Chapter 195
Reading the report Dora handed her, Nerys murmured thoughtfully.
“Twenty years ago. No other absences since then?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Other than that, she’s always appeared at social gatherings in the capital every few days without fail. They say that’s also when she began taking the medicine.”
That meant that among the Marquis of Lykeandros’s two children—Megara and her younger brother—only Megara could be Rebecca’s child.
Megara’s younger brother, now thirteen, was the marquis’s heir, but he had always been frail and timid, so unlike his sister. Nerys had once thought them an oddly mismatched pair.
Shortly after the boy’s birth, the marchioness had died. She had always been delicate, so people assumed she’d simply failed to recover from the second childbirth—though she had miraculously survived the first.
“Could the marquis have murdered his wife? To hide the truth that the child was born of his mistress?”
“It’s possible. But the marchioness’s death itself wasn’t suspicious. She had been weak since childhood—people said it was a miracle she’d survived her first childbirth at all. Before the young marquis was born, she was already bedridden most days.”
“I see.”
According to Dora—and the report Talfrin had compiled with her—Rebecca had first come to the capital twenty-one years ago and soon fallen in love with the then–young Marquis of Lykeandros, who was already married.
At that time, he had been wed for four years but still had no children.
Nerys could easily imagine the pressure he and his wife must have been under. In noble houses of such ancient lineage, the demand for heirs was relentless. She herself had been treated the same way from the day she married Abelus—viewed as a vessel meant to bear the next emperor.
That narrative had only changed once years passed without a child, and she’d been declared barren.
Still, luck had favored the young marchioness. Soon after her husband’s affair became the talk of society, she went to the countryside to “recover her health.” A few months later, she returned—with a baby in her arms. That baby was Megara.
The child had inherited noble violet eyes and a strong constitution. Around the same time, Rebecca also happened to vanish from social circles for a while—but no one paid attention.
After all, everyone was too busy celebrating the long-awaited birth of the young marquis’s heir. Who cared what became of some common mistress?
And since the marchioness herself claimed the child as her own, no one questioned it.
That was why no one had ever suspected Megara might be Rebecca’s daughter.
“And the current young marquis—he ‘is’ the legitimate wife’s child?”
“Yes. He was born at the Lykeandros estate in the capital. Many witnessed the birth firsthand, so there’s no doubt.”
“Then the picture’s clear enough.”
Nerys leaned back, her eyes thoughtful. Whatever the marchioness had truly felt, her decision to claim another woman’s child as her own had brought her tangible benefits.
Proof of fertility. Strengthened alliance between noble houses. And a temporary reprieve from her husband’s coldness.
Had she been in the same position, Nerys might have done the same—if not for the physician’s verdict she herself had once received.
She knew better than anyone what became of noblewomen who failed to bear children. Had the marchioness stayed childless beside an unfaithful husband, her end would have been far crueller.
Dora didn’t question Nerys’s reasoning, though she frowned slightly in puzzlement.
“Even so, it was still her husband’s mistress’s child. As a highborn lady, wouldn’t she have hated the idea of claiming it? Did the marquis bribe her?”
“Perhaps. But even without bribery—if she’d been married for four years without a child, and was already frail—she must have known her position was at risk. The marquis’s family might have demanded a divorce. And from her point of view, divorce could’ve been worse—she’d lose her rank, and her next marriage, if any, would be beneath her.”
There were historical precedents for such arrangements. To maintain a marriage, noble couples sometimes passed off a mistress’s child as the wife’s own.
It rarely stayed secret forever, of course. The child would grow up resembling the wrong woman, or one of the parties would eventually confess. If the marchioness had lived longer, she might have done the same—especially after bearing a legitimate son later.
Nerys’s lips curved faintly. The reason the marquis hadn’t pushed to make Megara the Crown Princess was now obvious. The imperial family’s investigators would never fail to uncover the truth.
Better to have a noblewoman ensnare the crown prince’s heart than risk ruin for the family.
“Tell Talfrin to start securing connections—enough to quietly leak this information to Natasha Grünehals when the time is right. But not yet.”
A clever girl like Megara deserved a more exquisite downfall. Let her climb higher before she fell.
❖ ❖ ❖
Megara quickly noticed that her father’s attitude had changed.
It was impossible not to. The Marquis of Lykeandros, who had always indulged his daughter’s every whim, had become uncharacteristically strict in recent days.
And she had a good idea why.
“So, what you’re saying, Father, is that I’ve behaved improperly toward His Highness?”
“Do you really need to ask?”
The marquis was sweating. He had been uneasy ever since being summoned to the imperial palace that morning.
