At the far end of the tea room, the Duke of Strilland was walking toward him at an unhurried pace.

Count Lowell swallowed dryly.

He had rushed over at the duke’s sudden invitation. It had been some time since he had last seen his nephew, and he had been worried about his health. He had heard that, after their last meeting three months ago, the duke had shut himself inside his bedchamber.

‘Perhaps that was exaggerated.’

He still looked gaunt, but the air about him was unmistakably different.

Now that the shadow of death that had once covered his face was gone, his features seemed strikingly handsome.

“Uncle.”

Aiden sat down and addressed him quietly.

It was a form of address he had never used before.

Had he not always drawn a clear line between them? Count Lowell could not discern his intention.

He answered hesitantly,

“Your Grace…”

Clear green eyes regarded him directly.

Has he finally overcome his grief?

If so, that should have been a relief. And yet—why did something feel so unsettling?

While the count struggled with his confusion, the duke took a slow sip of tea and opened with unexpected words.

“Is it not time to clear my mother’s dishonor?”

“….”

Startled, the count forgot even his composure and gulped down his tea.

“File a lawsuit. The preparations have already been made.”

“A lawsuit? What do you mean—”

“I mean that you need to file a lawsuit against Charles Strilland.”

The Aiden he knew was not a man who spoke nonsense.

But a lawsuit?

Was she not the duchess who was said to have taken her own life?

Count Lowell worried that stirring this up would only drag forgotten rumors back into the light. And beyond that—

“If you place the old duke on trial, it will disgrace the name of Strilland.”

“Uncle.”

“….”

“Today, I did not summon the Count of Lowell. I summoned my uncle.”

With a deep sigh, Count Lowell spoke with sincerity.

“I kept the injustice of my sister’s death buried from the very beginning—for your sake. You were just a newborn then, and Hazel was still so young.”

His voice, a worried uncle’s voice, trembled in small, uneven waves.

“If I file the suit myself, it will look better than if you do.”

It was his way of saying that, even if the count refused, he intended to drag the matter into the open regardless.

“Even if I file, you know there is no chance of winning. It will only become a humiliation. Better to—”

“No. You will file suit.”

“….”

“There is one more thing you must do. I have Beth Gould.”

What was he saying now?

Count Lowell had heard they had failed to catch Jace Gould—he had no idea when Aiden could have taken the daughter into custody.

Unable to find words, the count could only stare at the back of Aiden’s hand, covered in scars.

Long fingers tapped the table in a measured rhythm.

As though clearing a backlog of matters at once, Aiden leaned forward.

“I will hand Beth Gould over to the Terris royal family.”

***

Beth trembled violently with her face buried between her knees.

The air, steeped in midwinter cold, felt as though it might freeze her lungs solid. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably.

Then someone approached, steps heavy as they struck the ground.

Beth’s eyes, accustomed to the darkness, were stabbed by a fierce light.

The one who threw a blazing torch into the mouth of the cell was none other than the duke.

‘F-fire…!’

Scrambling forward, Beth thr*st her stiff, frozen hands toward the torch. It was instinct.

As she rubbed her hands together frantically, desperate to warm herself, the duke spoke in a flat voice.

“I thought about it for a very long time.”

“……”

“If you meant to drown her, why stab her in the belly first?”

“……”

“And why choose a dagger shaped like an awl?”

His words, almost like a monologue, drew no answer from Beth. She wanted only to thaw her body.

When the duke nudged the torch with his foot, the wavering flames licked past Beth’s skin.

“Agh!”

She was freezing to death—and yet the heat felt unbearable.

When she glared at him on reflex, the duke’s mouth twisted.

“And then I understood.”

“W-what… what did you understand?”

“To make her lose the child… and then drown her as she grieved—so she would die slowly.”

The duke lowered himself, unhurried, until he was closer.

A rich musk scent washed over her.

The man’s face, half-hidden by shadow, caught the firelight and turned blood-red.

The moment their eyes met, gooseflesh raced across Beth’s body, chilled to the bone.

Without meaning to, Beth backed away.

“What… what do you mean, my lord?”

“I mean that perhaps it was not death itself that was desired—but her suffering. Perhaps someone ordered it with that in mind.”

“I—I know nothing about it.”

Ignoring her excuse, he continued calmly,

“Our Lady Noma is rather clumsy when it comes to such things.”

His large hand gripped the iron bars. He did not appear to use much strength, yet the entire set of bars rattled violently.

He leaned in close.

