DLYTL 14

Chapter – 14

Although Dmiosys wasn’t exactly pro-Hwang, he had never done anything to earn the emperor’s disfavor, so both his front-line deployment and the charge of treason seemed extremely questionable.

“Why on earth was Dmiosys accused of plotting treason? He spent four years on the battlefield…”

If Ikali went to the battlefield and spent years away in this life as well, the emperor might even imprison him upon return.

Psyche furrowed her brows.

No matter how much she disliked her husband, thinking that he could be executed for something he didn’t do made her uneasy.

“Are you alright, my lady? You don’t look well,”

“Oh, I was just lost in thought for a moment,” Psyche replied, gathering herself as Roil escorted her into the carriage. She tried to calm the turbulence in her heart.

“It’s not that I care about him. Ikali and I are worse than strangers now. I’m just curious about what happened between Dmiosys and the emperor…”

Having been betrayed so deeply before, she wanted to keep her distance from Ikali as much as possible.

Yet, on the other hand, knowing that he might unfairly lose his life made her feel uneasy.

“In my previous life, Ikali probably killed me and went alone to the execution platform…”

The thought weighed heavily on her heart.

Psyche and Roil’s carriage headed toward the Fuliam Marquisate.

Recently, in the empire, it had become fashionable for noblewomen to hold their own salons, inviting artists rather than hosting a simple tea gathering.

Being able to invite rare teas and artists who held influence over the capital was a form of power.

Moreover, since the marquis’s wife had spent months preparing for this salon, one could easily imagine the scale of the event.

“This is actually my first time attending a noblewoman’s salon,” Psyche admitted.

“Really? Why not before, my lord?”

“I tend to break out in hives at such artistic and political gatherings. Today, I came mainly because of you, my lady.”

Salons were usually hosted by noblewomen, but the guests ranged from politicians and ministers to artists and wealthy merchants.

“Oh, I hope I’m not causing trouble for you. You could have come alone…”

“No, I know exactly who’s attending this event. There’s no way I’d leave you to face them alone.”

Roil looked at the approaching Fuliam estate through the carriage window.

“It’s surprising that Sir Warren, now a viscount, has already arrived in the capital. I didn’t expect him to reclaim the remote viscount territories attached to the dukedom so quickly.”

“Hmm, and Lady Tilly will probably be here too. Officially she’s not invited, but…”

After being expelled from Dmiosys’s estate, Warren had reclaimed the viscount lands that were attached to the dukedom and made them his own.

However, neither he nor Lady Tilly would be satisfied with such a small territory.

“Then I’ll stay by your side, my lady. As long as I’m here, you won’t have to exchange a word with that duo!”

“Your reassurance makes me feel much safer, my lord,” Psyche said.

Roil’s exaggerated fussing eased some of Psyche’s tension. Both in this life and the previous one, he had always been a warm-hearted man.

The carriage stopped, and Roil stepped down first, extending his hand to escort her.

“Take my hand, my lady,”

Psyche held his hand, smiling faintly as they descended together.

As she held his hand, memories of her past life suddenly surfaced—specifically, memories of the time after Dmiosys was falsely accused of treason.

“…Now that I think of it, what happened to Roil when Dmiosys was destroyed by the treason charge?”

For some reason, his fate didn’t come clearly to her mind.

Psyche was guided into a spacious reception room adorned with wine-colored wallpaper.

The salon had a small ensemble in one corner, a table filled with desserts popular in the capital, and even a poet preparing for a reading—quite a well-organized affair.

A noblewoman in a velvet dress approached Psyche. It was the hostess of the salon, the Fuliam Marchioness.

“Welcome, Duchess Dmiosys. I’m Mia Fuliam,” she said.

“Thank you for having me, my lady. I’m Psyche,” Psyche replied.

“It’s an honor to meet you in person. I’m so delighted you accepted the invitation,”

Even if it was flattery, it was pleasant to hear.

