Previously
Furious that Adrian attempted to marry Dolores, Angelica confronts Marquis Rochester, only to be violently cowed and reminded of her inferior standing unless she bears the prince's heir first.
The day of the wedding between the Grand Duke of Lancaster and Dolores Rochester arrived.
The new bride had arrived at the imperial palace early.
By tradition, an imperial bride had to receive her ceremonial imperial jewelry before departing for Catarina Cathedral.
What she was to receive today was a parure—a full jewelry suite consisting of a tiara, necklace, and earrings.
From her window, however, Madame Rouare sneered as she watched Dolores’s carriage draw up below.
“Hmph. Does that little chit really think I’ll hand it over so easily?”
Ever radiant and born a marquis’s daughter, Dolores had always been a thorn in her side.
Madame Rouare, by contrast, had hailed merely from a baronet’s family.
Even her late husband’s promotion to baron had been secured solely through the Emperor’s favor.
‘Why should I suffer a scolding from that old Emperor because of some fragile greenhouse blossom?’
The thought made her grind her teeth in resentment.
Not even the decadent red-light district, where well-built men bowed to her every whim, had been enough to soothe her rage.
‘If nothing else, I will see her tremble in fear!’
Madame Rouare sighed as she looked down at the parure laid out before her.
Though it fell short of the Crown Princess’s suite, it was nonetheless an exquisite set of jewels.
“To think I must surrender something like this….”
The sapphire parure that had once belonged to Empress Juliana was nothing short of dazzling.
The setting, with glittering white diamonds encircling massive sapphires, was an absolute masterpiece.
Madame Rouare set the double-tiered tiara atop her own head and hummed softly.
“Fufu, let’s see just how prettily she begs, shall we?”
The moment Dolores caught the train of her gown and stepped down, everyone waiting in the imperial palace caught their breath.
Prepared in haste, the golden gown bore sparse ornamentation.
By the standards of empire nobility, who favored dense, lavish flourishes that left no bare fabric, it was exceptionally plain.
‘Yet that makes her look all the more elegant.’
Every watching servant swallowed dryly at the thought.
Even so, her pale throat, ears, and lustrous hair were utterly bare of jewels.
Furthermore, the servant sent to receive Dolores stood empty-handed.
Dolores fixed the servant with a calm gaze.
“Where is the parure I am to wear today?”
“Well, um… that is….”
The servant flustered and darted his eyes about, loath to be the one delivering such words.
Who would willingly volunteer to mock a bride on her wedding day?
Yet before the weight of authority, he had no choice.
“M-Madame stated that… it would be best if you came to fetch it yourself and offered your greetings.”
“…”
Dolores gazed quietly up at the castle.
From her chambers, the madame was undoubtedly savoring this disgraceful spectacle.
‘How absurd.’
Dolores was clearly her superior in rank, yet the woman presumed to pull every string.
‘It would have been even more ghastly had she become my true mother-in-law.’
The time had come, however, to break this dynamic once and for all.
“Very well. Lead the way.”
“Y-Yes, My Lady.”
Inwardly marveling at the bride’s unwavering composure, the servant hurried ahead to clear a path.
Behind Dolores followed the guards from the Lancaster estate.
Tension hammered against Dolores’s ribs.
The sight of Madame Rouare’s door churned a wave of nausea in her stomach.
‘I fell to my knees before that door in the past, begging….’
Her betrothed had offered no help, while the Emperor had shown only mild annoyance.
Dolores had wept so bitterly that her cosmetics had to be reapplied.
Even then, Madame Rouare had refused to open that door to the very end.
‘…And the one who resolved it back then was actually…’
The person who had put an end to that horrific ordeal was Resurreccion, who was now waiting at the cathedral.
The wedding day of her first life had been an outright disaster.
Dolores had been on her knees before all the imperial servants, pleading desperately.
“Madame Rouare, please, I beg of you, open the door…!”
“Oh my, Lady Rochester. I haven’t the slightest notion what you mean.”
“Madame!”
“Why come looking to me for the imperial heirlooms?”
From within came the cruel, amused cadence of the madame’s voice.
With Adrian having already slipped off to the cathedral after reading the room, the madame had grown even more triumphant.
Still naive back then, Dolores had not known what to do.
