INWY~07

Chapter 07

Dante Venachert never loses. 

That was a truth every businessman in the kingdom could agree on.

Annulment, not divorce.

The unexpected blow left the back of Riena’s neck prickling. 

Meeting Dante’s gaze, she forced her lips to move.

“An annulment… The royal court would never recognize it. You know that better than I do. For this to happen, there has to be a clear cause…”

“There is.”

Cutting her off, Dante answered curtly, his tone sharp.

“It’s right there in your hands.”

He gestured with a tilt of his chin at the stack of documents she held.

Following his gaze, Riena slowly began leafing through them one by one. 

The file wasn’t thick, and she scanned the pages quickly—until her eyes landed on a particular document.

Reading the details, she forgot she was sitting before the Grand Duke and let out a short, incredulous laugh.

Ah. Dante Venachert truly was one of the shrewdest businessmen in all of Vermarch. 

He always got what he wanted, no matter the cost, and even the smallest loss inevitably became a greater gain in his hands.

“The Grand Duchess is afflicted with an incurable disease, rendering her infertile and terminal.”

Her hand trembled violently as she clutched the medical certificate signed by the royal physician.

She wasn’t surprised that the blame was pinned entirely on her. 

If Dante wanted the marriage annulled without suffering personal loss, then naturally the fault had to rest solely with Riena.

The problem was the reason he had chosen: the Grand Duchess’s incurable illness, and her resulting infertility. 

A flawless cause—her heart sank like a stone.

The Grand Duchess’s position came with the sacred duty of producing an heir. 

To claim that the woman in that seat carried a potentially hereditary disease, and worse, could not bear children at all—it was unthinkable.

But… how?

Her thoughts whirled frantically. How did he find out I was ill?

When she had been given her death sentence not long ago, she had begged the physician before he left—begged him not to tell the Duke, begged him to keep her condition from everyone in Beherren Palace.

She had pleaded so desperately.

So how on earth did he know? Had the physician betrayed her? Or had she been discovered some other way?

Of all people, the one person she could never allow to know—was Dante.

 At least, not until she left this palace behind.

Her heart pounded harder and harder, a crushing pain spreading across her chest. 

The throbbing grew sharper, and her face drained to the pallor of a ghost.

Dante, watching her silently bow her head and tremble, narrowed his eyes.

So, she had asked for a divorce, yet annulment was what shocked her?

He scoffed.

“I have no reason to shoulder the risk of divorce. Not for the likes of you.”

And if this pathetic little reason ruined her, so be it.

“What’s wrong? Does it sting, knowing you’ll be discarded with the stain of infertility and an incurable disease?”

He growled the words low.

Riena’s head jerked up before she realized it.

“…A stain?”

The question slipped out unguarded.

Dante frowned, as though the word were meaningless, and only then did she feel her lungs loosen.

He doesn’t know… not really.

Relief softened her shoulders, and she reread the damning line on the certificate. 

Yes. It had to be a lie he had fabricated to shift all the blame onto her.

Colour slowly returned to her cheeks. 

Meeting his golden eyes again, she finally spoke.

“…It doesn’t matter. Divorce or annulment, either way. Even if I’m branded with disgrace, I’ll accept it.”

“And even if you’re left with nothing? Not a single coin in your name?”

“Yes. I don’t want it.”

Her voice was steady, bold even.

Dante arched a brow, irritation flickering as he studied the innocent clarity of her brown eyes. 

His lips curved into a crooked smile.

He had meant to cut her down with words honed to knives.

“Well, that makes sense. You already tried to throw away that pitiful life of yours. Why would you cling to money now?”

“…If that’s what you believe, so be it. Say worse, I’ll hear it.”

She didn’t even flinch. 

Words couldn’t change anything. 

Pain didn’t matter.

As long as he never discovered her true condition, she could bear it all.

Her calm defiance only chilled his gaze further. 

The more he spoke to her, the more she turned his insides upside down.

“Hah. Maybe being terminally ill would’ve been better for you after all.”