That alone was strange. As one of the most esteemed marquises in the empire, he was a regular guest at the palace. Why should a summons trouble him so?
Megara pictured a certain face with violet eyes—smiling sweetly, infuriatingly.
“Did you, by any chance, meet the Grand Duchess?”
Her tone sharpened. The marquis grimaced.
“No. What would ‘she’ be doing at court? Don’t talk nonsense. Just… be careful.”
“You mean, I shouldn’t speak to His Highness at all? Father, that’s absurd. I’m a marquis’s daughter, and he’s the crown prince—the center of the court! How could we ‘not’ converse? What have I even done?”
She and Abelus had grown rather close lately. Natasha might glare daggers at them, but even she couldn’t stay by the prince’s side every moment—and Megara knew how to seize every opportunity.
Her angelic face, her gentle smile, her instinct for saying exactly what people wanted to hear—it was impossible not to be drawn to her.
She had spent her life under admiring gazes; she could read affection as easily as breathing. And Abelus’s eyes held unmistakable interest.
Still, nothing had happened yet that anyone could call scandalous. Even Natasha, for all her suspicion, hadn’t found grounds to confront her.
After all, Abelus and Natasha weren’t officially engaged, and Megara hadn’t overtly interfered. There was nothing to reproach her for—so why was her father suddenly policing her?
She smiled brightly, feigning innocence. The marquis rubbed his cold hands together, anxious.
He knew too well how dazzlingly beautiful his daughter had become, her looks only growing more striking each year. Fortunately, though she resembled her real mother in some ways, his own features had softened that resemblance.
Those noble lines, that perfect grace, those violet eyes—no one would dare draw a connection between the esteemed Lady Megara and that foolish, clownish woman Rebecca Shirley.
Even his legitimate son, the current young marquis, lacked the same aristocratic bearing.
But peace like this was fragile.
Megara could have had any man in high society. Families would welcome an alliance with the Lykeandros name—and with her unmatched charm. Her children would have secured the family’s future for generations.
But the Crown Prince—he was forbidden. The moment she aimed for the imperial family, the secret intelligence branch would begin its investigation.
Then everything would crumble—his precious daughter’s happiness, his own reputation.
“Don’t try to brush this off, Meg. Are you saying the Crown Prince’s sudden visit to that poetry salon had ‘nothing’ to do with you?”
“Oh, Father, really? His Highness’s mother, the Empress, adores classical poetry—it’s only natural he’d take an interest. Besides, we were seated in different groups, remember?”
“I arranged it that way! Otherwise, would you have sat beside him all afternoon?”
“Of course not, Father. You’re reading too much into things. I was simply attending a salon.”
No amount of reasoning helped.
The marquis continued to warn her to keep her distance from the prince, while Megara smiled as though confused by his concern, protesting her innocence.
How could anyone scold that sweet, innocent face for long? He loved her too much.
At last, having made his point as firmly as he could, the marquis sighed.
He knew Camille’s temper. The young and the lowborn still thought her a quiet lady, but the great houses feared her.
When she’d summoned him that morning, his blood had run cold. Did she know? Had she discovered Megara’s parentage? Would she expose it, forcing him into obedience?
Fortunately, it seemed she didn’t know—yet. She had merely offered “friendly advice.”
‘Do not stir trouble where plans have already been laid.’
He would do anything for his daughter. Truly anything. He loved her too deeply to bear losing her. He even cherished Rebecca still—born of long familiarity, comfort, and undeniable affection.
He cared for his son too, of course. But his feelings for Rebecca and Megara were something entirely different.
If things continued as planned, happiness awaited them all. Once his son was engaged, he would marry Rebecca at last, and Megara would rise to prominence—perhaps even rivaling the Duchess of Ganielo.
The Crown Prince could flirt with whomever he pleased, as long as it wasn’t ‘his’ beloved daughter.
He couldn’t tell Megara any of this, of course. She knew nothing of her true birth. But she was clever enough to know when to step back. He hoped she would.
Megara, gazing at her father’s worried face, suppressed a sigh of irritation.
Her father was hopelessly small-minded. No ambition, no courage. No wonder he’d let a ‘commoner’ into their house and burdened his children with mockery.
And now, when his daughter was poised to become Crown Princess, he flinched like a coward instead of celebrating.
It was pathetic.
If he’d had any real vision, she wouldn’t be wasting her youth in a tedious engagement with ‘Colin Ganielo’. That ridiculous arrangement had already dragged on far too long—and for what? To end up marrying a ‘second son’?
The thought filled her with fury.
If that’s how it was going to be, she would reject the engagement herself.
By the time she returned to the Academy, Megara Lykeandros would no longer be a marquis’s daughter—she would be the future Empress.