The crime was established, the testimonies were overwhelming, and above all, the Grand Duke himself was an eyewitness. Naturally, the execution was set to proceed.
However, as public opinion is rarely uniform, murmurs of dissent began the moment the notice of the head maid’s execution was posted.
“Even so, is execution necessary? She’s the woman who raised His Highness since he was a child.”
“Get a grip. Didn’t you say, ‘She shouldn’t have done that,’ when she was acting so rudely toward the Grand Duchess? If she isn’t executed, the House of Ostain or the Imperial family will react immediately. What do you expect them to do?”
Those who had witnessed the banquet—who knew the gravity of forcing a Grand Duchess to consume poison until she hovered between life and death—stood by the Grand Duke’s judgment.
“Honestly, I wondered if the head maid had lost her mind. Even if she is a Baroness, the Windgood family was never particularly prominent. How could she treat a lady of the House of Ostain like that?”
That was the crux of the problem. Before Kaella’s collapse, her refusal to eat the Tur Berry-laced Perenko might have been dismissed as the arrogance of a prickly Southern lady with no real standing. But now, with the Grand Duchess fighting for her life after being subjected to such a coercive environment, the situation had shifted entirely.
The House of Ostain would not stay silent, nor would the Imperial family. In a land like Lyussenford, where the winter was mercilessly long, support from Krain was vital. The matter had to be handled with absolute firmness.
“Still, she is effectively the nanny who carried the Grand Duke on her back, even if she didn’t nurse him.”
“A nanny? What nonsense. She wasn’t even appointed by Her Majesty the Empress; she’s been playing mother-in-law on her own whim. The woman was deranged.”
“But shouldn’t we consider her past contributions and show some leniency? She couldn’t have known it would go that far.”
To the people of Lyussenford, the head maid’s actions were framed as an unfortunate oversight. More importantly, they felt that the merit of having raised the Grand Duke was being rendered meaningless by a newcomer like the Lady of Ostain. For the people of Lyussenford, who perpetually felt that no amount of sacrifice or endurance was ever recognized by Krain, this was a bitter pill to swallow.
Kaella, an outsider who had never been accepted, understood this perfectly.
“The investigation is complete. The execution is scheduled for tomorrow morning.”
Peon had entered quietly to check on her condition, but his words left her aghast.
Execution? Whose? The head maid’s?
“I am deeply sorry to burden you with such harsh news so soon after waking, but it is the natural consequence of her actions.”
Peon spoke with a firm, measured tone. Kaella, barely propped up by a mountain of pillows, stared at him in disbelief.
Was this really the same man she knew? Doubts gnawed at her. How could he speak of a life ending so casually?
“The head maid?”
Peon nodded.
“You’re executing her?”
Peon felt a flicker of regret as he watched Kaella, who had slipped into informal speech before hastily correcting herself.
“She must be the first to face judgment.”
“Why?”
She was so startled the question slipped out. As she had predicted—or rather, as she had already experienced—the orbit of their lives, which should have turned in a predictable path, was veering wildly off course. The situation was erratic, and unpredictability was a terrifying thing.
The hope that “this time it will be better” was a luxury she couldn’t afford; she was filled only with the dread of, “How much worse will it become?”
“I’m the one who ate it…”
Her voice was thin, strangled.
“I could have chosen not to eat it, but I…”
If she had spent years being glared at for her refusal, the price for having finally consumed it would be even steeper. This was why she should have died earlier. If she had simply died, wouldn’t everything have been resolved?
Lyussenford would not have escaped the consequences of murdering a Grand Duchess. That was how the cycle was meant to end, and she felt a surge of resentment toward Peon for preventing it.
She glared at him, but when she met his eyes—filled with an unexpected, raw shock—she realized her mistake.
“…I only meant that is what many people will think.”
Collecting herself, Kaella attempted a salvage. Would he ever understand? She had only ever thought of death since arriving in Lyussenford. She bit her trembling lips.
“…I know this was a terrifying, unprecedented experience for you.”
