After our discussion, Lyle and I retreated to my room. I sank into my favorite armchair beneath the warm flicker of a solitary candle, my notebook spread open on the table before me. With deliberate strokes, I had crossed out my grandparents' name—a calculated severance from the past, a necessary sacrifice on my path toward power.
The next challenge loomed large: ascending to the title of Archduchess of this house. The name itself thrummed with authority, a legacy potent enough that even the emperor would think twice before questioning my rule. I could almost taste the iron tang of destiny in the air as I considered the weight of that power, its promise both thrilling and daunting.
I closed the notebook with a soft snap, when a measured knock broke the stillness. "My Lady, it is me," came Lyle's familiar monotone—steady, almost clinical in its delivery.
Drawing a slow breath, I replied, "Come in," my words tinged with a mix of expectation and reluctant resolve.
Lyle entered not in his customary knight's uniform but clad in a distinguished half-knee black coat that hinted at a tailored suit, a crisp white blouse, and polished black boots. His hair, usually combed into a picture of military neatness, now lay in a handsome, purposeful disarray that made him appear achingly human.
The rigid formality of his red uniform—traditionally offset by stark white trousers and imposing boots—had given way to an aura of subdued vulnerability and refined nonchalance. I found this new side of him unexpectedly captivating.
Offering a gentle smile, I remarked, "I like how you look." For a split second, his eyes paused on mine, conveying unspoken questions and doubts, before he resumed his measured pace.
"Why are you here? Do you have something to report?" I asked, as I gracefully gestured for him to take a seat beside me.
Once seated, his tone grew heavier with duty. "His Grace has already dispatched a letter to the Imperial Palace. They will take care of you." His words were imbued with the certainty of protocol, yet beneath them lay a question—an unvoiced worry.
I prodded softly, "Then, is there anything more you wish to say?" His gaze darkened as he hesitated. "About your dream…" he began, his voice laced with reluctance and concern. "What did I do? Did my actions truly keep you alive?"
In that charged silence, I sensed his internal conflict—his fear that, as a knight charged with my protection, perhaps he had not done enough. I met his troubled eyes with quiet reassurance. "Of course you did everything you could," I murmured, my voice both tender and resolute.
"But I chose this path; I was destined to face these perils. You gave me no other option." I meant no slight, only to relieve the burden I saw weighing on him.
Beneath these confessions, a fierce determination kindled within me. I would not allow fate to deliver a demise steeped in sorrow or resignation. No matter the cost or consequence, I vowed to fight for my life. Even if the path twisted through fire and uncertainty, I would cling to the spark of survival with every fiber of my being.
Securing my existence in this world was the immediate imperative. Only once my body was invulnerable to harm would I dare to chart a return to the world that once was mine. For now, every moment was dedicated to ensuring that this vessel—this new form granted to me—would endure.
Without another word, Lyle excused himself, his quiet goodbye echoing in the still, heavy air. Left alone with my thoughts, I slipped onto my bed, the cool sheets offering a brief reprieve as I mapped the next steps in this high-stakes game of destiny.
Morning arrived like a vivid dream. I awoke to the gentle hum of voices and the soft rustle of skirts—a dozen carefully attired housekeepers lined the hall, their faces lit by a respectful reverence. My heart pounded as I questioned whether I was truly awake or still caught in an enchanted reverie.
The attendants swept into action with practiced elegance. Five of them bathed me with warm, fragrant water, their delicate touches stirring sensations of rejuvenation. One attendant brushed and massaged my hair with fluid motions that awakened my scalp to life, while two others attended to my hands with measured care, their scrubbing and massaging erasing the vestiges of sleep.
Another dedicated herself to my feet, massaging and cleansing away the night's inertia, while a final attendant's focused ministrations on my face coaxed the contours of my features into a soft, newfound clarity.
As the pampering continued, the air filled with a subtle symphony of rustling silks and whispered instructions. More staff gathered around, each selecting garments from what seemed a treasure trove of finery.
They helped dress me with an almost sacred attention to detail, choosing accessories and shoes that shimmered quietly, while others applied makeup and tidied my hair into an arrangement that radiated noble grace. Overwhelmed by the transformation, I found myself silent, simply choosing from the array of sumptuous offerings laid before me.
Then, I glimpsed my reflection in a grand mirror. I gasped softly at the sight: I wore a medium-brown lace dress that flowed gracefully around my figure, its intricate patterns echoing the delicate artistry of a bygone era. Jewel accessories clung to me in perfect harmony—mirroring both the dress and the subtle tones of my hair.
Never before had I seen myself so exquisitely transformed within these ancient walls—a stark contrast to the dull, neglected wardrobe of my past, where even Aneria's occasional care felt like a distant memory.
With the final flourish of their duties, the attendants receded like a gentle tide, leaving behind a lingering sense of exquisite ceremony. Lyle reappeared, his attire now shifted from the rigid formality of his knightly uniform to the relaxed elegance of a noble's casual wear.
As always, he escorted me with a steadfast quietude. Upon entering the grand dining hall, he took his customary seat beside me. "It seems you had a pleasant night here," remarked the Archduke in a tone of measured courtesy.
