Chapter 1:  The Reason for Marriage (1)

A long, thin sigh slipped past his pale lips.

Grayson slowly ran a hand through his hair.

Sunlight struck his soft golden locks, scattering brilliantly as it filtered through the strands that fell between his fingers.

It was a beautiful day—if not for the mad words of a mad old man.

When the king of this country, the father he loved dearly, suddenly suggested a walk on this cold day, Grayson had already felt uneasy.

What nonsense will he spout this time? he wondered.

But what came out was not mere nonsense—it was madness.

Grayson fixed his eyes on his father’s face, filled with worry.

And who was that worry for?

Surely not him.

No, it must be for his two elder brothers, whom the king still looked upon with such affection and pity.

Did he still fear that Grayson might one day seize their place?

Grayson had learned at a very young age that there was a difference in the depth of his father’s love.

The first queen—the one the king had met in his youth, married for love, defying all opposition.

The second queen—whom he had wed for advantage, to give and receive benefits.

Just as the king’s love for these two women had not been equal, so too had his love for their children been different.

It had been a shock when Grayson was small, but by now, there was nothing left to feel upset about.

“Get married.”

The low voice wavered slightly at the end, betraying just a hint of unease, as though even this command disguised as a request weighed on him.

Franklin, the great and august king of the House of Riley, shifted his gaze away.

“It’s a good match. There’s nothing to lose.”

“Nothing to lose…”

“The House of Reynolds is a noble family of long standing, and their trade business is vast and secure.”

Arms crossed, Grayson listened with amusement as the king spoke almost defensively.

“The marquis’s children are all capable in their own right, and Lady Edith is rumored to be of exceptional beauty. You and she would suit each other very well.”

Lady Edith.

Grayson rolled the name on his tongue and smiled faintly.

The king, who had been watching his son’s expression, flinched when he caught sight of that smile and quickly turned his eyes away.

“You think I’d suit her. That woman raving with madness?”

When it came to Edith Reynolds, youngest daughter of the Marquis of Reynolds, Grayson knew as much as anyone.

Recently, she had been the most entertaining topic among high society gossips.

Early last year, following the death of the Marchioness of Reynolds, her daughter had gone mad with grief.

A few years ago, when she had made her debut into society, she was the very woman who had captivated men’s hearts with her beauty and grace.

But after losing her mother, she had completely lost her senses.

Just recently, after a scandalous scene at a tea party, there were even rumors that her father intended to send her to an asylum.

But to say she would suit him well.

A woman who had nearly been sent to an asylum.

His brothers had been given brides so carefully chosen that not a single flaw could be found, and yet this was what he was offered?

Wondering if the king could truly mean it, Grayson fixed his gaze on him, but the king avoided meeting his eyes.

“Madness, you say. Lady Edith is only struggling because of the grief of losing her mother. She used to be very clever and well-mannered. If you, as her husband, simply care for her well, won’t the two of you make a good match?”

Marriage had never held much meaning for him.

He had always assumed that when the time came, he would marry a suitable woman according to mutual interests.

He also knew that his father’s judgment, rather than his own, would weigh more heavily in that arrangement, and he had resigned himself to it.

But to throw a woman said to be deranged at him.

What’s more, Edith was only the marquis’s legal daughter, not even his blood.

Even if it was to secure his brothers’ positions more firmly, wasn’t this going too far?

There were countless reasons to object, endless arguments he could raise, yet Grayson chose not to.

Fortunate enough to be born the son of a king and to enjoy all that privilege afforded, it was only right that he fulfill his duties in return.

And a prince’s duty surely included easing the burdens of his father and his people.

Marriage, which he had never cared much about, was a small price to pay.

Even if the bride was a woman said to be mad.

“Very well, Your Majesty. I shall obey.”

***

Edith gazed out the small window at the sky.

‘The weather looks nice. Might it be warmer outside?’

It had been a week since she had been locked in the storeroom with no fireplace.

