Just as she was about to collapse from exhaustion, Daniel sent a message through his attendant.

He wanted to meet soon. If the Imperial Palace was too much, he would come to the Ilios Temple where she was staying.

It wasn’t something she could simply avoid.

After some thought, she agreed to meet him there at noon on Saturday. It was the safest option she could devise.

The temple forbade armed soldiers from entering, and the large crowds of nobles and worshippers bustling around on Saturdays would offer her protection.

Before facing Daniel, Lydia had put a small safety net in place.

The safety net was the leaflets that she had recently distributed along the capital’s main shopping streets.

She had visited tailors, jewelers, restaurants, taverns, newspaper offices, print shops and magazine offices — anywhere where a rumor might spread — and left the leaflets there. Now, the effort was catching up with her: she ached and burned with fever from the strain.

“God sure doesn’t hand out manageable trials, does he…”

Lydia prayed in her pew. Her irritated mutterings were met with a soft chuckle from the person sitting next to her.

It was Sihon.

Lydia looked up at him.

“You came again.”

“To worship.”

Sihon shrugged and struck an exaggerated prayer pose.

Since arriving in the capital, he had been busy dealing with the duke’s long-overdue affairs. He had also become embroiled in the assassination incident, so he had a lot on his plate. Nevertheless, he made a point of coming to the temple every now and again. He claimed it was to pray, but in truth he was checking on Lydia: had she eaten, had she rested, was she unwell?

If she hadn’t eaten, he’d show up with toast or a light meal. If she was unwell, he would take her to a nearby clinic and insist that she have a check-up. Despite everything, he treated her with an attentiveness that belied the fact that they had recently broken up. It was an oddly dedicated approach for an ex.

As expected, Sihon finished praying quickly and spoke.

“How are you feeling?”

“Just sore, mostly. Otherwise okay.”

Lydia answered lightly.

He studied her, his eyes still not entirely trusting.

“You’ve been making quite a scene.”

“Oh, you saw the notices.”

Lydia sighed, then accepted it plainly.

“I’m tired. I did it all by myself. The matter is so sensitive that I couldn’t risk hiring someone else. Still, I’m fine. The medicine you brought me helped.”

Sihon exhaled. Lydia gave a small, wry laugh.

The whole affair had taught her a great deal. Fighting legal battles and managing public opinion alone was unbearably inconvenient. Without trusted help, gathering information and keeping tabs on someone was obviously limited.

If she could rely on subordinates who would keep secrets and do the work, things would be far easier. However, such people cannot be obtained overnight. Trust is built up over time and can easily be broken.

The people she could trust the most were the retainers who had faithfully served a family for generations. It made sense that Sihon would protect and value his people in exchange for their loyalty.

He asked with concern.

“What’s your plan from here? Any alternatives?”

“I have a few cards left… but I don’t know how it will turn out.”

Lydia hesitated. She had originally planned to imprison her father and then secure Arwen Amaranth’s expulsion from the family registry through the male head of the household acting as the family’s proxy. The pretext would be that, although the previous head of the family had committed disgraceful crimes, Arwen had brought shame upon the family by suing her own father, and therefore she could be expelled.

If that succeeded, Daniel could not lawfully marry someone who was no longer a noble heir.

When Lydia told Maeve that she intended to cut ties, Maeve was distressed, but eventually respected her wishes. She even promised that she and Kyle would accept the consequences when they went to the capital.

However, Robert Amaranth then died suddenly.

This meant that Kyle could no longer remove the obstacle of the heir, making it impossible for him to kill Lydia outright. However, he wasn’t going to hand the family over to his accusing daughter without putting up a fight. No, he would deny the charges and fight back.

Following his usual line of thinking, Kyle might install a cadet branch heir or a retainer’s son as a son-in-law, forcing Lydia into an unwanted marriage and ensuring the birth of a male heir.

Perhaps the groundwork was already being laid behind the scenes.