His low voice was slow, cautious. The violet eyes studying her pale face were stripped of the cold, indifferent distance she was accustomed to.
“I am truly sorry you had to endure something so horrific. It is my fault.”
For the first time, Kaella received a sincere, respectful apology from Peon.
“And this matter must be addressed clearly.”
After a pause, he added firmly, “You have done nothing wrong, my lady. None at all. You have no responsibility to bear. Please, do not say such things again.”
The Grand Duchess had done nothing wrong. The statement was absolute. Kaella, her face hollowed by illness, watched him as he stood his ground.
“You have done nothing wrong.”
There was only one reason for this man’s change.
*He’s acting like this because my father is still alive.*
Right. The Grand Duke of Lyussenford could not afford to alienate the Duke of Ostain. Kaella, who had never possessed a reliable parental home, finally realized the weight of such a family. She had mourned her lack of one, and now that it existed, the head maid—a woman Kaella had never been able to touch—was being executed immediately.
Kaella lifted her head and looked toward the maids who had accompanied her from Ostain. She had to build a bridge to send those girls home safely while her family’s power still held sway. She had responsibilities now.
“I heard she is the one who raised you.”
“That is true. But it was merely her duty as a subject.”
“Is that not a great merit?”
Kaella was surprised to hear herself defending the woman, but the words slipped out with disturbing ease.
“Please, spare her life.”
“We have not been married long, and I am still an outsider here. It is not auspicious to be shedding blood so soon.”
She had learned the art of self-deprecation and restraint until she was sick of it—or rather, she had been forced to master it in her past life. In Lyussenford, she had always been the one looked down upon.
“I am grateful for your firm judgment, but wouldn’t it be a better start to show mercy rather than execution?”
In this harsh land, she needed to create an act of grace. If she saved someone of Lyussenford, it might serve as a shield when she eventually tried to send her maids away and secure a painless death for herself.
Peon shook his head.
“It is a generous proposal, but I cannot accept. How dare she commit such an act against the Grand Duchess? I intend to use this moment to permanently set the discipline of our social circle.”
He had to shed blood so that no one would dare look down on his young wife again. Peon had no intention of repeating his past leniency. He had shown enough tolerance before the regression, and they had only taken it for granted. He would cut the rot out now, with a single stroke.
“We haven’t been married long; having an execution during a time of celebration is ill-advised. Please, consider the merit of her years of service. Spare her life, confiscate her titles and property, and be done with it. As for her insolence toward me, I have already forgiven her.”
The words flowed smoothly. It was the speech of a generous, sheltered Grand Duchess who had never known hardship. Kaella was impressed by her own performance.
“The Grand Duchess is merciful.”
*Merciful, my foot.* She snorted inwardly. It wasn’t mercy; it was a desperate, fearful heart—one that didn’t want to witness an execution she herself had been denied. Whether the death was painful or peaceful, it was still an end. She didn’t want to grant the head maid the “end” that she herself so craved.
Or perhaps, it was a petty desire for revenge against the woman who had made her life a misery, ensuring that every person managing the castle inventory remained loyal only to her.
Kaella knew the head maid’s pride, dignity, and honor were all tethered to Peon. Stripping her of that—stripping her of everything—was a far more satisfying vengeance.
“Understood. I will… spare her life.”
Peon relented, but only to the extent of her life.
One could argue that the head maid before Kaella’s previous death and the current one were different, but their essence was the same. A woman who tried to break the Grand Duchess from the first day deserved no quarter. People rarely changed.
“And the food containing Tur Berry will never again be served in this house.”
Kaella was surprised by the sudden decree.
“Is that acceptable?”
“The people who claim it is an important tradition only eat it once a year. What kind of tradition is that?”
He swallowed the bitter words that it was merely a fuss over a plant that wouldn’t kill you if you simply left it alone.
“True tradition is what you and I, the Grand Duke and Duchess, create together. Let us research new dishes for our banquets. I will replace the head chef; choose whomever you like.”
