It was there that the story of the Duke and Duchess of Ambrose began.

One cool autumn day, a girl who looked like a fairy went to the garden to watch the sunset, and a boy who looked like a prince happened to be touring the grounds during a business visit.

When you discover that the boy was Kieron Ambrose, who lost his parents at an early age and inherited the weighty title of duke far too young, and that the girl was Ariadne Peyton, the unremarkable daughter who always stood quietly behind her brilliant family with a gentle smile,

—the romance of the tale quickly fades.

He was a duke in name only, whose house had a dazzling reputation but little real power: Kieron Ambrose.

She was the sole ordinary member of a family overflowing with exceptional talent: Lady Ariadne Peyton.

Their marriage was so unremarkable that society forgot about it the moment the ceremony ended.

Ariadne never knew that Kieron had gone to the Peyton estate to seek the Marquis’s cooperation on foreign trade rights, and that she had merely encountered him by chance during his visit.

She had also been unaware that Kieron was the kind of man who would not allow himself to gain anything through a marriage of convenience. He insisted on proving his worth and securing his position as duke through his own merit.

Even if she had known, the Ariadne of that time would have done anything she thought might help him.

At that time, he had been nothing more than a dream prince, a gentle figure who offered his hand to a girl suffocating beneath the weight of her extraordinary family.

Like a hero from an Orpheo Sonnet or a character from one of those stories, he had been the benefactor who allowed her to dream of a love as sweet as honey.

So she had been grateful.

And happy.

Even when she saw her father’s sorrowful face as he released her hand on her wedding day, she believed that everything would be all right.

If she lived well after getting married, she thought his sorrow would eventually fade.

How naive she had been!

The first night of marriage is said to be unparalleled in its bliss.

For a couple united by love, Orpheo Sonnet wrote that sharing one’s body was the fruit of love, a moment when they confirmed their belonging to each other.

As Margaret helped the blushing, nervous Ariadne prepare, she conveyed the Marchioness’s instructions with an oddly sombre expression.

“My lady. If you’re frightened, say so. If it hurts, say it hurts. If you’re afraid, be honest. The madam said you must tell him clearly. All right?”

“Yes… Don’t worry, Nanny. I’ll say it if it’s too much.”

“Oh, my lady. Well… if you’re fine with it, then I suppose there’s no helping it…”

“I know, Nanny. I’ll really do well. Okay?”

Margaret was elderly, yes, but she was still working as a nanny in a noble household.

You could never be too careful about rumors, so she always kept her ears open.

The rumors about her lady’s soon-to-be husband were among the most prevalent of these whispers.

He was a duke in name only.

He was a cruel warmonger who was scorned even within his own family.

He was a foolish young man who, even in his twenties, had yet to secure his position as duke.

Margaret knew that his handsome looks and his prowess on the battlefield would not protect her beloved young lady.

What a noble house mistress needed was prestige, a stable husband, and love.

Her young lady might receive affection from her husband and be treated kindly by the servants, but House Peyton would truly be a far more dependable support to her than her husband, Kieron Ambrose.

Such was the reality of Kieron’s standing in society.

Yet after meeting her only once, he had accepted her father’s marriage proposal without hesitation.

The Marquis and Marchioness of Peyton, along with their three sons, agreed to the marriage not for any external advantage, but because they valued Ariadne’s happiness above all else.

None of them would ever be satisfied with anyone other than the man who stood beside their beloved, well-bred daughter.

Wouldn’t it therefore be better to marry her to someone she liked?

It was a reasonable suggestion. Entirely reasonable.

And yet, why did this innocent young lady tug at their hearts so much?

“Nanny, how do I look? Do you think His Grace will like me?”

“…If there’s a man out there who dislikes you, my lady, he’s either missing vital parts or he’s not human at all.”

“What? Nanny! Honestly—”

Ariadne’s bright laughter filled the room.

Seeing her so cheerful, Margaret couldn’t help but smile faintly in return.

After Margaret left, Ariadne was alone again.

She felt a little nervous, but not afraid.

Drawing in a soft breath, she lightly touched the thin slip that Margaret had helped her change into.

Her nanny had insisted that the duke would like it, but when Ariadne remembered that he had shown no emotion beyond a faint smile at their wedding, her heart sank again.

‘It should be fine, shouldn’t it?’

Even in her feverish delirium, the moment she clearly heard his voice had become a precious memory etched deep within her.

His cool hand brushing her burning forehead, his gentle voice.

