Chapter 198
“To barge in without notice—did the Grand Duke say that’s acceptable for someone of your standing?”
Though the Duchess’s tone was reproachful, if she had truly been displeased, she wouldn’t have seated Nerys Truydd in the reception room or served her tea.
Watching the older woman’s lips touch the teacup with graceful ease, Nerys spoke bluntly.
“Duchess, are you aware that the women who’ve met with His Highness the Crown Prince have fallen ill?”
From Nerys’s perspective, there were only two people who had both motive and ability to target women involved with Abelus.
Camille.
And Natasha.
Camille took pride in her imperial blood and despised anything beyond her control. It wouldn’t be impossible for her to do something like that to ensure a flawless alliance between House Grünehals and the Imperial Family.
Natasha, on the other hand, loved Abelus and hated every woman who approached him. The fact that she had once gone so far as to orchestrate Nerys’s kidnapping upon hearing news of her engagement showed how persistent—and how bold—she was.
Between the two, who was more likely the culprit…
“Natasha Grünehals is the one.”
The Duchess’s sardonic tone confirmed Nerys’s suspicions.
Nerys tried to stay composed, but as she lifted her cup, it clinked awkwardly against the saucer—a sound she would never normally make.
“So that’s why you came to me?”
“Yes. I thought only you would know, Duchess.”
She could have stormed directly into House Grünehals, but that would have drawn too much attention. It could even be a trap.
And, truthfully, she wasn’t sure she could stop herself from killing Natasha on sight.
That was why she’d come here instead—to the Duchess, who would never repeat Camille’s words mindlessly and who knew the dark histories of the old noble houses.
As expected, the Duchess spoke as though it were common knowledge.
“House Grünehals possesses a truly vile substance. A poison—subtle, yet capable of destroying a life completely. Useful for them, I suppose.”
A poison. Of course.
Nerys tightened her grip on the handle of her cup as her head spun.
Memories of her previous life flashed before her—of the rare times she and Natasha had exchanged words: in the temple, in the palace, in the royal gardens…
After the failed abduction incident, Natasha had seemed to accept reality. When Nerys and Abelus’s engagement became official, Natasha had even behaved courteously in public.
It must have been shortly before the wedding.
“Soon you’ll be Crown Princess, Lady Elandria.”
She had hidden her bitterness well. At a party hosted by the Duke of Elandria, Natasha had smiled sweetly, offering a glass as though she bore no resentment at all.
At that time, Natasha was preparing to marry a foreign prince. Nerys had been afraid—of Natasha and of Eustace, who stood proudly behind her. She had hesitated to accept anything Natasha handed her.
After all, there was precedent.
“My hands would be ashamed, Lady. You’ve been a duchess’s daughter for years—have you not yet learned proper manners?”
That time, Natasha’s tone had been surprisingly gentle, though her eyes swirled with hatred, fury, and countless unnamed emotions.
Before the eyes of the nobles, Nerys couldn’t possibly insult a woman destined to become a foreign queen. Even the Duchess of Elandria had shot her a fierce look, urging her to take it quickly.
‘As if I should feel honored to receive a drink from such a noble lady.’
Ah, yes. She had eventually taken that drink—that bitter, bitter one.
Nerys bowed her head, unable to let anyone see her crumbling expression.
The Duchess gave her a wary look.
“What’s the matter? Did that girl… do something to you as well?”
“No.”
Nerys denied it quickly. In this life, certainly not. Natasha had no reason to.
“Then why ask? Don’t tell me you need that poison for yourself?”
The Duchess’s voice turned sharp with suspicion, her expression hardening.
Nerys’s head shot up. “No!”
Such a dreadful thing—she wanted nothing to do with it.
She didn’t believe that a woman’s worth depended on her ability to bear children. Even without a child, a person could still be whole.
But to rob someone of that—deliberately, cruelly—was unforgivable.
Even if she hadn’t needed to, even if her position would never have been threatened, Natasha had still chosen to be that merciless.
Hearing Nerys’s resolute refusal, the Duchess’s face softened.
“Good. You’ve no need to concern yourself with such filth. It’s enough to know it exists. The Grünehals family has long restrained themselves from using it—but that Natasha girl, she’s reckless. She’s been wasting what her ancestors kept secret for centuries.”
In noble families, the ability to produce heirs carried immense importance. A union that tied one great house’s bloodline to another could change not just politics, but the flow of wealth and power itself.
Thus, when a family disapproved of a marriage, that poison could quietly end it before it began. Even an existing union could be ruined.
