.*
Was she actually a woman who could smile like that?
Under the pale winter sunlight, her smile seemed to shimmer, reflected against the patches of snow in the garden. She looked almost luminous, her porcelain skin glowing.
Headrin watched her, unable to pull his gaze away, his heart stalling in his chest.