“Your family is very worried, my lady. I came to see you myself, and seeing you so unwell is truly concerning.”

He was a kind and courteous man.

Such a man was her husband

“Oh dear…”

Ariadne blushed, covering her cheeks with both hands, embarrassed by her own thoughts.

Still, he was kind. Somehow, they would make it work.

So she waited.

One hour passed, then two, then three…

The candle that Margaret had lit crackled and burned.

The muffled laughter of guests enjoying the banquet seeped faintly into the room.

Four hours, five hours, six hours…

The flickering candle grew weak and dim.

Eventually, even the bustling sounds of the servants cleaning up after the guests faded away.

Kieron Ambrose never once set foot in the bridal chamber that night.

***

Ariadne stayed awake until dawn.

Even the most sheltered and innocent of young women would understand what it meant if their husband did not enter the bridal chamber on their wedding night.

It was a quiet, unmistakable rejection.

He was drawing a clear line between them.

For something unfamiliar to enter a familiar space, room must first be made among what already exists.

When a young bride from another household marries into her husband’s family, it is customary for the groom to spend time with her and share his space, opening his heart to her a little and creating a place where she might belong.

But when none of that happens and one tries to force the unfamiliar into a full space…

“The new madam, did you hear? She was ignored on the very first night.”

“Well, House Peyton is fearsome in its influence. I’m sure His Grace agreed just to indulge that spoiled young lady’s whims.”

“Our lord is pitiful, truly. With a house like hers, he has no choice but to keep her around even if he hates the sight of her.”

In one way or another, something was bound to go wrong.

Whispers had already begun to circulate throughout the ducal household.

The groom never visited his bride on their wedding night.

She waited for him until dawn.

She was a foolish young lady who would never have dreamed of marrying a duke if it weren’t for her family’s name.

Despite not having left the room or called for anyone, the voices seemed to cut straight through to Ariadne.

She buried her face in her hands.

At this rate, the whole of the capital would know by tomorrow and tear her apart without mercy.

Her world had already shifted, and the air around her felt heavier than ever.

As the murmurs continued, Ariadne let out a hollow, bitter laugh.

Nothing had changed since before the marriage.

Her brothers had always been brilliant and capable, shining wherever they went.

And she — plain and small, never catching anyone’s eye.

As if mocking her wish to escape that life, she had fallen even deeper into the pit.

***

She sat staring blankly out of the window for a long time.

Eventually, the question that had been weighing on her mind took shape.

Would she drift endlessly in this unfamiliar place, unable to find her feet, only to reject it once again?

Ariadne had always lost herself within her family, blaming her lack of talent and her inability to fit in anywhere for this.

She was the one who had seen marriage as an escape.

She wanted to live as an ordinary woman among ordinary people, to be loved in an ordinary way, and to live an ordinary life rather than remain the ugly duckling among her extraordinary siblings.

Believing that she could never be loved for her looks or personality, she devoted herself to making herself worthy of love.

All for that one small wish.

She could not afford to collapse here.

If she hid and did nothing, her life would be no different to the one she had lived in House Peyton.

Ariadne consoled herself with the thought that she should at least be grateful that she hadn’t been cast aside.

Her back was stiff from sitting upright all night, so she tapped it lightly and forced herself to stand up.

Then she called for the maids to help her get ready.

Glancing at the immaculate, untouched sheets, the maids’ eyes wavered for a moment, but they quickly returned to their tasks as if nothing had happened.

“Where is His Grace?”

“He is likely in the office, my lady.”

Despite waiting until after sunrise to get up and get dressed, the mansion was still shrouded in a faint veil of darkness.

Had she been at the Peyton estate, Ariadne would have woken up late, clung to Margaret, and eaten breakfast in bed.

But she was no longer Marquis Peyton’s daughter.

This was no longer the Peyton household.

She was now the Duchess of Ambrose. Madam Ashley, her pre-wedding instructor, had taught her that the greater a household’s power, the greater its mistress’s responsibilities.

This meant that she would have plenty to do in the days to come.

Remembering this, Ariadne clung to a small hope regarding his still-uncertain heart and a far larger hope regarding her new duties.

“Could you please inform His Grace that I would like to have breakfast with him? Please inform the head chef as well.”

She had asked him to share a morning meal.

With the husband who hadn’t shown his face once the night before.

With the man she still thought of as someone pulled from a dream.

“His Grace says you may dine first, my lady.”

What she received in return was a cold refusal.

Ariadne shut her eyes tightly.