Previously, Psyche had been too fearful of encountering Lady Tilly in society to build friendships with other noblewomen. She worried about being gossiped about as a “pawned princess,” and froze whenever Lady Tilly glared at her.

Even trying to attend social events with her husband to ease the situation was futile, as Ikali was always busy.

“Even though Warren is involved… this isn’t so bad now.”

The scent of tea, sweet desserts, and a refreshing breeze while listening to poetry made this a social event Psyche had always dreamed of.

She had never been able to host even a simple tea for fear of ridicule or Lady Tilly’s sudden intrusion, so this place felt wonderfully romantic.

“Your salon is beautiful. It’s clear you put your heart into it,” Psyche complimented.

“Oh, thank you! I worked hard on everything from invitations to the interior. I’m glad you noticed,” the Marchioness said, speaking plainly rather than modestly, which Psyche found agreeable.

Roil returned after looking around the salon and stood beside her.

“Viscount Warren hasn’t arrived yet, my lady.”

“There’s no need to worry too much. How many people are here anyway?”

Lady Tilly wasn’t one to care about appearances. She would welcome any chance to humiliate Psyche in front of others.

“But Warren cares about his reputation. Unlike her, I can’t predict how he’ll act around me. That makes me uneasy.”

“Ah, who’s this?”

Psyche and Roil turned their heads to see Warren pushing his wheelchair toward them.

With his hair neatly combed, his striking features stood out even more.

Psyche found him even more repulsive than Lady Tilly—an instinctive, visceral aversion. But she quickly smoothed over her discomfort.

“Hello, Viscount,” she said politely.

“This is the first time meeting you since La Con, right? I’m so glad you came to the salon,” Warren said, pride lighting up his face, as if he were the host.

Psyche merely nodded, hiding her emotions.

“Yes, I’d have been disappointed if I couldn’t attend such a beautiful salon. I’ll enjoy it and then leave,”

Warren seemed a bit surprised by her flat response but quickly returned a charming smile that many women adored.

“Then let’s talk after the reading. There’s plenty we could discuss,”

She wondered what there could possibly be to discuss between them.

Psyche silently watched Warren return to his place.

After a short musical performance and poetry readings by well-known poets, it was time for a ladies’ tea.

Roil, along with other attendants, stood off to the side to keep an eye on Psyche.

The men in the salon left the room to smoke, including Warren.

Seated with the other noblewomen, Psyche sipped her tea and spoke.

“This poet you invited from the south—it’s been a long time since I heard such enchanting poetry,”

“Indeed. I invited him especially because I love his work. Southern artists are so refined that it was a challenge to get them to come. I was quite pleased,”

The reading showcased the hostess’s sophisticated taste.

Psyche nodded, still lingering in the afterglow of the performance.

“As soon as I return home, I’ll buy all of his poetry collections,”

“Oh, if you liked it that much, I could have just given them to you,”

“No, one must pay for works of art,” Psyche said firmly.

The Marchioness laughed at her enthusiasm, finding it endearing.

Mia Fuliam whispered softly to her.

“Actually, I didn’t want to invite Viscount Warren. But my husband insisted, so he was the only one I invited,”

Psyche’s eyes widened.

“Why are you telling me this…”

“I wanted to clear up any misunderstanding that I invited him to make fun of you. When you replied that you probably wouldn’t come, I understood completely,”

“I see,” Psyche said, surprised. The Marchioness winked at her.

“And don’t worry—Lady Tilly wasn’t invited. She has enough tact for that,”

“Ah,” Psyche laughed awkwardly.

But she knew that wherever Warren went, Lady Tilly would inevitably follow like a magnet. She felt guilty toward the Marchioness for her thoughtfulness.

While engrossed in the poetry reading, memories of her past life and wounds from Ikali didn’t trouble her. Engaging with others and immersing herself in the event made time fly.

The sun, once high, had begun to wane. She sipped her tea when the door to the reception room opened.

“Oh my, am I late?”

Lady Tilly, with her emerald-green eyes shining, stepped into the room.

Psyche thought to herself that there was no one in the empire more arrogant than this woman.