They were the words of an affectionate husband comforting his young wife.
“Before that, focus on your recovery. I want you to be healthy.”
Peon said it with absolute sincerity. He wanted Kaella, who seemed ready to collapse at any moment, to be healthy. He wanted her to be well enough to leave Lyussenford.
“Thank you.”
Even if her reply was strictly professional.
･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ･
Three days later, the Grand Duchess had recovered enough to issue her decree: she had spared the head maid’s life in recognition of her long service. She did not die for the sake of the newly married couple, but she was stripped of everything—property, title, and influence.
The minor staff who had sympathized with the poisoning were executed, receiving no such grace from the Grand Duchess. The head maid, however, was banished.
Where could she go? To the South? The crime of insulting the House of Ostain and the Imperial family would become a death sentence the moment she crossed the border. There was no place for her in all of Krania. She had no choice but to go further North—to the lands of the dragon Gwasalante, or the unforgiving wilderness of the different races.
“There will surely be those who help her in exile,” the secretary muttered, laying out blueprints before Peon. “She has deep influence. She’ll be hidden, protected.”
Peon, immersed in his work, finally looked up.
“She did.”
That was the problem. She had built that influence by favoring sycophants and harassing the rest. Peon’s mind wandered to the events preceding the regression, tracing every moment from Kaella’s collapse to the present.
“Above all, the Imperial family will know. They must already know. It is impossible to avoid the Emperor’s eyes.”
Lyussenford was crawling with spies—traitors selling information for coin and status. It was a suffocating, grueling life.
“No, they don’t know yet. It will be discovered soon, but not as quickly as you think.”
The secretary looked at the Grand Duke, bewildered. “Pardon? But does the Emperor not possess the magic tool that sees all?”
“He cannot use it for the time being.”
The secretary’s expression shifted instantly. “Is that true? Is that why you ordered the mine development?”
“Yes.”
The secretary let out a long, shuddering breath of relief. He didn’t dare ask further.
“Understood. I will expedite the work. It is such a relief to finally be free of those watching eyes.”
It was the truth. The Emperor, having no inherent magical talent, relied entirely on the artifacts he had hoarded in Krania. The fallen Empress had been found in a room filled with those very tools, allegedly trying to catch a glimpse of her distant son. The Emperor, meanwhile, had used them to obsessively monitor Peon’s every move during his battles against the dragon.
It was a suffocating existence. Beatrice, his mother—whom he thought he had to save—the Emperor’s relentless gaze, and the dragon’s encroachment. It was all too much. And Kaella, who constantly shattered the focus he fought so hard to maintain, was an exhausting variable.
That fatigue stemmed from the fact that she effortlessly broke his composure, and yet, he could not touch her. How draining was it to constantly re-establish his center, to keep his mind sharp, to ignore his heart as it flowed toward her, and to loathe his own blood—the blood that defined him as an illegitimate child?
*Her Highness the Grand Duchess…*
Even the mention of her name by the head maid, wrapped in faux-concern, gave him a migraine. The head maid had known exactly how to trigger him, and she had used it to fuel her own petty authority.
Looking back, he realized the woman had been terrified. She was afraid that a lady more sophisticated and educated than her would arrive and strip away the power she had held for twenty years. Like an old guard unable to accept the passing of time, she had chosen to view Kaella as a threat to her very existence.
And Kaella? Did she even know?
“Lezen.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Did the exile say that I was bewitched by a woman?”
“How did you know? She collapsed upon hearing of her banishment and began spewing such nonsense.”
Her true face had finally emerged in the face of death.
“She dares to speak of things even my mother would not touch.”
“She should be grateful for the rest of her life that Her Highness showed her mercy.”
“Well. Call Rolf.”
To dare to think of the Grand Duke as if he were her own son. To dare to compare herself to a noble lady.
Peon had not forgotten that such vipers remained within the castle walls. And he had not forgotten that, in the end, he was the target that needed to be completely removed from Kaella’s life.