Maeve, still reeling from her son’s inexplicable death, was barely holding on to her sanity.

Lydia knew how deeply the loss must have shaken her mother, so she chose to wait in silence for a while. But she couldn’t keep her hands tied forever. She could only hope that Maeve would soon come to her senses and honor her promise.

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Maeve was plagued by unease during her journey back to the capital with her daughter.

The travelling party was sizeable: Lydia; Duke Blair and his knights; Maeve; the Marquisate’s guards; the Emperor’s secretary; and several Royal Guards.

Lydia said that she intended to temporarily stay at the temple in the capital and make an offering.

However, Maeve did not trust the Marquisate’s soldiers or the Emperor’s guards.

What if her husband’s men tried to assassinate her daughter in secret? Or what if the Emperor’s secretary forced Lydia into the palace against her will?

But no one interfered.

Perhaps they were satisfied that Lydia had set foot in the capital at least, or perhaps they feared that Duke Blair would retaliate if they acted rashly.

This wasn’t the only strange thing.

Maeve herself remained unscathed throughout the journey.

The Emperor’s earlier words—“Would you be willing to pay any price to save your daughter?”—now felt hollow.

To be honest, Maeve no longer understood the terms of their ‘bargain’.

Wasn’t it Duke Blair who had saved her daughter?

He fended off the assassins, suffered serious injuries and took Lydia to his villa to keep her safe.

By the time Maeve arrived in the south with the Emperor’s secretary, the investigation was already underway.

So what exactly had the Emperor done to protect her child? She had seen no sacrifice or cost on his part during the journey or upon their return.

However, just before they parted ways at the temple, the Emperor’s secretary gave her a cryptic farewell message.

“Your daughter is safe now, my lady. And please accept my condolences.”

Maeve froze. Her thoughts immediately turned to Kyle.

Had the Emperor eliminated him, removing the source of danger and ensuring that he could never harm Lydia again?

The idea brought her a wave of guilty relief. It was like finally pulling out an aching tooth.

But they were still husband and wife. She forced a smile and hurried towards the Marquisate estate.

Everything had gone far too smoothly. Too easily. She told herself it was better not to question it.

This illusion shattered the moment she received news of her son’s death.

The head maid, her face pale and trembling, rushed to explain.

“My lady, you’ve been gone so long! After you left the estate, we heard nothing from you for days, and the whole household descended into chaos. On the third day, the young master set out to search for you himself. He visited your townhouse, the country villa gifted to you by your family, and even the Kensington estate, but you were nowhere to be found!”

“What nonsense is this? No word from me? Why would Robert be looking for me? I left a letter — he should have received it! Stop babbling and tell me where my son is!”

“The funeral has already been held, my lady.”

“What do you mean, the funeral? Are you telling me my son is dead? How? How did this happen?”

“It happened on the way to your mountain lodge, my lady.” According to the guards accompanying him, the horses suddenly went wild. The young master and his men were thrown. It was a remote mountain path, and no doctor could be summoned in time…”

Maeve could feel her grip on sanity slipping away. Something was terribly wrong.

She immediately summoned the guard to whom she had entrusted her letter.

But nobody knew where he had gone. They assumed he had been following her as part of the escort.

This meant that the guard had left the palace with the letter but had never reached the estate.

Then she realised.

‘The Emperor killed my son.’

‘Robert died because I begged that monster for help.’

The horror of it took her breath away.

Her son had walked into a trap that had been set for her. She was supposed to be the one to pay the price — why had it taken him instead?

Maeve collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, barely registering that she had fallen onto the marble foyer floor.

Then Kyle appeared, grinding his teeth and pointing a finger at her.

“So it’s true, you went to the palace that day? To beg for the life of that wretched daughter who ruined this family? Have you completely lost your mind?!”

She said nothing.

