DLYTL 09

Chapter  – 09

Clang!

“…….”

The women, who had been chattering and laughing, abruptly stopped and turned their heads toward the noise.

Broken teacup shards lay scattered beneath the light green partition, and reddish tea stained the floor.

“Oh my, madam, are you alright?”

The other ladies sharing the space all fixed their gaze in one direction.

As the staff quickly removed the partition, a woman sitting by the window came into view.

The ladies who had been gossiping drew in a sharp breath.

Everyone in the tea house instinctively realized that this woman was the princess from the rumors.

Moreover, her expression…

There was something chilling about the young woman’s face, as if her soul had been drained.

Though she had anticipated Psyche’s presence and subtly insulted her, seeing a woman barely twenty with such a cold expression made the gossiping ladies’ hearts sink.

“Are you alright, madam?”

“I’m fine.”

She answered the staff calmly.

Then, she lifted her gaze toward the women sitting along the edge of the tea house.

The women flinched.

Psyche glanced at them for a moment, then called for Anna.

“It’s time to go, Anna.”

“Huh? Ah, yes!”

Anna, still stunned, hurriedly rose from her seat.

Psyche and Anna circled around the staff cleaning up the spilled tea and slowly walked past the flustered women with pale faces.

“Hmph, hm…”

The ladies shielded their faces with fans and averted their eyes, desperately pretending nothing had happened.

When Psyche finally descended the stairs, her figure disappearing from view, they unconsciously sighed with relief.

“She’s not some naive little girl… That was deliberate! Breaking the teacup on purpose!”

“I know, right? She wouldn’t dare tell the duke, would she?”

“It should be fine. What’s it to a girl sold to a monster….”

Though they spoke with such bravado, the women couldn’t hide their unease and kept glancing at one another.

Tilly had once spread rumors that the meek and foolish princess had become the duke’s wife, but the reality of Psyche’s demeanor was far from that description.

After having Anna pay for the broken teacup, the two of them left the tea house.

Anna followed Psyche but couldn’t bring herself to ask if she was truly alright.

In just a week, Psyche Dawson had changed drastically.

Whenever asked if she was fine, she answered mechanically that she was.

Yet glimpses of her face betrayed a profound loneliness.

Her expression was detached yet sorrowful at the same time.

Even when she had married the man called a monster and had hoped to see the prince again, she had once felt joy…

Anna frowned at the inexplicable emotions reflected on her mistress’s face.

“Madam.”

“Hm?”

Caught in her thoughts, Psyche looked at Anna curiously.

Suppressing a sigh, Anna spoke:

“Please don’t dwell on it too much. What others say… It’s all lies, isn’t it?”

“Is it?”

Though meant as a comforting remark, Psyche’s reply was flat and unremarkable.

Even her detached demeanor made Anna feel more anxious.

After a brief silence, Psyche spoke quietly, as if deep in thought.

“Of course, he didn’t sleep with me. That much is a lie.”

“Pardon?”

“Yes. You’re right. Everything those people say is nonsense. They know nothing.”

Muttering in a tired voice, Psyche looked into Anna’s eyes, then furrowed her brow and smiled faintly.

Anna stared at her, bewildered.

At that moment, a carriage stopped in front of them.

Thinking it belonged to tea house patrons, they took a few steps back.

Psyche’s eyes widened when she saw who was getting out.

A man stepped down with assistance and settled into a wheelchair prepared by his attendants.

“Ah, so Psyche, you were right after all.”

“You… are…”

“What a coincidence to meet here.”

Meeting the man’s face, Psyche felt her heart pound as if she had seen something forbidden.

‘Why is he here?’

The splendor of the man’s features made the ladies in Laçon Square blush.

Yet Psyche felt no resistance to his face.

He looked exactly like her husband.

Aside from three small moles on his face, it was as if she were staring into a mirror.

Psyche whispered his name with a trembling voice:

“Sir Warren…”

Warren’s eyes curved in a smile.

There is a well-known tale in the empire.

A unique duke’s couple once lost their young son in an accident.

They searched everywhere for him but could not find him.

Desperate, they decided instead to adopt a boy who resembled their son.

The requirements: jet-black hair darker than obsidian and eyes clearer than topaz.

He must also be beautiful and unnaturally intelligent for his age.

Finding such a child was easier than finding their real son.

They dusted off the face of a worn orphan and admired him.

“He looks just like our Warren!”

“Indeed. Only the three moles are missing, but otherwise, he’s nearly identical.”

Their real son had two moles on his right cheek and one by his lips; the orphan had none.

Yet that minor detail satisfied them, and they adopted him, training him to become the perfect heir.

Strictly speaking, the orphan was a counterfeit.

He looked like the genuine article outwardly, but inside, he was very different.

His thoughts, movements, and attitude had to be molded to match the real son.

The duke and duchess hired multiple tutors, permitting corporal punishment.

Sometimes, they themselves would mete out harsh discipline.

“You must become perfect. Only then will you be my son. My real son.”

To the boy, their words were both a painkiller and a stimulant—a kind of drug.

Then, one day, their real son returned.

The duke and duchess’s true son, with three moles on his face.

Naturally, the orphan who had lived as a substitute was cast aside.

“Sir Warren… no, Viscount.”

Psyche lowered her gaze at him, pale.

Warren’s legs, permanently damaged, meant he would need a wheelchair for life.

Seeing his legs always stirred uncomfortable feelings in Psyche.

They were the work of her husband.

“Meeting in such a place, princess,” Warren said cheerfully.

Yet Psyche could not feel like smiling.

“Ah, I suppose I should call you the Duchess now?”

Though Warren resembled Ikali, he was a man with a naturally cheerful smile, unlike Ikali.

When Warren smiled, his eyes curved gently, drawing the attention of the ladies.

Had it not been for his disability, he would have been a prime catch solely based on appearance.

And those legs had been broken by her husband—how ironic.

The ladies of Laçon Square watched them intently, clearly captivated by the scene.

Feeling their piercing gaze, Psyche forced herself to speak, knowing she could not ignore him.

“You seem to have business in the square, then.”

“Ah, I’m busy overseeing my restored estates, but it’s not so hectic that I can’t take a stroll.”

Warren seemed in high spirits as he spoke to her.

Psyche felt uneasy at conversing with someone whose legs had been ruined by her husband, and whom she had once been formally engaged to.

Trying to end the conversation politely, she continued:

“I see. Well, I hope you can complete your business quickly. We are on our way back to the manor.”

“Already leaving? The sun’s still high.”

Warren seemed about to suggest tea time.

“I just came for a brief visit. I’m not feeling well.”

Ignoring her remark, Warren changed the topic.

“I heard you refused the invitation to the salon hosted by the Marchioness of Fulyum?”

Psyche turned to him, puzzled.

“That news reached your ears so quickly?”

“I didn’t intend to hear it, but I was visiting the estate today and happened to learn of it. Quite a coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Ah.”

“The Marchioness seemed quite pleased to host the Duchess, so it’s unfortunate you declined.”

Psyche frowned, feeling more discomfort at the situation than regret over disappointing the Marchioness.

“Why not attend the salon? I hear you haven’t participated in the imperial capital’s social circles yet. For a Dawson lady, there’s no better opportunity.”

“…….”

“Staying at the manor all day must make the other ladies anxious. You, the one and only Duchess.”

Warren continued to encourage her with a genial smile. Psyche, however, remained silent, and Warren’s face fell slightly.

“Ah, I see… Is it because of me?”

“Excuse me? What do you mean?”

“If being here with me makes you uncomfortable, you needn’t worry. That’s entirely my fault for not considering your feelings.”