"Duchess." A young, petite brunette greeted her presence. Selene did not find the face familiar; hence, she paid close attention.
She examined her closely, unknowingly making the girl worried and unnerved.
"And you are?" Selene finally asked. She got up from her vanity and walked towards the shivering girl.
The maiden immediately bowed under the presence of authority, nervously fidgeting.
She spoke as clearly as she could muster. "I am newly recruited; I...I am Fifteen, Duchess."
Selene breathed. Did they get rid of Anna? Who does she work under? —her thoughts ran wild, but her face did not leak a single emotion.
"What is your name?" Selene asked again, to which the servant raised her head only to meet her gaze and bow right hastily after.
"My name is Fifteen, Duchess," the girl muttered.
Selene was taken aback; a name like that probably has layers of history not for one to arbitrarily assume.
"Is that your age aswell?" she asked, her tone with a tinge of curiosity and impulsivity. She regretted saying that, as it probably came out like mocking her.
However, she did not expect that Fifteen would affirm her assumption. The girl just nodded slowly.
Seeing this, Selene felt sympathy for the girl. She could not imagine anyone naming their child after numbers—especially at a time when slavery ran rampant in the empire; children were named after numbers, value, and quality...She knew it better than anyone.
She felt the air getting heavier and wanted to redirect the conversation. It was too early to be gloomy.
"Well, Fifteen, where is Anna?" Selene asked calmly. Turning her back to the young maid.
"I believe she is out running errands, Duchess. I am merely her stand-in for today." Fifteen raised her head, her hands still clasped together.
Choosing a newly-recruit to serve her...a classic move from the Grand Duchess. Now she was certain that Fifteen was probably sent to monitor her.
Selene studied the girl once more, then turned back to her vanity.
"Fifteen," she said, her tone smooth, deliberate. "You will assist me with preparations for the banquet. Anna may run errands, but I require someone here."
The young maid nodded quickly, relief and fear tangled in her expression. Selene's gaze lingered on her only briefly before she dismissed the girl with a flick of her hand.
Later that afternoon, Selene made her way to the duke's study. Theodore was bent over parchment, his quill scratching furiously. He looked up when she entered, his face softening.
"I need a tailor," Selene said plainly. "For the banquet."
Theodore blinked, almost startled. "A tailor? Why ask me? You could have simply sent word."
Selene tilted her head, her shawl slipping slightly from her shoulders. "Because it is your household. I thought it proper to ask."
Her words struck him harder than he expected. Why would she need permission for something so trivial? He frowned, setting the quill aside.
"What about the dresses I've sent you? The gifts? Did you not like them?"
Selene's lips curved faintly, polite but distant. "They were... thoughtful."
Theodore's chest tightened. Thoughtful. Not cherished. He never saw her in the dresses he painstakingly chose.
He wondered if she had ever truly accepted them.
He wanted to ask more, but her eyes had already drifted to the window, as if the matter was closed.
In reality, Selene had never received gowns that matched the empire's current style. The dresses sent to her were outdated, relics of seasons long past. To wear them at the banquet would be to invite ridicule, to appear provincial, and begging to be humiliated.
But she did not say this aloud.
She let Theodore believe her silence was indifference, when, in truth, it was something far darker.
And as she left his study, Theodore sat alone, troubled—not only by the bandits plaguing Lancaster, not only by the banquet looming ahead, but by the gnawing thought that his wife's distance was deeper than he could mend.
—
The grand hall shimmered with gold and crystal, chandeliers casting light across polished marble floors. Nobles gathered in clusters, their voices hushed yet sharp, every word a dagger wrapped in silk and flatter.
Theodore entered with Selene at his side. His posture was rigid, his expression composed—the very image of a duke who bore the weight of Lancaster upon his shoulders. Yet beneath the mask, his chest tightened.
Selene walked beside him, her gown flowing like water, the fabric chosen with the wearer in mind. The tailor had worked tirelessly, and the result was undeniable: she was radiant, commanding, impossible to ignore. Whispers followed her steps, eyes lingered too long.
Theodore noticed. He always noticed.
Her gown was a masterpiece of quiet dominance, The bodice clung to her form with precision, every bead and thread shimmering like starlight caught in fabric. The sheer off‑shoulder sleeves drifted with her movements, light as mist.
When she walked, the gown did not resist her; it obeyed. Each step sent the skirt flowing in measured waves, the semi‑transparent train trailing behind as moonlight spun into silk.
He had prepared himself for scrutiny, for the smirks of foes and the sly remarks of courtiers. But what unsettled him most was Selene's composure. She did not falter, like she had in the past. She moved as though the hall belonged to her.
He leaned closer, his voice dangerously low. "Will you be alright?"
Selene's lips curved faintly, her eyes never leaving the crowd. "Ofcourse, just trust me."
Theodore's jaw tightened. He wanted her to play the role of the fragile duchess, the pitiful wife.
Forever.
That was the narrative he had prepared—the one that would earn sympathy, perhaps even imperial favor.
But Selene had chosen another role—and he knew this decision was not sudden. The circumstances somehow added flint, igniting the slumbering fire in her.
—
At the banquet table, Selene spoke sparingly, yet each word carried weight. She complimented the Empress with a smile that seemed harmless, asked after the health of a minister's wife, and laughed softly at a jest from a visiting prince.
Every gesture was subtle. She was weaving threads Theodore could not see, planting seeds he could not uproot.
He closely observed her, unsettled. She was no longer the woman who cried in silence, nor the wife who yielded to his apologies. She was something else now—something he could not comprehend.
He felt a pang in his chest—the same ones he got when he found her.
Theodore raised his glass, forcing a smile as nobles toasted around him. His mind, however, was elsewhere. He thought of the bandits plaguing Lancaster, of the empire's eyes upon him, of the fragile balance he had tried to maintain.
And then he thought of Selene.
She had asked for a tailor. She had worn a gown so eye-catching, fitting for a duchess by his side. She had smiled in ways that unsettled even him.
He wondered—had she ever truly accepted the gifts he sent her? The dresses, the tokens of reconciliation? Or had they been discarded before they ever reached her hands?
The thought gnawed at him.
And as the banquet carried on, Theodore realized that the test was not only for Lancaster's strength. A part of him wanted her to flourish confidently by his side and embrace.