Chapter 2
Lorren stood before the estate.
Beside her, the coachman set down her trunk, then hurriedly climbed back onto the carriage as if fleeing. The sound of hooves and the creaking wheels faded quickly into the distance. Only when it could no longer be heard did she finally close her eyes and take a deep breath.
It was not as if she was seeing it for the first time, and yet the mansion still felt overwhelmingly enormous. The baronial estate she had grown up in could have fit inside it several times over. The white brick exterior reflected the afternoon sun, glowing faintly gold. The grand, ancient manor was beautiful—but somehow it felt dark and unsettling.
She pressed the doorbell mounted on one side of the iron gate. Even though she had steeled herself, the sharp sound made her flinch. She instinctively stepped back just as a middle-aged man with black hair opened the front door.
It was Calvin Steward, the estate’s head butler.
“Welcome, my lady. Had you informed us in advance, we would have come to greet you.”
At his polite greeting, Lorren forced a stiff smile and shook her head. A servant who had followed behind him took her trunk. Noting how light it was, Lorren bit her lip slightly. Still, it wasn’t as if she could carry it herself. Suppressing a sigh so small it barely showed, she followed the butler and servant into the estate. Behind her, the heavy door shut with a dull thud.
Inside was dim.
From the outside there had seemed to be many windows, but the drawn curtains—and perhaps the ivy left to grow unchecked—made it feel much darker. Maybe it was simply because the outside was so bright. It wasn’t completely dark, but it would take time for her eyes to adjust.
“I will show you to your room first, my lady.”
Calvin stopped in front of a door at the end of the corridor. When he opened it, a spacious living room appeared. The servant carefully placed the trunk in one corner, bowed, and withdrew. Calvin then opened another door attached to the living room.
“The bedroom is this way. The dressing room and bathroom are over there. These two will attend you.”
Two servants in long uniforms stepped forward and bowed to Lorren. When she asked for their names, the one with wheat-colored hair braided into twin plaits introduced herself as Anna, and the one with short reddish-brown hair said her name was Rize.
“The master has requested that you join him for dinner this evening.”
Lorren took out her pocket watch and nodded. Fortunately, she had time to rest before dinner. Calvin said he would return at seven to escort her, then left.
With a small sigh, she removed her hat. Her thick black braid came loose and fell down her back.
“I’d like to rest a little…”
“Then we will return when it is time to help you dress.”
Anna and Rize curtsied and left after arranging a tea set on the table. At last, she was alone.
Lorren let out a quiet breath. Her shoulders ached from tension. She sank into a long chair as if collapsing and began undoing the buttons of her jacket.
She should unpack her trunk—but she was too tired to even think about what needed doing. She didn’t even have the energy to lift a teacup. From a small rural barony, she had come to the capital—and now to a ducal estate so vast it had been granted directly by a previous emperor. The distance between those worlds felt impossibly large.
It had only been half a year since her parents died in a carriage accident. There had been no time to grieve. Her uncle had seized the barony her father had left behind. Not only the title, but also the small lands and estate that should have been hers.
The only daughter of a baronial family once loved dearly had lost everything.
Her mother’s carefully decorated room, her fine dresses—all taken by her cousin. Lorren was left with a narrow attic room once used by an apprentice servant. They had thrown a few clothes at her as if doing her a favor, but they were all worn and outdated.
Even when she first came to meet the duke, and even in what she was wearing now—it would look ridiculous to people in the capital. And yet the butler and maids never showed it. For that, she was grateful.
There was something worse.
Her uncle was not satisfied with simply taking the title. Lorren had been on the verge of being sold off as a bride to some wealthy old noble in the countryside.
The fourth wife—or maybe the third. A man who kept taking wives in hopes of producing a son, only for them to die in childbirth, leaving only daughters behind.
Thinking of it made her shoulders curl inward.
He intended to use the money gained from selling her to increase her cousin’s dowry and send her cousin’s brother to a knight order.
