Chapter 194

“No, not exactly. She said it was for restorative medicine—she was being rather picky about what suited her body and what didn’t. Some of the ingredients are hard to find these days, so I mentioned that, and she said she was willing to pay extra. She didn’t look well at all, though. She also asked us to keep the purpose of her purchase a secret.”

So Rebecca was the type to be particular about her health. Nerys considered sending some medicinal herbs to her through Talfrin. It would make it easier to get closer.

Just then, Joan checked the door and, lowering her voice confidentially, said,

“I heard something quietly from someone in the pharmaceutical department, Your Grace. The ingredients Lady Shirley requested are the sort typically prescribed to women whose bodies have weakened after childbirth.”

“What? Then she isn’t buying them for someone else?”

Nerys had never heard of Rebecca having a child—neither in her past life nor this one. Could it be for someone close to her who had recently given birth?

“No, from the way she spoke, it sounded like she’s been taking them herself for quite some time. That’s why she came here in secret and swore us to confidentiality—because she’s had a child out of wedlock.”

Of course, Rebecca likely didn’t realize that “confidentiality” didn’t apply to Nerys.

This was, after all, the woman who would become Megara’s stepmother. Could that be why the marquis had married Rebecca—to legitimize a child born earlier? Nerys smiled sharply.

“Rebecca’s been famous in society for quite some time now. And since she’s not a noble, she doesn’t have to retreat to her estate each season like they do. Dora, tell Talfrin to investigate her recent and past activities until we find a clue. See if she’s ever disappeared for several months at a strange time—or if any of her acquaintances suddenly claimed to have given birth.”

Joan immediately bowed.

“Yes, my lady.”

Megara had a much younger brother. The marquis’s wife—born of an old, noble line—had long since passed away, but both children had grown up adored by their father.

But if Rebecca truly had given birth once—

There were countless possibilities, given that no one even knew whether the child was alive or who they were. Yet Nerys sensed instinctively that this information could become a powerful weapon to exact the blood price owed from her past life.

❖ ❖ ❖

“Lady Shirley.”

Amidst the bustle and chatter of the shop, Rebecca heard a calm, refined voice call her name—one that seemed to pierce directly through the noise to her ears. She turned, already feeling a faint admiration for whoever could command attention so effortlessly.

And when she saw who it was, she understood. ‘Of course it would be her.’ Such nobility seemed innate to that woman.

No wonder the Grand Duke had married someone with Jeweled Eyes.

Though Rebecca was a commoner moving within noble circles, she understood that world better than most. No matter how one tried to imitate them, true aristocrats possessed a natural elegance—an instinctual poise born of generations of refinement.

Those without it could receive polite words, yes—but never true acceptance.

Just as the Marquis of Lykeandros, though he had treated her as a wife for years, had never formally proposed marriage.

Rebecca understood his position. His children weren’t yet engaged, and as a great noble, he couldn’t risk his family’s reputation by marrying beneath his station.

But what about ‘her’ position? Had all her endurance been for such cold calculation?

After all she’d done—for him, for their child—was this what she deserved?

Resentment had begun to take root lately, especially after the arrival of her new maid, who’d muttered under her breath, ‘“I never imagined the famous Lady Rebecca would be treated this way.”’

But in the presence of one of the Empire’s most exalted women, such thoughts vanished. Rebecca curtsied deeply.

“Your Grace.”

“Were you here to buy something?”

She couldn’t understand why such a highborn woman would address her so casually. Rebecca answered carefully—her purchase was a secret, after all.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Forgive me for startling you. It’s just that—I hardly know anyone in the capital, you see. I rarely visit shops like these, and when I saw a familiar face, I simply wanted to greet you.”

A familiar face? The fact that the Grand Duchess even recognized her was surprising. They had only met once—at a masked ball.

Rebecca had recognized Nerys instantly, of course; there was only one woman in the world with those violet Jeweled Eyes. But how had ‘she’ recognized Rebecca?

A twinge of unease stirred in her chest. Rebecca regarded the Grand Duchess warily.

Background investigations among nobles were nothing new. That in itself wasn’t alarming. But to approach someone after doing so—pretending it was coincidence—always had a purpose. And Rebecca was well aware that the Grand Duchess despised Megara.

Yet despite a commoner’s bold gaze, Nerys only smiled serenely—as if Rebecca’s suspicions were of no consequence to her.

Their eyes met. Nerys’s voice was gentle as she continued,

“It was mere chance that I recognized you. Everyone has their own distinct way of walking, you know. Your gait and figure were the same as at the masquerade, so I called out your name—and you turned around, didn’t you?”

Now that she mentioned it, yes—Rebecca found that perfectly reasonable. And what had felt like suspicion quickly turned to conviction.

Of course. That explanation made sense.

As Rebecca’s focus wavered slightly, Nerys kept her gaze steady and spoke softly,

“The gown you wore last time suited you beautifully. If you don’t mind, could you tell me what’s fashionable in the capital these days? Only if you have time, of course.”

