Previously
On the day of the formal wedding, Madame Rouare locks herself in her chambers with the bridal parure, intending to humiliate Dolores just as she did in the previous life.
Madame Rouare’s mind raced frantically.
‘D-did that wretched girl truly uncover it?’
Had Dolores Rochester genuinely investigated the lowlifes living in the Red Light district?
If the jewels showered upon those men were revealed to be her ornaments, the scandal would inevitably reach the Emperor’s ears.
Muddling with vermin of that caliber was tantamount to rolling in the muck with beasts.
And the Madame would surely be punished for bringing the stench of a beast to the Emperor.
The sheer thought sent a chill down her spine.
Already, people outside the door were whispering among themselves.
Yet Madame Rouare quickly recovered her wits and bit her lip.
‘She chose to threaten me with written cards rather than spoke aloud… which means she isn’t looking to make an outright enemy of me.’
She had practically raised Adrian like a nursemaid.
With the future Emperor doting on her, the Grand Duchess surely wouldn't dare make an enemy of her.
She must simply want the Madame to bend and scrape a little.
‘…Ha. Fine, I can indulge her that much!’
Cursing the foolish girl in her head, the Madame picked up the parure case.
She drew the door open slowly, greeting Dolores with a radiant smile.
“Your Highness the Grand Duchess.”
“Madame Rouare.”
“Ho-ho, my, what a terrible jest you have made.”
With theatrical grace, the Madame raised the case in both hands.
Her fingertips trembled ever so faintly with suppressed rage.
Yet in the eyes of onlookers, the tension between the two appeared to have melted into sudden harmony.
“This old Madame merely forgot she had it in her possession. You treat me so harshly on such an auspicious day.”
“Indeed. Was my jest a bit too much?”
“Heh-heh, my heart nearly dropped to my feet.”
As they exchanged pleasantries, the razor-sharp edge in the air gradually softened.
Yet no matter how long the Madame waited, Dolores made no move to take the case.
‘…What is this?’
Wasn’t this very parure the whole reason behind her clumsy little blackmail?
Dolores broke into an exquisite, blooming smile.
Madame Rouare evidently still assumed, deep down, that she held the upper hand.
‘Does she really believe I’ll tuck my tail between my legs over just this?’
To think she held Dolores in such utter contempt that she could stand so tall even in this predicament.
Yet Dolores welcomed such bone-deep arrogance.
“Baroness.”
For schooling her in reality would be all the more delicious that way.
“When presenting something to the Grand Duchess, one is expected to kneel.”
The Madame, who had brandished power as the empire’s unofficial empress, was brought to her knees at last.
And by the time Dolores made her exit, the sound of vases being shattered by the Madame echoed throughout the imperial palace.
To Dolores’s ears, however, even that din was music.
“Phew. Petty, perhaps, but it feels wonderful.”
Dolores stroked her necklace in deep satisfaction.
She felt so thoroughly gratified that even the weight of the sapphires seemed light as air.
‘To think things could become this effortless with just one weakness in hand.’
In her previous life, she had only learned of Madame Rouare’s little ‘pastimes’ after becoming Crown Princess.
Until then, the Madame’s lackeys and Adrian had thoroughly kept matters quiet.
The Madame would immediately scramble to silence every witness.
Yet there was no way she could bury deeds spanning all those years.
‘After all, Sub Rosa has already handed over the complete record of her movements.’
Dolores had no intention of finishing that woman off in a single stroke.
She wanted her to tremble in dread for as long as possible, wondering what else might be brought to light.
The grand avenue leading to Catarina Cathedral was lavishly decorated for the imperial wedding.
Leaving the cheering crowds behind, Dolores finally reached the waiting room.
Dolores turned toward the guards and attendants who had escorted her.
“I wish to pray for a moment. Wait outside.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Once everyone departed, silence settled over the room at last.
Dolores looked up at the sacred icon and caught her breath.
Even the second time around, an imperial wedding was just as dizzying a whirlwind.
“Phew…”
She clasped her hands together slowly.
Then, closing her eyes, she offered a prayer.
‘Of course, I still don’t believe in God.’
Had God truly existed, He ought to have delivered her when she was suffering in her first life.
Divine retribution should have struck down those who wronged her back then.
He should have saved her before the blade of the guillotine came crashing down.
Thus, her present prayer of gratitude was not directed at God.
‘If there is a being out there that brought me back to life… my thanks go to them.’
And may she, one day, leave those dreadful memories behind and truly be free.
Yet instead of an answer to her prayer, an unpleasant voice rang out.
“My goodness. Sister, whatever are you doing in a place like this?”
“…Angelica.”
“Congratulations on your happy occasion, Sister. Ah, you're the Grand Duchess now.”
It was her cousin, whom she had not seen in quite some time.
Angelica, dressed to the nines, radiated striking beauty.
Yet the flattering smile she used to shower upon Dolores was nowhere to be found.
Where pretense had vanished, only sharp mockery remained.
‘She must have forced her way in under the pretense of being my family.’
No one held the authority to turn away the bride's own kin.