The chill of January was bitter; even with blankets piled over her, the cold seeped through.

Though she sat in the patch of sunlight, no warmth reached her.

“Haa.”

A faint sigh escaped, her breath turning white in the air.

Watching it drift away like smoke, Edith closed her eyes.

When her mother had been alive, she had not realized it.

She had not known that her very existence guaranteed Edith’s safety in this house.

At times she had even resented her mother.

Why did her mother bow her head to that man?

Why did she seek favor with his family?

Why would she not take revenge?

Was the title of Marchioness of Reynolds so desirable?

Was the reputation and wealth of the Reynolds family so sweet that she must lower her head before the enemies of Edith’s own father?

Only after her mother’s death did she understand that every act had been for the sake of protecting her daughter.

She also came to realize that her mother, though called Marchioness, possessed no real power or authority of her own.

“Haa.”

Another sigh left her lips, softer than the last.

Her stomach, empty for days, howled in protest.

It seemed the household had forgotten she had been locked away in the storeroom.

It was not the first time since her mother’s death, so she felt little fear.

When she was close to starving, they would release her, toss her some scraps, and demand her promise not to bring shame upon the Reynolds name again.

‘And then I’ll make that promise.’

Only to look for a chance to break it.

She would remain a thorn in their side until, one way or another, she left this house—alive or dead.

Wyatt Reynolds, the marquis, was a calculating man who meant to collect every penny’s worth of the cost of raising her.

‘Do you know how much I’ve spent raising you? Even if your mother is dead, you must still repay your share.’

When his hand had crept up her thigh, she had bitten down hard enough to draw blood.

For that, she earned the name “vicious wench.”

And a few slaps across the face.

Better to be beaten as a vicious wench than to endure his touch.

Though he had soon taken a new wife after her mother’s death, the marquis still reached for Edith whenever he pleased.

Too late, she understood why her mother used to come into her room at dawn and spend the day there with her.

‘Look there, Edith.’

On nights when the marquis stayed away, her mother would lie beside her until morning.

‘No matter how dark the night, if you lift your head, there will always be light.’

Her mother had loved to sit on the terrace at night, gazing up at the sky.

‘No matter how dark it is, somewhere there will always be light. So Edith, wherever you are, never lose sight of your light.’

Remembering those words, Edith opened her eyes again and looked out the small window.

In the cloudless blue sky, she saw her mother’s beloved eyes.

Creak—

The door to the storeroom opened.

She flinched, then relaxed when she saw who entered.

“Lenny.”

Edith’s maid. The only one in the household who stood on her side.

“My lady.”

Lenny hurried over and crouched in front of Edith, then pulled from her apron pocket a piece of bread and an apple she had hidden and brought along.

“I snuck these from the kitchen. Please, eat something.”

“Thank you.”

As Edith devoured the apple ravenously, Lenny’s eyes welled with tears.

“Goodness, the marquis is far too cruel. At the tea party—Lady Julia, that wretched woman, was the one at fault first, wasn’t she?”

Julia, the new marchioness, had hosted a tea party at the estate, and Edith had been invited.

She had not been in any mood to attend such a gathering, but she knew that if she refused, Julia would surely run to the marquis and twist the story to her disadvantage.

So she dressed herself as properly as she could and went.

Her plan was to sit quietly, endure it, and then excuse herself early with some reasonable pretext.

‘Still, it must be difficult for the new marchioness as well.’

Who had said that? Some countess, she thought.

‘The former marchioness dragged the family’s name through the mud. Cleaning that up can’t be easy, can it?’

The former marchioness. Her mother, Eliana.

It was clearly meant as an attack aimed at Edith, but she had tried to endure it.

‘Of course it’s difficult. She was such a wanton, extravagant woman. Because of her, the marquis seems to have developed something like a trauma. Why, he even gets uneasy if I so much as speak with his eldest son, Mateo. Mateo told me himself—the woman even went so far as to…’