That seemed natural enough. And even if it weren’t, who would dare refuse such a request? Flustered but unable to help herself, Rebecca nodded.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Then shall we have some tea together?”

In an instant, the Grand Duchess had linked arms with her—close enough to seem like affectionate sisters.

They walked naturally toward the Moriér shop’s tearoom, surrounded by Nerys’s maid and attendants, who subtly formed a buffer so that no one could overhear their conversation.

“I heard you’re about the same age as my mother. If you’d married early, you might have had a child my age by now. I married quite young, so I’m curious—have you never wished to marry and have children?”

Mentioning age so directly was impolite—especially between those who weren’t close. And the Grand Duchess was certainly not someone ignorant of etiquette.

Yet Rebecca didn’t find the question strange. For some reason, her thoughts were hazy.

Her body had been weak ever since childbirth, made worse by poor recovery. Whenever fatigue hit, it was unbearable.

Was that why the memory of ‘that child’ came to her now?

“I don’t believe marriage is something one must pursue,” she replied cautiously, trying to avoid speaking about her child. But the Grand Duchess smiled and met her eyes again.

Those deep, violet eyes—

She felt herself being drawn in.

“Of course, it isn’t necessary. I was merely asking about your personal feelings. You can tell me, can’t you? I hardly know anyone here, and I’m not one to spread idle talk.”

It sounded perfectly reasonable.

“…I… once dreamed,” Rebecca murmured, “that the child born from love could stand proudly before God—that what others called our relationship would be a word of blessing and recognition, not scorn or shame…”

“You mean, if you had a child, you wished they wouldn’t be called illegitimate. Naturally—any mother would.”

“Yes… Your Grace… and that I could say the child was beautiful and clever because they took after me…”

“That’s all imagination, isn’t it? Go on—imagine freely. How beautiful would your child be? If they resembled you, surely they’d be lovely, whether son or daughter.”

“If it were a daughter… she’d have golden hair, rich and honey-colored… and violet eyes, like a field of violets… My mother had that hair, and my great-aunt those eyes. If fortune smiled on her, she’d be born with both—loved by all who saw her. And… she’d have a red birthmark on her thigh. The women in our family always do, strangely enough…”

Rebecca had little awareness of what she was saying—and when she finished, she didn’t even remember. She only felt overwhelmingly tired, as if wrapped in fog.

Later, when she sat in the tearoom sipping cooled, sweetened tea with the Grand Duchess, her mind was occupied with trivial things—like the shape of hats currently in fashion in the capital.

It was only then, as her clarity returned, that she found it odd—how rigid the Grand Duchess’s expression had become.

❖ ❖ ❖

“Have you completely lost your mind?”

Abelus was generally respectful toward his elder sister. Since she had been born before him but never granted the position of Crown Princess, he felt he owed her understanding and deference.

But at times like this, his sister had a remarkable talent for infuriating him.

“What are you talking about, Sister?”

“Don’t play dumb! The entire continent already knows you’re to marry Natasha Grünehals! Duke Grünehals is finalizing the marriage terms with Father as we speak—and you’re still fooling around elsewhere? How many times have I told you not to make enemies among the nobles?!”

Ah, so that’s what this was about. Megara again.

Abelus thought it ridiculous that he’d come all the way to the First Princess’s palace just to be scolded. Time was precious—what a waste to spend it listening to her nagging.

As he picked idly at his ear, Camille’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“If you keep this up, you’ll make enemies in the court! Do you think Duke Grünehals will just watch while his daughter is humiliated? And what about Natasha’s brother, Eustace? That fool would sell his family if his sister told him to!”

Abelus gave a small laugh and waved her off.

“Oh, Sister. It’s not like I said I wouldn’t marry her. As long as his daughter becomes Crown Princess, the duke will hold his tongue.”

“And why must he ‘have’ to hold his tongue?!”

“I have my own plans. Honestly, hasn’t the duke been far too stiff lately? I just want to stir things up a little—make the nobles nervous.”

“Nervous?”

Camille could hardly believe her ears. Abelus continued smugly,

“I want them to think that anyone loyal enough to the royal family could earn the chance to make their daughter Crown Princess. That way, the duke will be more eager to please us.”

To the untrained ear, it might have sounded reasonable. People worked hardest for rewards they believed were within reach.

Except, of course, when you snatched away a reward that had already been promised—then all that effort turned into resentment.

While Camille gaped in disbelief, Abelus stood, still smirking.

“Sister, my marriage is being handled by Father and Mother. You don’t need to worry yourself. If you’re bored, perhaps you should get married too. I’m not a child, and as the future emperor, I don’t need your permission to assert my influence among the nobles.”

With that, he left.

Alone in her reception room, Camille clenched her teeth in rage. A moment later, she summoned her trusted aide.

“Tell the Marquis of Lykeandros that I wish to see him—immediately.”