The pupil at the center of his eye contracted sharply.

It was the gaze of a predator.

“Did you order it?”

“I—I…”

Perhaps the damned cold had frozen her mind as well; she could not think of a proper excuse.

“My lord, I—”

“Answer me. Beth Gould.”

At the sound of her name, eyes shaped so much like Sveta’s crumpled miserably.

Aiden watched Beth Gould sink into despair with eyes gone cold.

“If—if I answer, will you kill me?”

Clutching her tattered skirt, Beth lifted her head.

For a fleeting moment, Sveta’s delicate features overlapped with Beth Gould’s face.

“Am I going to die now?”

There had been a time when he found that small chin—raised in false composure despite trembling with fear—beautiful.

He had been moved by the pride in her pale blue eyes, brimming with tears she stubbornly refused to shed.

And yet he had summoned her into the forest, telling her he would kill her the next morning.

Because the woman who called herself Beth Gould had seemed monstrous to him.

Now that he thought of it, perhaps that had been her hatred—directed at him, the man she had once found beautiful.

Sveta had never once been anything but beautiful.

From the very beginning.

Even on that winter day when she stepped down from the worn carriage that arrived at the ducal estate, she had been impossibly beautiful.

Even from afar, she had drawn the eye.

The breath that left her full lips had seemed mysterious.

From the first moment he saw her, she had been etched into his retinas—like a brand.

And so, even knowing she must be killed, he had fallen in love.

And the woman who had fallen in love with him had been willing to die.

“Beth Gould.”

Instead of that woman.

Beth’s face twisted in confusion—whether fabricating another lie or grasping at some desperate thought.

Aiden spoke firmly.

“I will give you a chance.”

“…Truly?”

Beth’s brows knit tightly in disbelief, yet she bowed repeatedly, scraping herself low.

“I’ll live as though I’m dead from now on. I’ll never draw attention again. I—”

“Who said I would release you?”

“What? Then—”

Beth Gould’s cheek trembled.

Even seeing this vile woman’s face overlap with Sveta’s filled him with fury.

At the same time, something in the corner of his heart began to crumble.

Longing tightened around his throat as he spoke.

“Entrust your life, just once, to the goodwill of another. As she did.”

“What does that even mean—”

Aiden picked up the torch.

In an instant, Beth Gould, collapsed on the floor, was swallowed by darkness.

“It means your life has left my hands.”

“N-no—please spare me. Please!”

“Did I not tell you? It has left my hands.”

A wail broke from the blackness.

As though she believed tears might save her life, she sobbed uncontrollably.

“Please… please…”

“I wonder how it feels to have your life hanging on someone else’s whim.”

When Aiden gave a slight flick of the hand holding the torch, two guards stepped forward.

They opened the cell door and dragged Beth away.

***

“The roses are beautiful, Your Grace.”

Alyona spoke first and snapped off a lush pink rose.

At the force of her pull, an entire rose bush rooted in the greenhouse shuddered, its leaves trembling violently.

The duke, who had been walking several steps ahead, came to a halt.

“Sveta liked them. That is why they were planted.”

“…Are you still talking about that dead mistress?”

Alyona was incredulous.

After officially resuming his duties, the Duke of Strilland’s first action had been to invite Marquis Matwood and Alyona.

It was obvious he intended to apologize for what had happened last time. But Alyona had no intention of forgiving him.

What he had done that day—forcing her to kneel beside a lowly maid—was a humiliation she would never wash away.

Even if he announced their broken engagement on the spot, she would not regret it in the least.

That was how deeply she had been wounded.

‘And now he dares to speak that vulgar woman’s name again.’

She glared at him fiercely.

Aiden’s gaze met hers.

He answered in an even tone.

“Dead? She is perfectly alive.”

“…What?”

“She is resting in my bedchamber.”

How?

How could she be alive?

Suspicion surged through Alyona.

But when she thought about it, it was not impossible.

‘They did say no body was ever found.’

She knew what that meant.

In Sweenia, it was not uncommon for those who went missing in war to return years later and reunite with their families. Had not the count’s daughter who once sent her perfume been dramatically reunited with her fiancé after two years?

Yes.

That was what had unsettled her all this time.

Because it had felt as though she might still be alive. As though that wench might return at any moment and threaten her place.

Alyona exhaled hollowly through her crimson-painted lips.

“So. Did you summon my father and me to announce the dissolution of our engagement?”

“…I cannot forgive it.”

“Forgive what?”

“That you tormented my woman.”