“…What do you mean?”

“Then at least I might’ve pitied you enough to ship you off to the countryside for rest.”

His sneer tangled her carefully guarded composure.

“Well, that would’ve spared me this nuisance. Leave you in some remote village and you’d disappear on your own. A shame. If only you really were incurable, life would be easier for both of us.”

His mocking laugh slashed at her heart.

Breath hitched painfully in her chest. 

This ache wasn’t from her illness—it was from him.

Staring at those merciless golden eyes, Riena pressed her lips together, then let a bitter smile curve across her face.

She knew. 

He was only trying to wound her.

“…You’re right. It would’ve been better for you if I died now. Forgive me for failing you.”

“Well then.”

Dante seized the opening, his voice cruelly calm.

“If I submit this petition to the court, the whole of Vermarch will soon read that the Grand Duchess is terminally ill. It’ll cause problems if you’re seen living quite healthily, don’t you think?”

She was clever enough to understand his meaning by now.

“So, since you won’t die for me, you’ll leave Beherren the moment the annulment is approved. Forever.”

***

Dante Venachert’s prediction was flawless.

Not long after he filed the petition for annulment, the news spread like wildfire through Beherren and all the way to the capital, Arbern.

Newspapers, giddy with their sensational scoop, wrestled with how to make their headlines even more scandalous.

Grand Duke Venachert Duped by a Fraudulent Marriage!

Reading one of the tamer headlines, Reichert’s hands clenched, crumpling the paper in his grip.

“That lunatic.”

The Crown Prince spat the words like venom.

Of course, he had expected Dante to divorce her eventually. 

Everyone knew his marriage to a woman of unknown origin had been nothing more than a ploy to secure his title.

And when he divorced, the royal court would approve it, keep his title intact, and in exchange strip him of a fortune. 

That was the plan.

But annulment?

He hadn’t dreamed Dante would do something so reckless. 

Marriage within the royal house was sacred—this kind of evasion was unthinkable.

This was no passing scandal. 

The nobles would descend like vultures, demanding to know what madness had possessed the Grand Duke.

Unless Reichert dragged Dante before them himself, the accusations would be turned on the royal family: How much favour did the crown grant him, that he dares behave so brazenly?

After all, the crown had given Dante his title under conditions. 

If those terms unravelled, so too would the monarchy’s standing.

Reichert’s face crumpled like the paper in his hands. 

With the king bedridden, the hollowed-out royal house could not withstand the circling snakes of the nobility.

Grinding his teeth, he hurled the paper aside and surged to his feet. 

He would drag Dante from Beherren himself if that’s what it took.

Thud, thud—!

“Your Highness, open this door at once!”

Pounding fists rattled the office doors. 

The voices of angry nobles—already upon him—bellowed for entry.

“Damn it all…”

Reichert swore again, his face mottled red with fury at this sudden, scorching wildfire.

***

A week had passed since the Grand Duke submitted his petition.

The newspapers, eyes bloodshot from greed, splashed the scandal daily with ever more lurid headlines. 

By now, every corner of Vermarch had heard the tale of the Grand Duke and Duchess.

With his hands shoved in his pockets, Dante reached the council chamber of the Arbern palace.

The guards, recognizing him, bowed deeply before opening the grand, ostentatiously decorated doors.

Inside, the long table was packed with high nobles, their gazes snapping toward Dante the moment he entered.

A spectacular sight, he mused, curling his lips into a faint smile as he stepped inside.

His polished footsteps echoed in the tense silence, the air heavy as if a bomb were about to detonate.

At the head of the table sat Crown Prince Reichert. 

His haggard features bore the marks of days spent fending off relentless nobles. 

For all his princely airs, even he had been dragged to exhaustion.

Suppressing a smirk, Dante strode unhurriedly to his seat and lowered himself into it.

The moment he sat, an elderly man cleared his throat and spoke.

“Now that the Grand Duke Venachert has arrived, we shall begin this emergency session.”

It was Norman Winfield, Chancellor of the Arbern court.