It was safer, cleaner than assassination. If a noble lady were found bleeding to death, the investigation would begin immediately—but if a couple simply failed to have children over time, who would ever suspect foul play?
Yet if a parent discovered that their beloved child had been rendered barren by some petty act of malice—how many wouldn’t go to war for vengeance?
That was why House Grünehals had always kept its existence a closely guarded secret, to be used only when absolutely necessary.
Until a descendant appeared who believed their ‘desire’ was reason enough.
“The ancestors may have kept it secret, but surely the Imperial Family knew?” Nerys asked quietly. “Did Your Grace learn of it through them?”
The Duchess nodded. “Of course. There’s nothing the Imperial Family doesn’t know in this empire.”
…Of course.
Nerys closed her eyes.
She wondered if she even had the heart left to feel pain anymore.
‘They knew.’
They had all known. Yet they’d let her bear the shame alone.
It meant the Imperial Family had never intended to acknowledge her from the start.
Her efforts… had never meant anything. Not once.
(T/N: Is she talking to Madam Moriah? It wasnt named in the raw texts so im just assuming she is.)
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When Nerys returned to the estate, pale as snow, someone was waiting.
“A messenger from the Moriér Merchant Group has arrived, Your Grace.”
Gilbert, ever warm in his greeting, was startled by her sickly complexion. He shot Dora a look that accused her of negligence, but she quickly shook her head in protest—nothing unusual had happened on the way back.
Still, Dora knew. Something she’d heard today had shaken her mistress deeply.
Removing her hat and gloves, Nerys spoke wearily. “Send him to my room.”
“Your Grace, perhaps you should rest first—”
“No. I’ll see him now.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Gilbert obeyed. Even the Grand Duke himself knew when not to argue with her once she’d decided on something.
In her room, Nerys waited tensely until the visitor arrived. Soon, a young man entered—bright-eyed and intelligent.
She recognized him. He must have been introduced by Joan to the Duchess—a doctor from Rantville, the very one who had successfully combined shae-seed pouches with halogras cultivation.
He looked far more confident than she remembered, though still serious and precise. Upon meeting her eyes, he showed no surprise and bowed respectfully.
“Joan sent you, didn’t she?”
Seated elegantly, Nerys spoke as if it were obvious. The doctor offered her a sealed envelope.
“Yes, Your Grace. A letter from the head of the merchant group.”
Originally, she and Joan had planned to discuss an important business matter today. Earlier, she had been eager for that letter’s contents. Now, it meant nothing.
Pressing a hand to her forehead, she ordered Dora quietly, “Close the door. Make sure no one’s nearby.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Dora obeyed at once. The doctor, unaware of the reason, looked uneasy.
Nerys gestured for him to approach.
“Joan must have told you to check on my health.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Joan had likely disguised the doctor’s visit as a simple errand to avoid spreading rumors that the Grand Duchess’s health was failing. A simple precaution—but one Nerys was suddenly grateful for.
She spoke in a low, trembling voice.
“What I say now stays secret. You must not tell even Joan.”
The doctor straightened immediately. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“I… fear my health may not allow me to bear children. I want you to examine me. Not only my current state, but everything related to my ability to conceive. Whatever tools you need, bring them. I’ll pay whatever it costs.”
After confirming the room was secure, Dora moved closer to her mistress. Her thoughts raced darkly. ‘Could Natasha Grünehals have harmed our lady, too?’
If that were true, Natasha would be as good as dead. The Grand Duke himself—and the entire House Maindulante—would see to that.
The young doctor, who had expected nothing more than a routine visit, broke into a cold sweat at the weight of his new task. Thankfully, Joan’s insistence that he bring ‘everything’ useful now proved wise.
“Please give me your hand, Your Grace.”
From his enchanted medical satchel—something only the wealthiest physicians possessed—he drew strange glass tubes, reagents, and fine needles for collecting blood.
He ran every test he could. The liquids in the vials changed color; drops of her blood soaked into narrow strips of enchanted paper. Dora grew increasingly anxious, not understanding what any of it meant.
But Nerys herself grew strangely calm.
…Yes. Even if Natasha had harmed the other women who tried to seduce Abelus, that didn’t necessarily mean her own infertility had been Natasha’s doing.
In her previous life, the doctors had repeatedly told her she was simply frail by nature.
Time passed. Finally, the young doctor set down his tools and spoke in a trembling but earnest voice.
“In my opinion… though Your Grace appears a little thin, your overall condition is excellent. I see no reason you couldn’t conceive a child.”
No reason.
At those words, Nerys bowed her head.
It was the only way to hide the tears that threatened to fall. (T/N: YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!)