Chapter 1.

The sky above was smothered in dark, heavy clouds, the grounds blanketed in white flowers and mourners.

A coffin wrapped in the crimson cloth of House Maister was swallowed into the pitch-black earth. The silver-haired woman watching it disappear stood motionless. Beneath her black veil, tears fell in silence, one after another.

Angela made no move to wipe them away. She only tightened her grip on the handkerchief in her hand.

Today was her husband’s funeral.

Delayed, as it was, by the autopsy and confirmation of cause of death.

Joel Maister. Second son of the Maister comital house. Angela’s gentle childhood friend.

After his elder brother, originally set to inherit the comital title, died, Joel became count and the two of them married.

An arranged marriage between noble houses, as was common enough.

There had been no blazing, passionate love between them. Even so, she had believed that life at his side would be peaceful.

She had never once imagined she would end up a young widow.

Yet when Joel, too, died young, people could not help adding their own words to the misfortune of House Maister. Gossip and whispers trailed through the funeral grounds like the bitter wind that swept through them.

“He was murdered, wasn’t he?”

“What wedding night? They never even had one. He was sent off as a diplomatic envoy by His Majesty the Emperor before the ceremony could take place, and she spent a full year alone.”

“And now he’s finally back!”

“Exactly. The very night he returned, he was stabbed to death in the garden. Brutally, among all those flowers.”

“How horrible. Have they caught the killer?”

“Apparently not. The trees around that area are large and it was dark, so the murderer managed to escape.”

“There was a witness, though?”

“Yes. The wife’s personal maid saw the killer fleeing and screamed. By the time anyone arrived, the maid was on the ground, shaking uncontrollably. She said it was too dark to make out the man’s face, but that he was very tall and powerfully built.”

“What could the motive be? A grudge?”

“Count Joel Maister was famous for being a kind man. What grudge could anyone possibly hold against him?”

“If it wasn’t a grudge, it could have been something like an affair.”

“With a wife that beautiful? An affair?”

“They were married in name only, never consummated it. Men find that sort of thing difficult.”

“Shh. Keep your voice down. The Countess Maister is right there, weeping. You shouldn’t be spreading things that haven’t been confirmed.”

“What a shame. What good is being the most beautiful woman in the Empire if you end up a widow?”

Angela lifted her gaze and looked steadily at the cluster of gossiping women. They forgot their chatter entirely and stared back at her.

The way people instinctively adore a lovely child without reason, Angela’s beauty drew everyone toward her on pure instinct, regardless of s*x.

Her face was pristine, as though sculpted from morning dew. White skin, sharp features, all suffused with an air of quiet allure. Whenever those unusually red lips parted to exhale, the people watching would find themselves holding their breath instead.

Silver hair slipped softly from beneath her veil as Angela moved toward the women. She raised her eyes with an air of indifference and spoke.

“Shall I have some tea and desserts prepared for you?”

Despite the tear tracks on her cheeks, her violet eyes did not waver.

“I beg your pardon……”

Flustered, the two women exchanged wide-eyed glances. Angela added, coolly:

“Oh, forgive me. Seeing the two of you chatting so pleasantly together, I thought for a moment I had hosted a tea party.”

The women’s faces flooded red as the meaning of her words sank in.

“At a funeral, one observes the decorum befitting a funeral. Surely that is the conduct expected of a noblewoman.”

With those words, Angela turned away. The women scrambled off with scarlet faces, and the rest of the crowd fell uniformly silent.

Composure intact, Angela passed her tear-dampened handkerchief to her personal maid standing beside her. The maid accepted it, and for a brief moment, open admiration crossed her face.

When all the funeral rites had concluded, Angela turned to her father-in-law, Phillip, who had stood at her side throughout, his face drained of color.

“Lord Phillip, I worry for your health. Please, go inside. You’ve barely eaten.”

“Angela, my dear. You’ve had a hard time of it too. Come, let’s go in together.”

“……I would like to stay a little longer.”

“Of course. You need time to say goodbye. I’ll head back to the townhouse ahead of you.”

“Yes.”

One by one, Phillip and the remaining guests offered their condolences to Angela and took their leave.

The air was not merely cool but genuinely cold. The sun was sinking and the wind had picked up sharply, and her personal maid, unable to bear it any longer, spoke up.

“Miss, the wind is freezing. Let’s go back to the estate.”

“Emily. If you’re cold, you may go in.”

“It’s you I’m worried about, Miss. The day has already been so grueling. I’m afraid you’ll fall ill.”

