When he didn’t answer my question about where he’d been, I stared at the Grand Duke with a slightly awkward expression.
“Actually, that night, Your Grace, your clothes smelled like blood, so I was just… worried—”
“No need.”
His voice cut clean through the air. I couldn’t back down now, so I rushed to keep talking.
“Still, if there’s something I ought to know—”
“It’s a personal matter.”
The Grand Duke turned his head toward the window, mouth firmly shut, clearly done with the subject.
‘Even if it is a personal matter, isn’t it perfectly normal to worry when someone comes home late drenched in blood?’
The words lingered in my mouth, but I couldn’t bring myself to say them aloud. Light slipped through the carriage window, drawing a line between us. It felt like that line marked the division between us, as merely ‘a contract couple.’ It left a strangely bitter feeling in my mouth.
A relationship completely devoid of anything personal.
* * *
The summer ball was held at what, until just a few days ago, had been Duke Bovary’s summer estate. Now, of course, the mansion belonged to Claire.
Past a garden overflowing with vibrant blooms, I stepped inside the house, where a massive crystal chandelier and dazzling marble statues loomed in ostentatious welcome.
Right before entering the ballroom, I hooked my arm through the Grand Duke’s. His body gave a subtle start.
“It’s our first official event together as a couple in front of the Imperial nobility. Even if it’s uncomfortable, please bear with it.”
I whispered to the Grand Duke, keeping my voice low and steady, fighting back the awkwardness crawling up my spine. As we stepped onto the plush, carefully laid carpet, all eyes in the ballroom turned to us.
Curiosity. Intrigue. Wariness. Contempt.
A barrage of stares landed squarely on me and the Grand Duke. Understandable, really—he was the Imperial Family’s bastard, and had been accused of murder. And I was the lowly commoner he’d married.
“Welcome, Grand Duke and Duchess Richard. Thank you for gracing the ball with your presence.”
The one who sliced through the layered silence with precision was Claire—the woman who, until days ago, had been Duchess Bovary. She’d dismissed the crowd around her and walked straight over to us.
“Thank you for the invitation, Claire.”
“Oh, think nothing of it, Elena. I’m honored to host you both.”
A wave of murmurs swept through the nobles who’d been side-eyeing us. Among noblewomen, calling each other by name wasn’t just friendly—it was a declaration of intimacy. No wonder the ballroom reacted. Claire, the queen of high society in the Empire, calling a commoner like me by name? Scandalous.
“You’re as beautiful as ever, Grand Duchess.”
The next to approach was the Young Marquess Spencer. Gone was yesterday’s icy demeanor—he wore his usual brilliant smile, like nothing had happened. Always handsome, tonight he was sharper than ever. His well-groomed brown hair was slicked back and fixed neatly, drawing attention to his gentle eyes and high-bridged nose. He looked every bit as striking as the Grand Duke.
“Thank you, Young Marquess.”
My gaze dropped to the handkerchief pinned on his left breast. A quiet sigh slipped out. He must’ve checked the color of my dress yesterday, because he’d matched his accent pieces to it exactly. The Young Marquess offered a warm smile to the Grand Duke.
“Benedict, it seems we missed each other yesterday. Shall we reschedule?”
“No. Let’s talk now.”
“Now?”
“It’ll only take a moment.”
The Grand Duke’s tone left no room for protest. The Young Marquess raised a brow, amused, and followed him out of the ballroom.
“Elena, this way.”
With the men gone, Claire led me toward the center of the ballroom. In the blink of an eye, I was surrounded by noblewomen dressed to kill.
“I’ve heard so much about you, Your Grace. I’ve been dying to meet you.”
“I’d love to invite you to my tea party next week, if you can spare the time?”
“Our family just bottled a new vintage—I’ll send a crate your way.”
Claire’s influence was more powerful than I’d expected. The noblewomen who had been sniffing in disdain just moments ago now acted like we were old friends. These were seasoned socialites—they didn’t mind kneeling to a commoner Grand Duchess so long as it kept them in Claire’s orbit. They’d already done the math.
“Elena, this is Lady Lorelei, and beside her is Lady Maurice. Oh—”
Claire broke off mid-introduction. Her head dipped low. Instantly, everyone around us followed suit.
“Greetings to Your Majesty the Empress, and Your Highnesses the Crown Prince and Princess.”
“It’s been a while, Duchess Bovary. Or should I say… Ducal Princess Zakarias now?”
Eyes cold and chin lifted haughtily, the Empress radiated a sharp, untouchable energy. I narrowed my eyes and examined Lawrence, who had just appeared behind her. He looked as unbothered as ever—but Vivian, standing beside him, seemed more wilted than proud.
