“I don’t understand why you’re acting like this all of a sudden. You didn’t help me before. You never showed any interest, and now… it’s as if you’ve become a completely different person.”
“That’s about right.”
Sihon readily admitted that he had been inconsistent. However, that was the limit of his patience.
“So? What’s your answer?”
“This injury… was from Lady Stella Kensington. The Kensingtons visited the marquisate yesterday. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but these wounds aren’t from domestic violence or *buse.”
Lydia lowered her gaze to the floor as she spoke in a weak voice.
The matter was difficult to explain.
Yes, she had been mistreated countless times at the Marquis’s house, but the bruises on her face today hadn’t been inflicted by the Marchioness or the servants.
They had come from outside.
She couldn’t, in good conscience, call that ‘domestic violence’.
After all, Sihon had only commented on the marks he could see. She couldn’t use old injuries as evidence of *buse in response to a question about these.
But his reply took her completely by surprise.
“You seem to be mistaken, Lady Arwen. *buse isn’t limited to hitting or shouting. Failing to treat an injured child is also *buse. And if two months ago you were forced to starve against your will, that counts as well.”
His tone was calm and matter-of-fact, almost detached. And precisely because of that, his words carried weight.
He wasn’t speaking out of emotion or pity, but from a clear sense of right and wrong.
The Marquis and Marchioness of Amaranth were highly respected nobles. Every month, they donated vast sums to charities, volunteered at orphanages and temples, and did everything they could to ensure their good reputation remained spotless.
To society, they were the very embodiment of noblesse oblige.
Even if Lydia cried out that the Marchioness had abused her and the Marquis had turned a blind eye, no one in the aristocracy would have believed her.
Why would such an admirable couple harm their own daughter? they would say, dismissing her words as the petulant whining of a spoiled child.
They didn’t care about the truth; they only wanted to avoid inconvenience.
That was precisely why Lydia had long since abandoned the idea of asking other nobles for help.
In that context, her desperate attempt to contact Sihon that night was unprecedented.
He was her fiancé, after all. As long as her secret remained undiscovered, they were destined to marry one day. Surely he wouldn’t be like the others… or so she had foolishly hoped.
That fragile hope had been shattered beyond repair. She had sworn never to expect anything again.
And yet, here he was.
For reasons she couldn’t fathom, he was now extending his hand towards her, willing to listen to her and even believe her.
She couldn’t read his intentions, but the fact that he was willing to listen made him different from everyone else.
Perhaps this was it, her first and last opportunity to depend on someone.
Lydia’s lips parted; her decision was made.
“That day, I didn’t starve because I wanted to. My mother, the Marchioness, ordered the servants to give me only water for a week. She said it was to make my figure suit the dress. But the real reason was simply that she hates me. I can’t tell you everything, but I can tell you that much.”
“…”
“And apart from what happened yesterday, normally if I make a mistake during lessons or somehow displease her, she punishes me. She locks me in the dark basement and gives me nothing but water for days. She also slaps me, pierces my nails with needles and makes me lie down while the servants step on me…”
“What do you mean, ‘a bit of punishment’? That’s not discipline, that’s a crime. Since when has this been happening to you?”
“Since I was twelve.”
As Lydia answered, Sihon’s composed expression hardened, his brows drawing together in displeasure.
‘Of course,’ Lydia thought bitterly, ‘he must think I’m whining to someone who barely knows me.’
The sight of his grim face made her falter, but desperation pushed her to speak quickly.
“I don’t want to stay here another moment. Please, help me escape House Amaranth. In return, I’ll make sure you can annul our engagement without defying the Imperial decree. You never wanted this marriage, did you? You’ve only kept it because the crown ordered it.”
According to imperial law, marriage could only take place between nobles of a similar rank and of the opposite s*x.
No matter how strong the political motives were, if one family lacked a suitable heir of the correct gender, the arrangement could not proceed.
Following Arwen’s death, the Marquis was probably considering adopting a distant female relative who could pass as his daughter.
This would have been the most proper and respectable solution.
Unfortunately, however, the family tree was filled with sons, not daughters.
Consequently, Marquis Kyle Amaranth disguised his illegitimate daughter, Lydia, as his deceased child.
But what if the truth were revealed that the real Lady Arwen Amaranth was already dead?
Then House Amaranth would no longer have a bride suitable for Duke Blair. The engagement would collapse instantly.
This secret was Lydia’s only bargaining chip.
