Chapter 1 - Chapter 1

Translator: Nox

Chapter 1Chapter 1

Incredible.

Nobles from the capital, here in the Northern region for Blenheim’s Imperial Exhibition, froze in the entrance to the hall, mouths agape.

Sunbeams poured through the vast glass dome, bathing towering pillars and intricate carvings in a soft glow. Opulent displays from merchants and artisans throughout the Empire crammed every corner.

The guests wandered, breathless exclamations escaping their lips at every turn.

“What’s that enormous balloon drifting overhead? Wait—a sky-high advertisement?”

“That famed opera singer Antonel posed for it! Saw the life-sized portrait? Matches her exactly!”

“And Cecilia, the author, is doing a book signing! Limited-edition keepsakes? I’m heading there now!”

Ladies fluttered their fans, shedding all pretense of decorum as they buzzed with delight amid the exhibits.

“Hear the latest? The Grand Duchess owns the Blue Trading Company—and dreamed up that tour package!”

“Don’t forget her Snow Wine or the hot springs resort.”

“Wasn’t she just the opera’s big triumph before?”

Talk inevitably circled to me, Annette Blenheim, ruler of the north.

“To think an illegitimate upstart scaled such heights!”

“A year back, they dubbed her the Frais family’s shame.”

“What twist of fate elevated that nobody?”

“Hush! Mind your tongue!”

One lady hushed the group, her tone dropping.

“She’s beyond casual gossip now.”

“Up here, the Grand Duchess’s command reigns supreme.”

“But it’s all thanks to wedding the Duke, right? I’d have thrown my girl into the ring.”

They once branded him the monster duke.

This farce is absurd.

I emerged from the shadows, inserting myself into their chatter.

“Had no idea I sparked such buzz. I’m honored.”

“Eek!”

The women startled, dropping into hurried curtsies.

“Gr-Grand Duchess! Salutations!”

“Familiar faces among you. Savoring the show?”

“Y-Yes, indeed.”

“I might be a mere Grand Duchess, but I poured my heart into this. Enjoy yourselves.”

Pallor drained several faces; they quivered. Then a firm arm slid around my waist from behind.

“Annette, I’ve searched everywhere for you.”

A towering figure, shoulders like forged iron, features chiseled by divine hands, gazed at me with tender warmth.

“Gr-Grand Duke! Salutations!”

Brushing off their frantic bows, he dipped his head to nestle against my shoulder.

“You have no idea how anxious I grew without you in sight.”

“Loic, eyes are on us.”

I nudged his cheek away, but his grip on my waist only firmed.

“So what?”

His murmur tickled my ear, voice husky.

“Where’s today’s kiss?”

“Tonight.”

“Keep stalling, and I’ll extract a steeper price.”

Grinning roguishly, he twined fingers in my hair and pressed lips to the strands.

“Oh goodness!”

“The Duke’s utterly smitten.”

“His gaze swims with sweetness!”

Amid murmurs laced with awe and jealousy, I scanned the crowd. How had life veered here?

My original scheme: hole up north for a year, divorce quietly, vanish.

That cursed urge to meddle…

I’d meant only minor aid, drawing on my ad-agency days.

Yet every venture exploded into triumph—utterly unforeseen.

Dodging the axe through basic decency backfired; now “Sunshine Grand Duchess,” they trailed me like shadows.

Even thawing the Northern Duke’s icy core!

Am I destined for this role?

Mastering career and romance alike—such talent borders on a curse!

“Annette Frais! What clouds your mind?”

Snapped from reverie, I looked up.

A stern-faced middle-aged man loomed, neck veins throbbing. Landen Frais, Frais patriarch, my father the Marquis.

“Now ignoring me outright!”

Not this tirade again.

Head bowed in feigned contrition, I played the penitent. His aimless harangues droned on, nearing half an hour.

How many bellows now? Lost track…

I traced the desk’s carved latticework, numbering tiles.

“How long will you lounge idly after all I’ve provided? Pull your weight!”

His roar commanded attention.

I tuned it out as best I could, but the thunder crashed inescapably.

“You worthless wretch! How could you behave so shamefully, letting the groom treat you thus? Family dishonor!”

Saliva speckled the desk. I edged back warily.

His charges rang hollow. What conduct? Bewilderment genuine—I’d done nothing!

How to misbehave without meeting the man? Serenade him in slumber?

Landen Frais seethed at Blenheim’s Grand Duke Loic, the Emperor’s nephew. The slight stemmed from marriage negotiations.

Blenheim and Frais nursed ancient grudges.

In the Beast War, the prior Grand Duke sought imperial aid; Lord Frais, at the Empress’s behest, stonewalled it.

To shield the north, that duke sealed a dragon’s blood oath—and perished post-victory.

Loic, assuming leadership at ten, nursed venom toward the Marquis.

Tensions flared when word spread of Loic eyeing a Rondoris Kingdom princess.

Frais, dreading imbalance, proffered his third daughter—me—as bride.

Loic spurned it flat.

Undeterred, Frais choked northern supplies; Blenheim endured brutal winter woes.

Renewed pressure yielded consent—from Loic—for Frais’s firstborn, Ladriel.

Empire-wide knowledge: Frais coveted Ladriel for the third prince. Loic sidestepped blunt refusal, imposing an unattainable term.

Stung by the slap, sure, but…

Imperial edict forced Loic’s hand with me. Enraged, he vowed proxy attendance—and dispatched 500 danir as wedding funds.

Noble unions began at 5,000 danir; Frais could lavish 10,000. This sum screamed scorn.

The true barb targets your haste, not me.

Landen’s glare silenced my retort.

Silence safest. Words invited blows, as before.

“How dare that pup wed into Frais and dispatch a mere stand-in? Childish!”

“Truly Annette’s doing?”

My sister Ladriel, idly observing, interjected with honeyed lilt.

What prompts this twist?

My drab, ash-blonde locks paled beside her waist-cascading gold.

“She’s bastard-born. What recourse?”

There it is.

Fleeting hope of alliance dashed; she primed a sharper strike.

Her point held sting.

Bastard from the Marchioness’s indiscretion, I’d killed her in birth.

Frais veiled the scandal, but high society long whispered my outsider blood.

“So, Father, you groveled ages for his consent to me?”

“Insolent tongue! You’re pledged elsewhere!”

Landen massaged temples against throbbing pain, eyes blazing.

“We postpone until fitting dowry arrives. Out.”

Dismissed, I lingered, reciting practiced lines.

“Father, must we stall the wedding?”

Outrage exploded at his daughter’s audacity.

“Silence on house affairs!”

It’s mine too.

Inner scoff swallowed, I mustered a humble smile, head dipped submissively.

“I bear blame for this mess.”

Meek facade cloaked intent. This “sacrifice” for Frais? I’d forge it into my ladder.