Lying on the long chair, Lorren stretched her hand toward the ceiling. On her fourth finger, a thin platinum ring caught the light and shimmered.
It had been given to her as a substitute for an engagement ring.
Even Lorren herself had not expected the duke to accept her proposal.
Before Anna and Rize returned, she changed into a more presentable outfit from her trunk, recalling the day she first arrived at the ducal estate.
Before parting, the duke had smiled faintly and offered her a handshake—an assured smile with one corner of his lips slightly raised. His hand had been large and warm. A hand more suited to a sword than a pen.
“Ah—oh dear, my apologies, my lady. It seems we’re late.”
As if responding to the knock of her thoughts, Lorren blinked back to reality.
Anna and Rize hurried in and began helping her dress.
“It’s alright. I started a bit early.”
In truth, she had begun early because she didn’t want them to see how shabby she was—but Lorren only smiled.
Anna seated her and brushed out her hair, while Rize smoothed her jacket free of wrinkles.
“Your hair is truly beautiful, my lady.”
As Anna carefully combed through her long black hair that fell below her waist, she sounded impressed.
“Thank you,” Lorren replied with a smile reflected in the mirror, though she frowned slightly at the word “my lady” brushing against her ear.
Her black hair had been her mother’s pride. Most people in the empire had lighter hair, but hers was black like her father’s. Her mother had always adored it and personally brushed it.
Even on the day of the carriage accident.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
Lorren startled and quickly wiped it away. Anna and Rize were good servants—they must have seen it, yet said nothing.
It had been six months. Why was she crying now? It must be the tension finally releasing itself. Leaving the barony successfully. And perhaps because Anna’s hands brushing her hair reminded her of her mother.
She needed to calm down.
Soon she would meet the duke.
She took a deep breath.
Then she noticed something being handed to her and turned—Rize was offering a damp towel.
“Please hold this to your eyes,” she whispered softly.
Lorren nodded and accepted it. She was grateful there were no questions asked.
Leaning back, she pressed the cool towel over her eyes. For some reason, the tears would not stop until the damp cloth grew warm against her skin.
While Lorren quietly cried, the two servants continued their work in silence. When she finally calmed down, Rize applied powder to her reddened eyes, and soon her face looked as if she had never cried at all.
“Thank you,” Lorren murmured.
Rize waved her hands lightly. “Not at all, my lady.”
A knock came at the door.
It seemed time.
Lorren stood, took a deep breath, and Anna opened the door. Waiting outside was Calvin.
“Please follow me, my lady. The bath is prepared.”
“Thank you.”
After thanking the two servants again, Lorren followed Calvin.
The corridor was brightly lit, yet somehow still felt dark—like an inerasable shadow had been carved into it. It shouldn’t be this dark at this hour. Her gaze drifted toward the thick curtains covering the windows.
If she pulled them open, sunlight would flood in.
Whose taste was this? The sun-like man she had met… she had thought such brightness suited him best.
How long had she walked?
Calvin stopped before a door. It looked no different from any other along the corridor. After knocking, a low voice answered from inside.
The duke of Liliwood was waiting beyond that door.
For some reason, her heart tightened.
Lorren straightened her posture and cleared her throat. She gave Calvin a slight nod.
Beyond the door was a modest dining table, not large enough to be called a banquet. The food on it was simple—barely enough to pass as a formal meal.
Calvin pulled out the chair opposite the duke for her, bowed, and left.
Now they were alone.
There was no way to escape.
Lorren looked at the man across from her.
His eyes, fixed on the food, were cold—so cold they looked like he was staring at something that might be poisoned.
“Eat.”
After a long silence, he spoke.
Lorren bowed her head slightly and began to eat.
The food, though simple in appearance, was astonishingly good—meat and vegetables richly seasoned with spices she had never seen in the baronial estate.
But Duke Liliwood did not seem to share that impression.
He did not touch his food at all.
He simply stared at it, unmoving.