“I’m fine. Seeing to one’s guests is the duty of the mistress of the house.”

Poised and graceful as ever, Angela answered.

Before long, everyone had gone. Three men alone remained. When one of them approached, it was Emily, not Angela, who flinched.

Angela noticed the slight movement and took Emily’s hand. Emily seemed to settle at once.

“I offer my deepest condolences for your profound loss.”

A tall, handsome man with golden hair and blue eyes.

His overall impression was gentle, yet a pair of sharp, horizontally set eyes stood out against it. That mouth of his always wore a kind smile, though not today.

‘This scent……’

It was a perfume Angela was fond of.

A perfume so expensive it was worth naming, imported from a distant foreign land.

“I thank you for your consideration, Young Duke Wilton.”

Lord Ashley Rai Wilton. Eldest son and heir of the Wilton ducal house.

Renowned from childhood as a gifted talent, he was equally known for his good character, his kindness, and his dignified bearing.

The young duke gave a slight bow in return, and then a broad-shouldered man appeared.

“It’s far too cold out here. Wouldn’t you consider going inside? Your late husband would not have wished to see you shivering and falling sick.”

A blunt manner of speaking.

Striking red hair. Eyes as dark and deep as obsidian. Heavy brows, a square jaw, an unmistakably masculine face. His left eyebrow was interrupted two-thirds of the way through by a scar, yet it suited him so well it might have been deliberate.

He was generally expressionless, but the occasional smile he tossed out with a careless ease was frequently the subject of ladies’ conversation.

Isaac Leo Galland, son of a count.

The youngest son of the Galland comital house, owners of the Galland Bank, an institution so dominant that people said all the money in the world flowed through Galland. He had lived long enough to know that money could not solve everything, but that it solved a great deal. That was precisely why he was so unrestrained, so indifferent to others’ opinions.

Strangely, Isaac carried the exact same perfume as Ashley.

“I am not so fragile as that, Lord Galland.”

A strikingly beautiful young man then stepped forward and held out his coat to Angela.

“……Even so, just in case, I would be glad if you wore this.”

A careful voice. A remarkably fine voice, one that could rival even a young boy’s in its clarity.

Cyril Knox Knowles, son of a marquis.

Second son of the Knowles marquisal house. House Knowles was one of the founding meritorious families of the Empire, and carried with it the authority and historical tradition that entailed.

He was a man of mysterious bearing.

Lavender hair, soft as flower petals, was gathered and tied back at the nape of his neck. Silver eyes behind his glasses shone clear and still.

Delicate silver earrings with intricate patterns hung from his ears. An ornate ring adorned his little finger, and a brooch set with onyx was pinned to his chest.

Of the three men, he wore the most jewelry, yet it looked not cluttered but entirely natural on him.

The eldest son had been designated heir, but rumor had it the second son stood to inherit considerable assets and lands of his own.

‘And this son carries the same perfume……’

All three men wore the same scent. It was peculiar.

A heavy, composed fragrance with depth, drawn from a rare tree that grew in the desert.

Each man’s natural scent had altered it slightly, but Angela recognized at once that it was the same perfume.

Seeing Cyril’s gesture, the other two men also shrugged off their coats.

Angela stepped back and refused all three of them with quiet firmness. Her black veil stirred in the wind.

“No. I’m quite all right. If I grow too cold, my maid can fetch a shawl from the estate.”

“My concern for the cold made me forget my manners. I apologize. I shall take my leave, and I hope you do not stand here shivering alone.”

Cyril spoke with courtesy and bowed his head. Ashley offered his own parting words.

“Grief grows larger when you are alone with it. Please, do not leave yourself to solitude.”

“If there is anything you need, say the word at any time.”

Isaac added quickly.

“Thank you, all of you.”

All three men departed. It had been an unremarkable condolence call.

As the three figures receded into the distance, Emily, her face white as chalk, pressed close to Angela’s side, trembling. Her legs seemed to have given out beneath her.

“Miss. That perfume……”

“I know.”

The fragrance drifting from the three men. The same perfume Emily had said she smelled on the killer the night Joel died.

‘Miss, the perfume you loved so much, that scent came from the killer.’

That day, Emily’s whispered voice had been soaked in terror.

“Miss, what do we do.”

“Shh, they’ll notice. Act as though nothing is wrong.”

The most beautiful widow in the Axel Empire. Angela clenched her fist and kept her composure, but her eyes betrayed her, shifting without rest.

One of those men killed my husband.