"Who else found her question really strange?" Elise asked her fellow maids as they lingered in the corridor, waiting in case Lilian summoned them again.
Linda's eyes were bright as she replied, "I don't think it was strange at all. I actually like her. She seems kind."
"Who cares?" Clara scoffed, hopping up to sit on the railing and crossing one leg over the other. "Didn't you see what happened at the dining hall? The Duke denied Lady Marianne of her seat. If his wife is starting to gain his favor, then I'm siding with her."
"I just feel bad for her," Linda's voice carried empathy as she glanced between them. "Imagine being given away as tribute. But I suppose staying here is far better, right? From the way she looked when she first arrived… it didn't seem like her family treated her kindly either. I also believe the Duke sees that as well."
"Not to mention the scar," Elise lowered her voice. "It must have hurt terribly. Who would do that to someone?"
Clara leaned in. "Honestly, I wonder how the Duke is able to look at her at all."
"I still think she is a pretty woman," Linda added with a small smile.
"And what is this unnecessary chatter about?"
All three maids stiffened.
The steward stood before them, his arms tucked behind his back, his expression razor-sharp. Behind him, several workers who serve the fortress carried shelves, potted plants, and blankets into Lilian's chamber. The girls' eyes followed the workers for a heartbeat, until they noticed the steward's attention was still firmly locked on them.
They straightened immediately.
"We were just talking," Clara said quickly.
But Cedric's eyes narrowed, the warning in it unmistakable.
"The new Lady must feel comfortable," he said sternly. "Do not go around causing trouble. If you do, you will not only answer to me, but the Duke as well."
When he made his words clear, he turned and followed the workers inside.
Clara let out a frustrated huff the minute he was out of sight, folding her arms. "That steward really knows how to get on my nerves. Why is he so scary?"
"Let's go before he comes back."
The three maids dispersed from the corridor in a hurried cluster, eager to be out of Cedric's sight.
**************
Inside a private gallery lined with portraits and framed heirlooms, Marianne stood before Constance with worry written over her delicate features. The quiet room, with its draped velvet and oil-painted ancestors, seemed to sharpen the tremble in her voice.
"Aunt…. I thought you said Caelan was only marrying that woman to secure half of what the southern borders possessed? So why did he make me feel irrelevant in front of everyone? He's never done that to me before. So why now?"
Constance, who had been smoothing the silk glove at her wrist, lifted her gaze slowly. Her eyes lingered on Marianne's distressed expression before softening, just enough to appear sympathetic.
"Marianne, my dear, calm yourself," she murmured. "You know I believed the same as well. But even I forgot how stiff and utterly obsessed Caelan is with propriety."
She stepped toward the girl and gently guided her to sit on the cushioned bench. "Trust that I have spoken to him," she continued, her voice softer now. "The seat he gave means nothing beyond formality. I can promise you that. Custom dictates that the Duke's wife sits there. There's really nothing more to it."
"But the way he looked at me…" Marianne whispered. "Like I didn't matter at all."
Constance's smile tightened at the edges. "Nonsense. You have been by his side far longer than that wretch has. You and Caelan have always been close since your childhood together. One public gesture will not erase that."
Marianne bit her lower lip. "Still… it felt like he was pushing me away."
Her gaze drifted downward as old memories rose unbidden. She knew she had never been truly close to the Duke, at least not in the way she wished, but she had taken interest in him since they were children. Whenever her father visited the dukedom to see Caelan's father, she would be left in Caelan's company.
Growing up, Caelan had been really consumed by his training. His father had pushed him relentlessly, molding him into the perfect heir. Dawn to dusk, discipline after discipline, there was never room for friends, games, or anything resembling a normal childhood. Yet Marianne had always been there, watching, waiting, and offering silent support from the sidelines. She admired his dedication to impress his father, his resilience, even when it cost him every scrap of childhood he should have had.
It became worse after his father's passing, leading him to take the role of a Duke at only nineteen.
He had always been distant with her, quiet and unreachable, but that had never dimmed the affection she nurtured for him. He had never treated her unkindly all the times they were together, and she truly believed that one day… After years of loyalty and familiarity, he would finally notice her, truly see her, and understand how deeply she cared for him.
But now…
Now it felt as though all the years she spent at his side had been swept away by the presence of one stranger.
Constance placed a steady, reassuring hand on Marianne's shoulder, snapping her back to reality, and she leaned closer. "He cannot push you away unless you allow him to. Remember your place here, Marianne. You are favored. You are more familiar. That girl is nothing but a political offering. A sacrifice. You must think of her as such and never let your guard down."
But Marianne looked down at her hands, her brows tightening with uncertainty. "But she is his wife now..."
"A wife who does not even share his chambers," Constance replied smoothly. "Is that truly a wife? She may hold the title as one, yes, but you–" she tapped Marianne's chest lightly, " —you reside in the Duke's heart."
She gently cupped Marianne's cheeks with practiced gentleness. "Do not let one breakfast shake your confidence. Caelan is simply proving to the court that he is abiding by tradition. That is all. Nothing has changed where it truly mattered."
Marianne's shoulder relaxed slightly at her aunt's reassuring words, but the worry in her eyes did not disappear entirely.
Constance clasped her hands behind her back and began to pace slowly, her heels clicking crisply against the floor. "But," she added in a measured tone, "it is becoming clear that this little… tribute bride is starting to believe her position grants her power."
Marianne blinked, frowning. "Power? She barely spoke during breakfast."
"That is precisely what you should fear," Constance murmured. "Quiet women are the most dangerous sort. Their silence is not submission, it is observation, and observation leads to plotting."
Marianne stiffened. "Plotting? Against whom?"
Constance turned toward her, her lips curving into a gentle, reassuring smile that held no warmth at all. "Against you, dear. Against Caelan. Against this family. Do you think she has forgotten what happened to her father? Or how she was offered as livestock to avoid war?"
Marianne swallowed hard, the seed of fear already taking root in her chest.
"But worry not," Constance continued, taking Marianne's hand in a soothing firmness. "The dukedom will protect you… and Caelan.
"How?"
Constance leaned in close, her words soft and poisonous. "We simply allow the girl to reveal her true nature. One wrong move. One sign of Malice. Even a hint that wishes harm upon someone in this household, and Caelan will have her head."
Marianne's eyes widened. "But what if she doesn't do anything wrong?"
"Oh, Marianne," Constance stroked her cheek, the gesture tender but chilling. "She definitely will, and we'll make sure of it…" she paused, her smile sharpening. " A misunderstanding. A situation arranged just right. Something that will make Caelan question her innocence."
Marianne's breath caught, unsure. "Would he believe it? He is not easily fooled."
"Caelan is strict," Constance replied calmly. "He has little patience for threats. All he needs is a push in the right direction."
Marianne slowly nodded, uncertainty warring in her eyes. "I… I only want him to finally look at me."
"And he will," Constance promised, cupping her cheek with icy reassurance. "Once that little ugly duckling is out of the picture. Just leave the planning to me."