“Our son, our heir is dead! If you had contacted him, if you’d sent word, he wouldn’t have gone searching for you! Robert died because of you, Maeve! You killed our only son!”

Still she couldn’t speak. She was a sinner before her child’s death.

“Are you satisfied now? Does it please you to see this house in ruins? Answer me, d*mn it!”

Maeve could only weep, clutching at her chest as though trying to tear the guilt from her heart.

Her sobs turned into ragged gasps, and then she fainted.

There was no shared grief, no comfort or consolation between them.

After venting his rage, Kyle didn’t look at her again.

It was the maids who carried the unconscious mistress to her chambers and summoned the physician.

Maeve refused food and water for days, wasting away.

Even when the butler quietly mentioned that she was still unwell, Kyle only scoffed in irritation.

Even worse, his anger would flare up at times and he would storm into her room and berate her for her past misdeeds.

How she had crippled Tess. How she had beaten her own daughter! She had driven the family to ruin, and her foolish compassion had resulted in their son’s death.

In truth, Kyle’s rage towards his wife was misdirected fear. He knew perfectly well that his son’s death hadn’t been an accident.

But defying the Emperor was unthinkable. Rising in rebellion and failing would not only doom him, but also every cadet branch and vassal house bound to the Amaranths.

Still, he sometimes found himself wondering: what if?

What if the Kensington family, his wife’s relatives, were still powerful and their alliance hadn’t fractured? What if Robert had married his fiancée, the daughter of Count Beryl, and provided the house with an heir? What if the loyal Martel and Domer families hadn’t been destroyed?

Perhaps there might have been a chance then. But such thoughts were futile.

Even if he had had a cause, there was no army willing to join him. The Amaranth Marquisate was on the brink of collapse.

The heir was dead. His daughter had accused him of trying to kill her. And Duke Blair, embroiled in the assassination attempt, was now openly preparing to overthrow him.

All Kyle could do was lash out, shift the blame, and deny any connection to the assassins. Buried under a mountain of guilt, he schemed to sell his surviving daughter in order to ensure the continuation of his line.

He had no intention of yielding to the Emperor’s will. The thought of handing Lydia over to the man who had humiliated him was intolerable.

Instead, he would sell her to someone else. If the Emperor loved and obsessed over her so much, Kyle would marry her off to another man out of sheer spite.

The decision of whom a noblewoman married lay solely with her family’s head.

Even if the Emperor retaliated, there was no law that could override the Marquis’s right to arrange his daughter’s marriage.

‘So be it, Kyle thought bitterly. If I’m going to burn, I’ll take you down with me, you bastard.’

Fueled by venom, Kyle began inviting guests to the mansion: men he considered to be potential sons-in-law, as well as several high-ranking officials overseeing the investigation into his ‘alleged’ crimes.

They were old allies, bound to him by favors and self-interest. It didn’t take long before a mutual understanding was reached behind closed doors.

Kyle was convinced he was turning the tide right up until the day his bedridden wife attacked him from behind.

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Central Security Bureau, Third Floor — Special Investigation Division 2

Early morning sunlight filtered through the frosted windows as clerks bustled about, shuffling reports and sealing envelopes.

The noise died down abruptly when a frail woman entered, supported by her attendant.

Every head turned.

Her once golden hair was now gathered neatly in a pale silver twist. Her face was gaunt and hollowed out by illness, and her frame was as fragile as a winter branch. She wore a plain black dress devoid of ornamentation.

No one looking at her would have guessed that she might be capable of anything violent, let alone a serious crime.

And yet her pale blue eyes, clouded with grief, held a sense of resignation.

‘Is she here to give a victim’s statement?’

One of the investigators wondered aloud. Before anyone could ask her a question, one of the investigators stepped forward and addressed her politely.

“How may we help you, madam?”

“Ah.”

Maeve Amaranth turned her face towards him. Her expression was distant, and her voice was faint and dry like crumbling parchment.

“I’ve come to turn myself in.”