Tears of humiliation blurred her sight again and again.
Why was no one helping her while she was subjected to such degradation?
Just then, a pair of men’s black dress shoes entered her tear-blurred vision.
‘Could it be Prince Adrian?’
Had he finally been unable to bear it and returned to help her?
Filled with sudden hope, Dolores snapped her head up.
“Adrian—”
Yet standing beside her was the Grand Duke, clad in ceremonial attire.
His expression was so terrifyingly fierce that Dolores instinctively shrank back.
“Pity it’s not my brother.”
“Grand Duke…! Ah!”
Without hesitation, the Grand Duke kicked the door clean open.
Both the madame inside and Dolores on her knees gasped in sheer shock.
Madame was the first to regain her wits, shrieking in outrage.
“G-Grand Duke! What is the meaning of this?!”
“I came for something.”
“What on earth…! By what authority do you dare behave so rudely—”
“Authority…? The son is coming to reclaim what the Empress last wore. What of it?”
At those words, a deathly silence fell over the corridor.
A smirk touched the Grand Duke’s lips, but his golden eyes simmered with murderous intent.
The Crown Princess’s parure was likewise a treasure plundered from the Kingdom of Aleister.
Cowed by that gaze, the madame cringed.
“Do you have a complaint, Madame?”
“Urgh…”
In the end, to salvage whatever dignity she had left, the madame was forced to surrender the parure.
Carrying the velvet case containing the jewels, the Grand Duke strode toward Dolores.
Tears pricked Dolores’s eyes out of sheer gratitude.
“Grand Duke… thank you, truly—”
“Lady Dolly. Do you know how to do anything other than sit around weeping until someone saves you?”
“…!”
He trampled her budding gratitude into worthless shreds.
He shoved the velvet case at her almost dismissively and sneered.
“That’s why you get treated like dirt.”
“…”
“Have a blessed marriage, Sister-in-law.”
Without casting a single backward glance, he turned on his heel and strode away.
Thanks to him, Dolores had indeed managed to wear the damned jewels.
Yet throughout the entire journey to the cathedral, her tears had refused to stop.
It had been a truly blessed start to married life.
Drifting back from the past, Dolores slowly returned to the present.
The madame’s door remained securely locked.
‘A petty creature through and through.’
Dolores spoke, her voice smooth and measured.
“Madame Rouare. Open the door.”
“Oh my, Lady Rochester.”
An affected, melodic laugh floated out from the room.
“Visiting at such an hour? Surely you must be dreadfully busy preparing for the ceremony!”
“You know better than anyone why I am here. I have come to receive what is mine.”
-…
Inside, silence settled, laden with childish fury.
All present held their breath, watching this composed clash of nerves on razor’s edge.
Dolores continued calmly.
As she did, she signaled to the servant from the grand ducal estate who followed her.
The servant respectfully presented several thick white cards and a fountain pen.
Dolores picked up one of the cards that already bore writing.
“Furthermore, I am already the Grand Duchess, Madame. Keeping what belongs to me is nothing short of theft.”
“…Hoho. Quite right, Your Highness the Consort. But to brand me a thief?”
“…”
“His Majesty would be terribly saddened to hear such talk. For a new bride to harbor such wicked thoughts already—”
“Has Madame not been doing things for quite some time now that would grieve His Majesty were he ever to learn of them?”
“Hoho! How could I ever—”
Before the madame could finish her sentence,
a small card slid smoothly through the crack beneath the door.
On it, Dolores had written:
The room fell into an instant, deadened hush.
Red Light was the oldest and most notorious red-light district in the empire.
“Wh-Wh-What… How dare a young woman speak of such—!”
Yet more cards continued to slide across the threshold in steady succession.
Cards inscribed with names slipped inside without pause.
Watching them arrive, the madame turned progressively paler.
And the final card bore a longer message.
From within, Madame Rouare shrieked, doing her utmost to sound unbothered.
“What sort of shameless slander is this…! Dolores Rochester! I will report this to His Majesty this instant, such insolent—!”
Yet another card slid under the door.
Thump!
A dull crash echoed from inside as the madame backed away and knocked into something.
Every last drop of blood drained from her face.
For she had just remembered herself, intoxicated by the flattery of young men, generously showering them with jewels.