Chapter 199
“I heard a doctor came today. You don’t look well. Did something happen while you were out?”
Cledwyn Maindulante asked as he entered the dining room that evening, where Nerys was already seated.
Earlier that day, she’d looked so drained that she could barely stand, but by now her expression had returned to its usual calm.
“I heard some interesting news,” Nerys said evenly. “Quite shocking, really. I was busy thinking about how best to use it, but Joan misunderstood and sent a doctor.”
Gilbert must have figured out that the visitor wasn’t just any messenger, and had reported it. Someone as competent as that doctor would naturally have been looked into—and besides, no mere errand boy would have spent that long in the Grand Duchess’s room.
Cledwyn greeted her with a kiss before sitting beside her. In a proper setting, husband and wife should have sat at opposite ends of such a long table, but no one in this household cared for such etiquette.
“What news?” he asked.
Nerys’s eyes sharpened.
“Remember how I told you that Megara Lykeandros isn’t the marchioness’s real daughter? It seems this generation’s nobles are bolder than ever. I heard someone’s been using medicine that renders women infertile—as casually as scattering grain to chickens.”
Cledwyn raised an eyebrow. Dora—and even Talfrin, who had started keeping things from him—must have known by now which one of them was truly in charge.
“Who was targeted?”
“The women who got close to Abelus.”
“Which means… the culprit must be the Grünehals family.”
“Exactly. I confirmed it with the Duchess.”
A distorted smile appeared on Nerys’s face. Seeing it, Cledwyn’s eyes curved faintly.
“My wife seems to be planning something interesting again.”
“It’ll be very interesting,” she said with quiet certainty.
But the words she’d been turning over all day—the ones she wanted to tell him—died on her tongue.
What could she say? ‘That she could have a child?’
That they should start trying—now?
In her previous life, she had suffered for years over that very issue—grief, denial, resignation—and had finally accepted there was no hope.
Even if she now knew it had all been a misunderstanding, that it belonged to another time, it was hard to suddenly dream again.
And yet, in her mind, a vision began to dance on its own—of a child with both of their eyes, both of their smiles.
❖ ❖ ❖
The famous rose garden of House Grünehals had only just begun to bud. Even without the blossoms, its geometric hedges and vast grounds hinted at how magnificent it would be in full bloom.
It was there that Natasha Grünehals heard ‘the news’—from her brother.
“Sister.”
Eustace Grünehals, though not as striking as his sister, was still a handsome young man. His usually stoic face—so rarely stirred by anything not concerning his beloved sister—was now flushed with excitement.
“What brings you running like this, Eustace?” Natasha asked, sounding bored. These days, her energy was waning.
Megara Lykeandros. She really should have paid more attention to that girl.
It wasn’t as though Natasha had been entirely careless—after all, years ago, when that little girl had just entered the academy, she had already been warned by Nerys Truydd, now the Grand Duchess.
Still, she couldn’t treat Megara the same way as those low-born fools who would happily become someone’s mistress. What could she do—chase Megara away from every place Abelus might visit? That girl could very well become the next Duchess of Ganielo.
Besides, Megara had always been quick-witted. Even before entering the academy, when the great noble houses gathered, Megara had maintained the mild, obedient manner Natasha admired.
But now she had changed sides completely. The accursed House of Ganielo was still dragging its feet about finalizing the engagement.
And worst of all, Abelus’s feelings were uncertain. Natasha had warned him clearly—she didn’t like his behavior—but instead of feigning obedience as he once did, he had shown irritation.
Della Yusberry, Raina Cort, Kairat Spanner—those women were better. Abelus would never have given them his heart, and even if he had, they could never have rivaled the Crown Princess.
But Megara, the treasured daughter of a marquis—graceful, intelligent, and of high standing?
She was a ‘real’ threat.
She needed to be crushed—quickly and thoroughly, never to rise again. But poisoning the daughter of a marquis could ignite open war between noble houses. That would not do.
Lost in thought, Natasha barely noticed her brother gesturing for her attention.
“May I speak with you privately, sister?”
“Go ahead.”
Natasha waited idly as Eustace leaned close to whisper.
But the moment his words reached her ear, her face froze in disbelief.
“…What?”
“A maid heard it from a friend back home. Everyone knows that the marchioness gave birth to her first child at a convalescent estate twenty years ago. But the woman who attended her wasn’t a noble servant, just an ordinary villager—and she swears the lady she served never gave birth at all.”
‘Megara Lykeandros… not the marchioness’s daughter?’
Then where had she come from?
Natasha was stunned. But within seconds, a furious smile spread across her face.
