Chapter 8
After her mother passed away, all the grief she had kept bottled up came crashing down at once.
She had always tried not to be swept away by emotions.
She had to stay grounded—only by doing so could she survive in an environment where, no matter how unjust or difficult, she couldn’t afford to be consumed by her feelings.
“Why is it always like this for me…?”
Was it that every time she believed she had overcome a hardship, an even greater trial would follow?
After losing her mother, she had found happiness living with her aunt’s family, only to later struggle desperately to find a job.
She had barely managed to begin working safely at the duke’s estate, and even then, she worked her hardest out of fear of being dismissed.
What more did she have to do to live a “happy” life?
“It’s just too much…”
She wanted to pour out all these overwhelming emotions somewhere.
But in truth, the only people in Betty’s life were her aunt and cousin.
After her mother passed away, she had been too busy helping out at her aunt’s store.
Even within the estate, she became the lady’s personal maid before forming any real relationships.
It was only natural that she ended up isolated, with almost no one to talk to besides the lady.
Her gaze wandered to the neatly placed blank paper on the table.
‘There is one person…’
Someone who, even if it didn’t seem like it, listened to her stories.
Even if they were listening not to “Betty” but to “Lady Shartrae’s” story.
Unable to contain her emotions any longer, Betty dropped into her seat at the desk and began writing a letter.
If she had to give up the necklace, then she would gather every lingering attachment she had and pour it into this letter.
That was her thought.
“To His Grace the Grand Duke,
These days, autumn has already passed and winter is beginning to set in.
We still need to wait a bit more to see pure white snow here in the capital, but I imagine snow is already piling up where Your Grace resides.
There have been no replies to my past letters, so I do not know how you are doing, but since neither His Majesty nor my father have said anything, and as they say, ‘no news is good news,’ I am choosing to believe that you are safe.
That last line sounds somewhat accusatory. I truly didn’t mean to complain about not receiving a reply—I sincerely apologize.
The reason I’m writing is because there is something that has been weighing on my mind recently.
I heard that my maid Betty’s aunt has fallen seriously ill.
She tells me not to worry, but of course I do. Betty has been through so much already, especially since her mother also passed away due to illness.
With Your Grace returning in the spring, I hope that all this misfortune will be swept away along with it.
Wishing always for Your Grace’s well-being,
Vivian Shartrae.”
Betty stared at the finished letter for a long time.
Its contents were utterly ridiculous. Up until now, she had written things that the lady might plausibly know.
But this time, she hadn’t even made the effort to pretend.
She thought of throwing the letter away, thinking it absurd to send such a lament.
‘It’s not that serious… Just the story of a maid, after all.’
After a long moment of hesitation, the letter, delicately folded, eventually disappeared into a white envelope.
“Just for today…”
Just for this moment, she wanted to act selfishly. Selfishly, according to her own heart—just for today.
Because she knew she wouldn’t be able to tomorrow, today she wanted to pour out her emotions with all her might.
Hoping someone would understand this feeling of being stuck in place, of having no choice but to swallow it all alone.
The sky, thick with clouds, began scattering snow as a cutting wind whipped through the air.
Even at the end of Ian Davan’s breath, a white mist hung.
He sat atop a horse, gloved hand holding the reins, gazing into the distance at the fallen fortress.
“Your Grace. Please give the order.”
“We’ll stay one more night and leave tomorrow.”
The siege, which had stalled due to Ian’s injury, finally ended with a surrender brought on by a lack of supplies.
As soon as he recovered, Ian had personally cut off every supply line, bringing the war to a swift end.
His urgency had made everyone worry—perhaps he was displeased with how the war progressed during his absence—and they now cautiously watched his mood.
“Tomorrow, we will not return to the territory. I’ll go directly to the capital to report to His Majesty.”
“There’s no need to rush, is there? It’s only the start of winter,” Cain said, the only one who understood Ian’s impatience.
The other knights lingered nearby, nervous that they had disappointed their commander.
“It’s the duty of a subject. There’s no reason to hesitate when it’s over.”
“But haven’t you always stopped by the ducal estate for at least a few days to reorganize before heading to the capital?”
“Half of you stay behind, including Cain. The rest may return.”
His words held a subtle kindness—those with families, especially married ones, were being told to go home.
“I have a fiancée too, you know,” Cain muttered, then fell silent when Ian shot him a look that said, “Do I look like I don’t?”
It was a verbally promised marriage, but with the emperor as the one who arranged and approved it, his engagement to Lady Shartrae was all but official.
Even Ian Davan himself, who rarely showed emotion, had been visibly expressive about it.
It seemed the long-empty position of duchess would soon be filled.
“Oh, that reminds me. A letter from the lady arrived just this morning…”
Cain, remembering it too late, hurriedly pulled the letter from his coat.
The Grand Duke snatched it away in the blink of an eye. In a tone as cold as if he were skimming a report, he said,
“Everyone surely has something to do. Must I issue orders for every task?”
The knights, who had been loitering around hoping to win favor, scattered immediately at Ian’s words.
Ian carefully opened the envelope and quickly read through the letter, his brow furrowing slightly.
Unlike the light, everyday letters he had received between battles—letters he had often read multiple times—this one was different.
Today’s letter was unusually serious. It gave him a strange, unsettling feeling.
“…Cain. When a knight under my command, or one of their family members, is sick, how do I usually respond?”
“Huh? Well, every time, without fail, you set aside funds for treatment, and if the illness was serious, you’d send the ducal physician.”
That was why, despite his cold and intimidating nature, the Grand Duke was respected.
He took care of his people with a thoroughness that didn’t match his appearance.
“Then why is none of that mentioned here?”
His odd feeling solidified into certainty with Cain’s answer.
Ian stared at the letter in deep thought.
For the first time, the name of a maid—Betty—was mentioned. It oddly caught his eye.
‘Nowhere in the letter does it say she took action. She only expresses concern for a pitiful maid’s situation, without doing anything herself.’
She was the duke’s daughter. She could have helped on her own.
There was no need to appeal to the Grand Duke—yet the letter was written as if desperately pleading for help. It was unlike her usual tone.
In fact, all the previous letters began to seem suspicious now.
Her occasional spontaneous and cheerful comments had always charmed him—but maybe he had overlooked something.
Even though the letters were supposedly from her, descriptions of certain events felt distant, as if she had only watched from afar.
His battle-honed instincts screamed not to overlook this subtle detail.
‘But even so…’
It was also strange to think the letters were entirely fabricated.
They were filled with trivial, sometimes blunt thoughts that could even irritate Ian himself.
They were raw—completely unfiltered.
Even the urgent letter written during his injury had carried a level of genuine concern hard to fake.
“Don’t send word ahead to the duke’s household.”
After much thought, Ian made his decision.
Sitting here making assumptions was pointless.
If something felt off, he would go confirm it in person.
“You’re not going to notify the lady? Why…?”
“There’s something I need to confirm.”
Ian never ignored his instincts—the very instincts that had saved countless lives, including the emperor’s.
Even in his war-torn heart, hardened by betrayal and bloodshed, another wish coexisted:
That whatever truth lay behind these letters, at the very least, the heart of the person who had spoken to him through them… was not a lie.