“I know how to break the alliance between the two houses, If you promise to help me first, I’ll give you that card.”
✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘
The relationship could never be mended.
That’s how Sihon described his marriage to Arwen.
From the moment they were born — him into House Blair, her into House Amaranth — their fate had been sealed.
For centuries, their ancestors had invaded each other’s lands, plundering wealth and slaughtering family members and servants. The hatred between their bloodlines ran too deep to ever be undone.
Who they were as people didn’t matter. Their names alone were enough to make them enemies.
Objectively speaking, Lady Arwen Amaranth was considered a fine match on the marriage market.
While she might not have been the Empire’s most beautiful woman, she was certainly attractive: her pale golden hair fell in soft waves down her back and her large, round emerald eyes shone beneath her long lashes.
Her skin was the colour of porcelain, almost cold in its whiteness, but her soft, cherry-red lips and gently rounded nose softened her features.
She had a calm, refined voice and an above-average education. Of course, she also had a substantial dowry, coming from a Marquis’s household.
The problem was simple: Sihon had no interest in her.
It made no difference whether her hair was golden or red, or whether her skin was pale or tanned.
Whether she was delicate or healthy, talented or clumsy, graceful or ungainly, none of it mattered.
He had no intention of leading a married life with the daughter of House Amaranth, nor of ever having an heir with her.
All he wanted was a quiet, distant coexistence, no arguments, no affection, no entanglements.
He had assumed his bride would feel the same.
That was why, on their wedding day, when she smiled brightly, it had taken him by surprise.
For a moment, she had looked happy.
‘How can she smile like that, when she’s marrying into the house of her family’s enemy?’
It made no sense, there was nothing to be happy about.
And yet, strangely enough… he hadn’t found it unpleasant.
Sihon found her reaction incomprehensible, leaving him feeling oddly unsettled for a moment. However, he soon dismissed the feeling as inconsequential.
She must have been acting, putting on the poised face of a noble lady and being mindful of how she appeared to the guests.
When the ceremony ended and they were finally alone in the bridal chamber, his suspicions turned to certainty.
According to imperial law, a noble marriage was only considered complete once the couple had performed the ceremony and consummated the union. No matter how grand the vows or how many witnesses attended, without consummating the union on the first night, the marriage was legally unfinished.
Many couples who didn’t love each other exploited this loophole, enduring a cold, unconsummated marriage until they could petition for an annulment.
But would Sihon really spend his wedding night with someone he didn’t love?
Even then, Sihon could not bring himself to make a decision.
Instead, he simply watched Arwen sitting on the edge of the bed for a long while.
‘What is she thinking right now?’
But there was no emotion on Arwen’s face. She sat quietly with her eyes lowered, like a lifeless doll.
In the end, there was only one way to ascertain her intentions.
Sihon leaned forward as if to kiss her, his hand brushing lightly against the ribbon of her corset, which was tied at the back. He had no intention of forcing her: the slightest sign of discomfort and he would stop immediately.
This was merely a formal gesture to test her response.
As expected, Arwen flinched violently and shrank back in visible fear. It was an unmistakable refusal.
The moment he saw this, Sihon withdrew at once, cleanly and without hesitation.
Of course, why would a bride from an enemy house want to share a bed with him?
He walked past her and left the room. Arwen’s lips parted as if she were about to say something, but he didn’t wait for her.
Any words she might have offered, such as ‘I was just startled’, or some other empty excuse, would have changed nothing.
What mattered was clear: neither of them desired the other.
It wasn’t until much later that Sihon noticed his wife’s peculiar habit of wearing long sleeves, even in the sweltering summer heat.
He hadn’t paid her much attention before, but living under the same roof meant that small, incongruous details sometimes caught his eye.
Her insistence on wearing clothing unsuited to the season was one of them.
Intrigued, he discreetly asked her lady-in-waiting, Lady Charlotte Fayla, if she knew why the duchess avoided short sleeves.
Usually wary of him and sometimes openly cold, Charlotte answered with rare candor, her voice low and cautious.
“Her Grace seems to avoid revealing her skin because of the scars on her body, Your Grace.”
There had been something unusually subdued, almost conflicted, about the maid’s expression that day.
Translator
YOU MAY ALSO LIKE
Ravingcrow1118
Honestly, if someone tells you that your wife who grew up as spoiled is covered in scars, then he should have used his common sense to search for clues about the truth.