Previously
Resurreccion pulls Dolores back over the railing to safety, and the two take advantage of the chaos caused by the fire to negotiate in an inner drawing room.
Edwin panted as he struggled to keep up with his superior’s brisk strides.
Between the chaos of the fire and the shock of the news, his head was spinning.
Wasn’t this the very man who had barked back in the banquet hall that he had no intention of marrying?
“Did only your brain get caught in the blaze?! Our business is perfectly fine, so why has Your Grace’s brain—ow!”
Resurreccion’s fist came down squarely on Edwin’s head.
Edwin continued to whine even after they had climbed into the carriage.
“Ow, my head…. My precious brain….”
“Quit making a fuss. A tap like that won’t kill you.”
“That only applies to you, Your Highness! You’re built like a monster!”
“Enough of that. Set Sothis on Lady Rochester.”
“…!”
Edwin’s eyes widened. Every trace of his flippant demeanor vanished in an instant.
Sothis was a covert surveillance unit proficient in everything from personal protection to assassination.
Edwin looked at Resurreccion with utter gravity.
“Did you not say you were going to marry her?”
“She’s suspicious as hell, so I’m tethering her to my side with marriage.”
Dolores was probably feeling rather pleased with herself, convinced she had the upper hand, but she was sorely mistaken.
Resurreccion let out a disbelieving scoff.
‘For someone who gave such a confident explanation, her story is full of holes.’
Inquiring at the public records office about the owner of 483 Howard Street?
With Marquis Rochester’s suffocating watch over her, how could that have been possible?
Lady Dolly had become beyond suspicious.
‘Then again, if I hadn’t struck that deal, who knows what reckless thing she might have done.’
The memory of her poised to throw herself off the railing without an ounce of fear only deepened his sour mood.
Resurreccion gave Edwin a cold command.
“If she makes a single strange move, report it to me at once. Don’t trust a thing she does.”
“Understood, Your Highness. But will this truly be fine?”
“What now…?”
“Well, Lady Rochester is meant to be the Crown Prince’s bride, is she not…?”
Edwin sighed, as though baffled that he even had to point this out.
The two great families were already deeply entangled; could this really go smoothly just because Resurreccion suddenly stepped in?
Yet the Grand Duke merely shrugged.
“All it takes is the Emperor’s permission.”
“And you’re confident you’ll get it…?”
“Hmph.”
Resurreccion gave a short, cynical sneer.
“The old man will grant it without question.”
Crown Prince Adrian Lancaster had a habit of growing easily bored of everything.
From an early age, anything he desired was handed to him instantly.
The world’s most precious jewels, fiefs, toys, expensive horses.
And the loveliest young girl in the Empire.
From birth, his life had felt like sailing over a placid, stormless sea aboard the most luxurious vessel.
‘Ah, I need a thrill.’
And so, around the time he came of age, he began dallying with other women behind his beautiful fiancée’s back.
One caught his fancy with her fiery red hair; another with her slender waist and voluptuous bust.
There was a certain gentlewoman who feigned modesty by day but turned insatiable at night, which pleased him immensely.
Above all, he favored Angelica Rochester, whose innocent beauty was paired with a delightfully sly, wheedling charm.
“…Haah. I wanted to enjoy myself a little longer.”
Adrian grumbled softly to himself on his way to luncheon with the imperial family.
The Howard Street fire had taken roughly two days to bring under control. To Adrian, however, it was nothing more than an annoying incident that had interrupted his fun with Angelica.
‘The underlings put the fire out, so there’s no need to care about it anymore.’
Still, Adrian had to admit one thing to himself.
‘When it comes to beauty, Dolores is undeniably peerless.’
Naturally, it stroked his pride whenever Angelica looked at him with worshipful eyes, as though he were the greatest man in the world.
Yet Dolores, the Diamond of the Empire, remained unequivocally perfection itself.
That skin, so clear and fair it seemed cold to the touch; those elegantly lowered lashes. That figure, sculpted so enticingly by silk gowns that no man could resist.
And, to crown it all, the immense fortune of the Empire’s foremost noble house.
“Heh-heh-heh.”
Adrian hummed with satisfaction, his mood lifting as he stepped into the dining hall.
‘Besides, to think that proud Dolores would be jealous of her own cousin!’
A flicker of unease crossed his mind that she might have caught on to him and Angelica, but the danger only made it more exhilarating.
‘Two of the Empire’s celebrated beauties clinging to me at once.’
Indeed, Adrian’s life was flawless.
Just then, Madame Rouare addressed him in a honeyed, coy voice.
“You look exceptionally pleased today, Your Highness. Has some wonderful fortune come your way?”
“Haha. It’s nothing, Madame Rouare.”
Oops. Adrian caught himself with a slight twitch of his shoulders and offered a laugh.