I responded with a small, practiced smile, though beneath it churned a volatile mix of determination, sorrow, and the daring promise of a new beginning. Even as I embraced this transformed self, I knew tomorrow would demand another battle—a relentless chase for survival, identity, and the reclamation of a past too fiercely coveted to forget.
The Archduke's words hung in the air, heavy with implications. "Your father sent word early this morning," he began, his tone measured but laced with unease.
"After receiving my letter last night, he responded swiftly. His answer… troubled me."
I paused mid-slice, my knife hovering over the tender steak, and glanced up at him. "He said he was glad you had finally decided to leave the Palace. He even suggested that I ensure you never return to the Palace. Furthermore, he requested your removal from the royal family registry."
A scoff escaped my lips before I could stop it. That damn old man. Is he really going this far? Glad that I left the Palace? What a touching sentiment from a father to his runaway daughter. My grip on the knife tightened as I fought to keep my composure.
"My father seems positively thrilled," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "The perfect little family he has always dreamed of can finally take shape." I resumed slicing the steak, each cut deliberate and precise, as if channeling my frustration into the motion.
It was clear—Madeleine was nothing more than a pawn to him, a disposable piece in his grand game. By suggesting my removal from the royal registry, he was effectively declaring to the world that Madeleine had no claim to the throne. Laura, his precious Laura, was the sole heir in his eyes.
If that is how he wants to play it, then so be it. I will seize this opportunity to rise above Laura, to claim a power so absolute that even she cannot challenge it.
The Archduke's voice broke through my thoughts. "Then, how about inheriting the House title?" His words caught me off guard, and I looked up at him, my expression betraying my shock.
"I… I cannot," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. "I do not even know how to manage a duchy. And the people—they will not accept me. I am not worthy." My gaze dropped to the table, my hands trembling slightly as I clenched them in my lap.
This was too easy. I had expected to fight tooth and nail for this title, to manipulate and scheme my way to the top. Yet here they were, offering it to me on a silver platter.
"You do not need to worry about that," the Archduke said firmly. "No one dares to oppose my decisions." His words were meant to reassure, but they only deepened my resolve to tread carefully. I could not afford to appear too eager, too ambitious. They needed to see me as harmless, as someone who needed their guidance and protection.
The sound of a chair scraping against the floor drew my attention, and I felt a gentle arm encircle my shoulders. "Oh, Madeleine," a soft voice murmured. "There is no one more suited for this role than you. Please, stop doubting yourself."
Lyle's voice cut through the moment, his tone steady and resolute. "My Lady, you are the rightful heir. Whatever others may say, it does not change the truth." His words silenced the room, their weight undeniable.
The Archduke cleared his throat, his expression thoughtful. "The Marquis speaks the truth. Dashiel has overstepped, and we cannot allow him to tarnish the Imperial Family's honor."
I hesitated, my gaze meeting the Archduke's. "Do you truly believe I can do this?" I asked, my voice tinged with doubt.
"Of course," he replied without hesitation. "You will surpass even my accomplishments. You are the sole heir." His confidence in me was unwavering, and I offered him a small, grateful smile.
After breakfast, Lyle escorted me to the study the Archduke had provided. It was a grand room, filled with shelves of ancient tomes and the faint scent of parchment. Lyle began teaching me the basics of managing the duchy, his voice steady and patient.
He spoke of his own experiences, of how he had become the head of the Zyair House at the tender age of nine after his father's untimely death. His achievements were nothing short of extraordinary—a Swordmaster, the youngest captain of the Imperial Knightage, and a figure of unwavering loyalty.
As he spoke, my mind wandered. I had read about Lyle in the story, how he was the second male lead, yet his role had always puzzled me. He was never romantically involved with Laura or Anywyl, the main characters. Instead, his story revolved around protecting Madeleine, their bond one of loyalty and mutual respect rather than romance.
"Are you spacing out, My Lady?" Lyle's voice pulled me back to the present, and I offered him an awkward smile. He continued his lesson, but I found it hard to focus. I preferred studying on my own, delving into the Empire's history and the intricacies of its noble houses at my own pace.
When the lesson ended, Lyle called for tea and sweets, a small reprieve from the monotony of the study. "It seems you were not fond of studying," he remarked, his tone light.
"It is not that," I replied. "I've already studied much of what you are teaching." He nodded, acknowledging my words. Of course, I had delved into the Empire's history and the power dynamics of its noble houses. Knowledge was power, and I intended to wield it wisely.
"Instead of history lessons, how about training me?" I suggested a mischievous smile playing on my lips. "I will listen to everything you teach if you train me every morning."
Lyle hesitated, but I knew he could not refuse. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, and I responded with a wide smile. "You will need to wake up early."
"I am used to it," I said confidently.
"Then we shall continue our lessons," he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Tomorrow would mark the beginning of a new chapter. I would learn to wield a sword, to fight for what was rightfully mine. And when the time came, I would not hesitate to claim my place, even if it meant waging war. Laura, my dear sister, enjoy your fleeting moments of peace. Soon, everything you hold dear will crumble, and you will drown in the chaos of your own making.
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