“So that mongrel, with no idea where she came from, has been strutting around in front of me all this time?”
“This could condemn the entire Lykeandros family,” Eustace said grimly. “The marquis and his wife defied the laws of the Peerage Council. They falsified bloodlines.”
One could adopt a child—but never pass them off as a legitimate heir. If that were allowed, noble titles and lands would lose all meaning. What would become of the true noble bloodlines then?
Natasha understood immediately, her eyes flashing with malice.
“Where did you even hear this, and how can you be sure? If it’s false, I’ll only look a fool.”
“The maid’s friend came to visit—and she happens to be the niece of the woman who attended the marchioness at the time. They were gossiping about the old days, and the butler overheard, then investigated.”
“And you checked everything?”
“The maid’s identity is confirmed, and I’ve sent people to that village. The evidence is tricky, but the details match up too well to be coincidence.”
“Then why would the marchioness claim her as her own? She used to dote on the girl so openly.”
Now that she thought of it, the marchioness and Megara hadn’t looked much alike. But since she had always paraded the child so proudly, no one had questioned it.
“There were rumors of a separation in their marriage,” Eustace said carefully. “Until the child appeared…”
He didn’t finish, but Natasha didn’t need him to. She’d been in high society long enough to understand perfectly.
“So, she brought home another woman’s child to deceive her husband? Or did they both agree to the lie…”
As she pondered, a name came to mind—someone she’d never connected to this before.
A woman with the same charm and beauty as Megara. The same connection to Marquis Lykeandros.
Rebecca Shirley.
A cruel smile touched Natasha’s lips.
“Eustace, don’t waste time sending people to dig up the past. There won’t be any real proof left after twenty years.”
“But, sister…”
He couldn’t imagine letting anyone who had disrespected her go unpunished.
Natasha shook her head.
“We don’t need proof from some countryside maid. If we expose who Megara’s ‘real mother’ is, it will naturally prove she isn’t the marchioness’s daughter. Investigate the marquis’s mistress. Find out what she was doing twenty years ago—if she has any relatives who look like Megara.”
Eustace understood instantly.
He was struck, as always, by his sister’s brilliance. She had protected him when their parents’ marriage had crumbled, when their mother—the Duchess—was cast aside for a commoner mistress.
For her happiness, he would do anything. Even if it meant destroying an entire house.
“Yes, sister. Then Megara Lykeandros will be—”
Natasha’s eyes gleamed with savage delight.
“If she isn’t even the marquis’s daughter, then I have nothing to hesitate for. I’ll poison her. Let her be just like her mother—too filthy to ever lay claim to another woman’s man.”
❖ ❖ ❖
Megara turned her head sharply away when she saw the woman in the hall.
Ever since her elegant mother’s death, she had despised the shameless woman who had moved in, pretending to be the new marchioness.
That slender face, those large eyes, those thick lashes—features others praised as beautiful only proved, to Megara, her vulgarity.
“Lady Megara.”
And worse, the woman had the gall to keep approaching her—calling her name, pretending intimacy, when she knew full well how much she was hated.
Forcing a polite smile, Megara faced her. “Miss Rebecca. Do you have something to say to me?”
In the grand marble hall of the Lykeandros estate, the two women faced each other. Servants passing by fell silent.
Everyone knew that after these “talks,” the angelic Lady Megara would grow strangely irritable—and when she did, her brother, the young heir, would be unsettled too.
The servants couldn’t understand. Why did this common-born woman keep speaking to her when she knew she wasn’t wanted? Did she truly think herself the marchioness now, just because she played at being close to the marquis?
“It’s… it’s a private matter, my lady. I must tell you something important,” Rebecca stammered.
Her voice trembled—a rare sight. But no one was surprised. For all her social grace, Rebecca often turned timid before Megara, perhaps because she knew who the true mistress of this house was meant to be.
Megara’s lips curved slightly. “Go on.”
Rebecca glanced around, waiting until the servants discreetly retreated, then leaned closer to whisper. Her anxious eyes made Megara’s own expression darken.
“Be careful of Lady Grünehals. Miss Yusberry, Miss Cort, and Miss Spanner—all women who knew His Highness the Crown Prince—have fallen ill recently. They say… they can no longer have children. They’re not even married yet…”
Shock flickered across Megara’s eyes.
“Are you saying Natasha did something to them?”
“There’s no proof,” Rebecca whispered. “But if anything should happen to you, I just…”
‘What would it matter if something happened to me?’ Megara thought coldly. But her mind was already racing toward something more important.
Every great noble house had its own secret methods, its hidden arts. If the Grünehals family possessed something like that—a poison, a curse—then she would indeed have to be careful.