Translator: Nox

Chapter 8

Perel kept urging me to exchange carriages with him as we drew nearer to our goal.

It was undeniable that pulling up for my debut as Grand Duchess in a battered rental cart felt mortifying, even to someone like me.

Not that it deserved the name carriage—it was little more than a freight wagon.

The cheapest one available, no less, I reminded myself wryly.

Hedrick had grumbled under his breath, eyeing my conveyance with disdain: “That heap of timber…” Nearing Blenheim, icy gusts whistled through the gaps, numbing my fingers and toes.

In the end, I relented and transferred to the Grand Duchy’s stately coach alongside Perel.

As the vehicle crested the last mountain pass, the snow-blanketed expanse of the Grand Duchy unfolded before us. Dominating the heart of it all rose a stern gray fortress, encircled by sweeping plains and hills punctuated by settlements of every scale.

“Those peaks mark the frontier with the Kingdom of Rondoris,” Perel noted. “To the south lies another rugged range we’ll need to traverse.”

I stared in awe, mouth agape.

“I had no idea the Grand Duchy spanned such vast territory.”

“Folks in the capital seldom venture this way,” Perel replied with a casual shrug. “They picture it as some insignificant backwater.”

After weeks confined to the capital estate and then jostled through interminable woodlands, the prospect of lively hamlets and markets filled me with eager delight.

“Will I get to explore the villages soon?” I ventured, eyes alight with excitement.

Perel paused, then spoke with evident care.

“Your Grace… I did notify His Grace the Grand Duke of your arrival today, but… he’s been exceedingly occupied. He may not manage a welcome.”

His contrite look prompted a warm smile from me.

“No need to fret. It’s all right.”

Truth be told, I’d count myself fortunate if he didn’t eject me immediately.

Perel’s worry lines deepened, mistaking my words for false modesty.

“Even so…”

“Truly, it’s no issue. This is the fellow who skipped his own wedding from sheer busyness, isn’t he?”

“Your understanding means a great deal,” Perel murmured, his mouth twisting into an abashed grin.

Patience pays off for the steadfast, I mused, noting his fidgeting unease.

---

“We are deeply honored by your presence, Your Grace, Grand Duchess. I am Whitley, chief steward of Blenheim Castle,” intoned a lanky, silver-haired man, bowing gracefully.

“Thank you. I look forward to your guidance,” I answered courteously.

“Your travels must have wearied you. Allow me to escort you to your quarters,” Whitley suggested.

I hadn’t anticipated the Grand Duke himself, yet the solitary butler at the gates stirred a pang of letdown.

At least they hadn’t barred the doors. Progress, of sorts.

Within the castle, soaring vaults magnified our steps into resounding echoes. Ascending the staircase in Whitley’s wake, I trembled against the damp chill radiating from the masonry.

The place exuded no coziness or vitality, its spectral hush amplifying the frigidity. I hugged close to Whitley, wary of vanishing into the smothering quiet.

My chamber, mercifully, glowed with hearthfire warmth.

“A maid will attend you presently,” Whitley said, turning to depart.

“One moment,” I said, halting him. His imposing build and composed air daunted me slightly, though his tone stayed gentle and refined.

“Where might I find the Grand Duke?”

“His Grace is occupied with affairs of state,” Whitley responded.

“And dinner?”

“Should hunger strike, I can arrange a tray at once, or you may join us in the hall.”

“No, I merely wondered if the Grand Duke might appear then.”

“His Grace offered no precise hour for his return,” Whitley stated evenly.

“I understand. Please tell him I wish to see him upon arrival.”

“Certainly. I shall relay the message the instant he returns,” Whitley promised, his smile polished to perfection.

“Also, I’d prefer dining here tonight.”

“Very good. Any dishes to exclude?”

“Nothing in particular—I’d welcome something modest. Fatigue weighs on me today.”

“I’ll see to a light repast without delay,” Whitley affirmed, inclining his head before withdrawing.

A seasoned professional, that butler, I reflected, easing into the snug space.

The quarters weren’t opulent, yet they gleamed with spotless care. I’d half-braced for some drafty hovel meant to hasten my exit, but the Grand Duke didn’t strike me as so small-minded.

With a potential encounter tonight, I needed to refresh myself.

The road had been one long mental drill: strategies to persuade him to let me remain. Each bedtime brought fresh rehearsals of every conceivable exchange.

Who could say? Perhaps he’d take one look and be smitten. Annette had a certain charm, after all.

Still, that might be wishful thinking.

I sank into the plush bedding with a private laugh, surprisingly buoyant about my inaugural audience with the Grand Duke.

---

“You’ve overstepped, Your Grace!”

Perel’s voice quavered, but Loic merely slitted his eyes.

“Those are my words, wouldn’t you say?” Loic countered, cocking his head.

“Perel Othis,” he added, his tone sliding into an icy rasp.

Perel recoiled at the sound.

“My instructions were straightforward, were they not?”

All Loic had directed was to dispatch the woman back whence she came. Instead, here stood Perel in open defiance. Loic folded his arms with deliberate slowness, his piercing stare impaling the aide.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“N-no, sir!” Perel protested, hands clasped in supplication.

“But she’s arrived! How could we turn away a bride fresh from such a grueling trek?”

Loic’s mouth curved in sardonic amusement.

“Is that so? Did the delicate flower complain of hardships?”

“Delicate flower?” Perel echoed, astonishment sharpening his voice.

“You’d retract that if you’d seen her transport,” he shot back.

Loic had spied her approach from his office casement, noting the pale gold of her hair, echoing Blenheim’s frosted peaks.

On reflection, a shabby cart had followed the official coach.

Had she endured that contraption?

The memory of its wretched condition soured Loic’s temper. His eyes flicked to Whitley, just returned from conducting the Grand Duchess to her suite.