Madame’s mood had been wretched of late.
Her meticulously arranged banquet had been completely overshadowed by the massive fire, and her displeasure was plain for anyone to see.
The Emperor gave a brief cough to clear his throat.
Having passed his good looks on to his two sons, he still commanded an imposing, stately presence even in his advanced years.
Yet the wisdom in his eyes fell far short of his grand stature.
“Speaking of good fortune, is there not something you must soon prepare for, Adrian?”
“Ah… yes, of course.”
“Unfortunate accidents aside, this is an imperial wedding. Devote yourself to it properly.”
“Yes, Father.”
“It has been quite some time since the imperial family held such an event. You must oversee it thoroughly to uphold our prestige. And, of course, to produce imperial heirs.”
“…”
Adrian groaned inwardly.
Even if he was marrying the loveliest woman alive, the mere thought of being tied down soured his mood.
Unexpectedly, Madame Rouare turned tear-glistening eyes toward the Emperor.
“Your Majesty. It may be presumptuous of me, but… might I offer a humble word?”
“Hmm? Agnes, what is it?”
“Would it not be wiser to postpone the imperial wedding?”
“…You know how anxious the public would become, do you not?”
The wedding date had already been set.
Though the Empire worshipped the One True God, quaint and peculiar superstitions still held sway among the people.
It had long been believed that altering such a date brought terrible misfortune.
“Yet was there not a dreadful fire on Howard Street just recently?”
“Hmm….”
“And Catarina Cathedral, where the ceremony is to be held, is far too close by. I fear people may begin to voice their grievances.”
Madame was subtly hinting that the scale of the ceremony should be reduced.
In truth, she would have liked nothing more than to cancel the grand parade entirely and reduce the wedding to a meager affair, but she could not push too far before the Emperor.
Slightly annoyed, Adrian tried to cut in.
“Madame. Regardless of circumstances, this is an imperial wedding—”
“Prince Adrian, do you know just how many people died in the capital?”
Adrian shifted and crossed his legs uncomfortably at the question.
His secretary had briefed him, but he could not recall the exact figure.
Frankly, Madame did not care either.
Yet if it served to diminish Dolores Rochester, she would seize upon any excuse.
“To hold such a grand celebration while so many are injured and dead! Propriety must be observed for an imperial occasion, of course, but…”
“Hmm.”
“I only fear the public might misunderstand Prince Adrian’s customary thoughtfulness.”
She had observed Adrian long enough to know precisely how he operated.
‘He wouldn’t want to lose his reputation as the benevolent crown prince.’
Adrian nodded with an impassive expression.
Beneath the surface, however, his mind was racing.
Indeed. It seemed wisest to keep the ceremony as brief and perfunctory as possible.
He had harbored the same thought, and by sheer luck, Madame Rouare was arguing for the very same outcome.
“Hmm. It seems… Madame Rouare makes a fair point.”
“Yet, Adrian, will you be able to persuade Marquis Rochester?”
“Naturally, Father.”
Listening to father and son, Madame Rouare smiled contentedly.
Throughout their entire exchange, not a single thought had been spared for Dolores, the bride herself.
‘Heh. You shall have the most pathetic wedding in imperial history, Lady Rochester.’
Through the reigns of both the first and second empresses, she had reigned supreme as the de facto mistress of the imperial palace.
Was she now supposed to surrender her position to some chit whose only merit was high birth?
The mere thought of that young, radiant face made her stomach churn with bitter envy.
Just then, a drawling voice drifted in from the doorway.
“Ah. So you’re all gathered here.”
“Resurreccion.”
The Emperor arched an eyebrow in stern reprimand.
Carrying himself like a rogue, his tanned son walked in with utter confidence despite being the last to arrive.
Both Madame Rouare and Adrian glared coldly at him.
Neither was on good terms with the Grand Duke.
For Madame, it stemmed from the days she had been sidelined by his mother, the late second empress.
And for Adrian…
His half-brother’s sharper features and martial renown grated on his nerves.
‘A wretch tainted with filthy foreign blood.’
Resurreccion surveyed the room and smirked.
“What were the three of you discussing with such relish?”
“My wedding with Dolores.”
“Ah….”
“We were pondering how best to handle such an important imperial wedding, Resurreccion.”
“Is that so? Want me to save you the trouble of pondering, Brother?”
“…What? What do you mean by that?”
Three pairs of puzzled eyes turned toward Resurreccion.
He casually bit into a piece of meat and answered with total indifference.
“Because I’m the one marrying Dolores Rochester.”
…At that moment, the dining room fell dead silent.
Even the rigorously trained servants stood with their jaws dropped, staring at the Grand Duke.
Resurreccion casually raised his glass and gave it a swirl.
“Wine.”