Angelica glanced toward the icon and let out a light scoff.
“I’ve taken after you in so many ways when it comes to beauty, Sister. But I had no idea your faith ran this deep.”
“…”
“I suppose becoming the Diamond of the Empire requires that kind of devotion as well. Quite unexpected.”
Dolores stared squarely at Angelica.
She was roundaboutly implying that there had been nothing worth learning from Dolores besides keeping up appearances.
After all the care Dolores had taken to ensure Angelica never went without.
“Still, Sister, you pray before an icon that suits your name all too well.”
“…What?”
“This one right here.”
Angelica pointed at the sacred painting with a smirk.
“Heh, one would think they'd tuck away a painting like this before a wedding. It hardly blesses the path of newlyweds, does it?”
“What are you…?”
“It is the ‘Weeping Holy Mother’—Our Lady of Sorrows, Dolores. Just like your name.”
“…”
“They do say one’s life follows one’s name, after all. Heh-heh.”
Dolores slowly looked back up at the icon. Swept up in the rush, she had only just noticed.
The woman in the portrait stood in the midst of her trials, tears welling in her eyes.
‘A different icon was supposed to hang here…’
Who could have placed such an ominous piece here?
Was it Angelica?
Or someone from the imperial palace?
Or perhaps someone from the cathedral who had taken a bribe?
None of that mattered right now.
‘My breath…’
She couldn't breathe.
The weeping mother.
The woman who, mocked her entire life for being barren, had played mother to the son Angelica bore.
‘The reason my head was severed…’
Was because of Angelica’s son.
‘Because of Alexis.’
She who had wept tears of blood under the false accusation of being ‘the empress who tried to murder her own son’…
‘Me.’
As the painting overlapped with her own past, her pulse pounded wildly in her ears.
So violently she feared it might burst.
So intensely she dreaded she might retch from the vertigo.
‘No.’
Her jaw clamped tight. Dolores gritted her teeth, swallowing back the surge of nausea.
In this life, she had sworn never to become pitiful again.
And she certainly could not break down before Angelica—the very girl who had concealed such cunning and malice.
‘Never!’
Dolores curled the corners of her lips upward in a slow smile.
“Then your name is quite fitting as well, wouldn't you say, Angelica?”
“…Pardon?”
“Your name is derived from angel, is it not? And an angel exists to serve the Holy Mother.”
“…!”
“Aren’t our names just delightfully suited to us? Now, and forevermore.”
Angelica’s face froze rigid.
‘You are meant to serve me for the rest of your days, so don’t you dare get above yourself.’
She had never anticipated Dolores striking back like this.
Until now, the sister Angelica knew had only ever smiled with gentle compliance.
“Sister! Just because you're marrying the Grand Duke doesn't mean—!”
“And who might be yelling at the bride?”
In an instant, the room turned ice-cold.
Resurreccion stood there with his arms crossed, watching them with keen amusement; who knew how long he had been listening?
Turning deathly pale, Angelica grabbed a fistful of her skirt.
“Y-Your Highness the Grand Duke.”
“Miss Rochester. You certainly have a set of lungs on you.”
Angelica’s face flushed crimson.
Because she was not of the direct Rochester line, Angelica had no right to the title of ‘Lady.’
Yet out of deference to House Rochester, society usually overlooked it.
Resurreccion, however, merely narrowed his eyes and grinned.
“Hm? Just because Lady Dolly is marrying me, what?”
“That is…”
“If you’re shouting your congratulations, save it for the vows. Don't waste it on the bride in a back room.”
“…I shall take my leave.”
Gritting her teeth, Angelica beat a hasty retreat from the room.
Resurreccion clicked his tongue as he watched the platinum-blonde woman scurry away.
“Now that I look closer, it seems I’ve gained a viper for a relative, not a weasel.”
“…It isn't proper to compare people to beasts, Grand Duke.”
“Hm? I never named anyone in particular.”
“…”
Better not to bother.
Dolores pressed a hand to her forehead and exhaled a sigh of relief.
Having lashed out at Angelica, the sudden wave of nausea had thankfully subsided.
Looking at Resurreccion dressed in his groom’s attire, she managed a faint smile.
“I expected you to show up dressed like a jester, so this is quite a surprise.”
“It isn't too late. Shall I go change?”
“No, you look fine as you are.”
For all his grumbling and complaining about how much he hated it, he cut an undeniably striking figure in proper ceremonial dress.
The near-black navy uniform clung sleekly to his broad, towering frame.
Gold embroidery adorned the collar and cuffs, while medals from his various exploits were pinned across his broad chest.
With his dark hair swept back unlike usual, he carried an air of unmistakable nobility.
It suddenly occurred to Dolores that he was quite an attractive man.
‘If only he kept his mouth shut.’
Then, Dolores realized that the Grand Duke had breached protocol.
“Wait. Why did you come out here instead of waiting inside? That violates protocol.”
“Did you see the Marquis and the Young Marquis’s faces today?”
“Pardon?”
“They're practically foaming at the mouth.”