‘Vivian really did suffer under the Empress’s thumb, didn’t she?’
In the original novel, the midsection was practically a chronicle of Vivian’s hellish in-law life. The Empress had violently opposed Vivian and Lawrence’s marriage.
After Claire offered her greeting as the host, I followed suit.
“It’s an honor to have this first meeting with you, Your Majesty the Empress. I’m Elena Richard.”
“How fitting. A vulgar blooded bastard picking a vulgar blooded wife.”
The insult dropped like a guillotine. Around us, noblewomen gasped.
Personally, I felt nothing. Technically, the Empress was my mother-in-law, but considering the divorce clock was already ticking, it wasn’t like I needed her approval. And compared to the verbal abuse I’d endured in my past life, this was practically polite.
‘I’m more worried about the Grand Duke…’
It was obvious—what she really wanted was to crush Grand Duke Richard, the Emperor’s illegitimate child. I glanced around to see if he’d returned. Thankfully, he was still outside with the Young Marquess.
But the one who unexpectedly stepped up was Crown Prince Lawrence.
“Mother. Perhaps you could refrain from such remarks in a public setting.”
There was a flicker of heat beneath his calm expression. The Empress’s lip curled.
“So the Crown Prince defends the Grand Duchess. What, feeling guilty? Or suddenly interested in your brother’s wife?”
The tension cracked like ice underfoot. And just like that, every gaze shifted—to Vivian.
After all, the Empress’ comment didn’t only apply to me, I wasn’t the only commoner with ‘vulgar blood’ here.
‘The Empress still hates Vivian.’
Vivian’s shoulders trembled, and I frowned. But once again, Claire stepped in to stabilize the atmosphere.
“Your Majesty, the toast wine for this year’s summer ball was specially selected by Her Highness the Crown Princess.”
“Is that so?”
“It’s from a vineyard that has been recently producing some truly exceptional quality wine. We prepared it for the Summer Ball so that it might be considered for royal supply, pending your approval.”
Vivian finally managed to steady herself. With quiet grace, she bowed her head and spoke softly.
“I hope it pleases you, Your Majesty.”
At Claire’s cue, the attendants poured the wine. The Empress expression was unmoved as she took a sip. Then, slowly, the Empress spoke.
“I heard you walked away with over half of the Bovary Duchy’s assets.”
“Yes, that’s true, but—”
Claire glanced uneasily at the Crown Prince and Princess.
The Empress’s eyes locked on Lawrence, icy and calculating. It was retribution—he’d humiliated her moments ago, and now she was striking back.
“I only ask because I wondered whether the budget for this summer ball had to be trimmed due to… certain personal circumstances.”
“……!”
The implication was clear. She was saying the wine Vivian had picked was cheap.
A hush fell over the room. The weight of it pressed down with every awkward breath.
“I think I need to visit the powder room.”
Which, in Empress-speak, meant: I need to rinse this swill out of my mouth.
She walked off, leaving behind a Vivian pale as porcelain.
Claire, ever the consummate host, sprang into action. On her discreet signal, the staff replaced the problematic wine with lighter champagne, and the music shifted to a lively dance number.
The mood cautiously brightened. The ballroom floor filled with couples, and the evening marched on.
I used the commotion to scan for Lawrence, thinking he might be with Vivian. But only young noblewomen were seen offering comfort at Vivian’s side.
‘Where is he? I need to check things out.’
I was still weaving through the crowd, on edge, when I collided with the back of someone dancing. As they slammed into my shoulder, my body—unaccustomed to heels— was thrown off balance.
“Ah—”
A short cry escaped me as my knee gave way—but a firm hand caught my arm just in time.
“Careful.”
“……!”
It was Grand Duke Richard, apparently just returning to the banquet hall. I blinked up at him, hanging onto his arm, stunned.
When his searing crimson eyes met mine, and my face flushed instantly.
“Th-thank you, Your Grace.”
I tried to lower my gaze and step away, but his grip on my wrist tightened slightly. Flustered, I stammered.
“I—it’s alright now, you can let—”
But his hand didn’t move. If anything, he held on even more firmly.
Then, above my burning scalp, his voice dropped—low and steady.
“The music’s started.”
“Oh…”
I bit my lip and, feeling cornered, glanced toward the Young Marquess.
He stood a few steps away, frozen in place, eyes locked on us.
“Elena.”
“……!”
My gaze snapped back to the Grand Duke.
The voice that had called my name was soft, heady, and surprisingly affectionate.
The unfamiliar weight of it left me dizzy.
“Dance with me. Be my first partner tonight.”
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