“Sardin, find the driver. It’s time we returned,” I said, my gaze following Janet as she blurred back into the shadows of the alley.
Janet had insisted on resuming her discreet watch, and though a part of me wanted to invite her into the carriage, I knew she would feel the weight of the social distance between us. I watched the spot where she’d vanished, a bitter smile touching my lips.
*Deceiving those who mean well is never easy,* I thought. *But it’s necessary.*
In my past life, Janet had lost everything trying to protect my child. If my plan to leave the duchy succeeded, she might face the Duke’s wrath for her "failure." I had to ensure she was positioned in a way that she could either come with me or be absolved of any blame. Until then, the least I could do was offer her the respect she deserved.
I climbed into the carriage, the velvet seat feeling colder than usual.
***
Back at the estate, the atmosphere in the drawing room was vibrating with a silent, lethal tension.
“Archduke Tarrant,” Eric said, his voice flat.
Reinhardt turned toward him, the gentle, easy smile he reserved for Cornelia nowhere to be found. His face was a mask of aristocratic authority, his golden eyes as cold and hard as coins.
“I didn't expect the Duke to personally receive me,” Reinhardt said, his tone devoid of its usual warmth. “Honestly, I would have been perfectly content to wait for Her Highness in the gardens.”
Reinhardt was an Archduke—a rank higher than a simple Duke—but in this house, Eric was the sovereign. Usually, Reinhardt maintained a veneer of polite respect, but today, he made no effort to hide his disdain.
Eric didn't take the bait. He sat across from Reinhardt, the corners of his mouth lifting in a dry, humorless smile. “As the master of this house, I could hardly ignore a guest of your standing. Especially one who seems to be approaching my family with such... impure intentions.”
Reinhardt laughed, a short, sharp sound. “Impure? Are you really trying to play the part of the devoted husband now, Eric? After neglecting her for five years?”
The criticism was sharp, but Eric’s expression remained unchanged. He was used to the court’s whispers; hearing them from a rival only made him more focused.
Reinhardt shrugged, his golden eyes gleaming. “Still, I suppose I should thank you. Your indifference has provided me with a chance I never thought I’d have.”
Eric’s eyes narrowed. “A chance? For what?”
“You know Cornelia well, don't you?” Reinhardt asked, leaning forward. “Or at least, you think you do.”
Reinhardt had watched Cornelia for years. Since the Founding Day parade when they were fifteen, her gaze had always been fixed on Eric Lennon Brant. Even after their marriage, her obsession had been so total that Reinhardt had never seen a single opening.
But their chance meeting at the palace had changed everything. He’d seen the way she’d refused to wait for Eric. He’d seen the way she’d recoiled from his touch—the same touch she’d once spent years begging for. It was more than just a passing mood; it was a fundamental shift in her soul.
*The resentment isn't toward the marriage anymore,* Reinhardt thought. *It’s toward the man himself. And that is where my opportunity lies.*
“How long do you think you can keep her?” Reinhardt asked, his voice low. “This marriage was her choice, once. But if she decides to leave, do you truly think the Emperor will stand in her way? He’ll hand her the divorce papers himself and leave you to rot in the scandal.”
Reinhardt’s eyes shone with a dangerous, possessive light. He’d wanted Cornelia for as long as he could remember, and he was finally within reach of the prize.
Eric’s response was a low, guttural laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Reinhardt asked.
“Reinhardt Adolph Tarrant,” Eric said, his voice dropping into a register of absolute, icy certainty. “Don't be a fool. You think she’s leaving me for someone like you?”
Eric remembered her words in the garden—the lie she’d thrown at him about having a child with another man. He knew it was a lie, a desperate attempt to hurt him, but the fact that she’d even said it suggested she was looking for a way out.
*But she won't go to you,* Eric thought. *I won't allow it.*
“Do you think I’ll just stand by and watch you hover around her like a vulture?” Eric asked, his voice vibrating with a sudden, sharp bloodthirst.
Reinhardt flinched, his hand moving toward his belt by instinct before he caught himself. He met Eric’s gaze with a look of iron determination.
“The choice is Her Highness’s, not yours. And I have no intention of letting this opportunity pass me by.”
Eric felt a surge of rage so pure it almost blinded him. He wanted to reach across the table and snap the Archduke’s neck. Reinhardt was not like Franz; he was a respected noble with the Emperor’s favor. Killing him would be a political disaster.
*But I can make it happen,* Eric thought, the energy of a Sword Master beginning to radiate from his skin. *I’ve survived worse odds than a scandal.*
“I’m warning you,” Eric hissed. “If you dare to stay by her side—”
*Click.*
The drawing room door swung open, and Cornelia stepped inside.
“I hear I have a guest?”
The tension in the room snapped like a bowstring. Both men snapped their heads toward her.
I stood in the doorway, the ruby necklace in its velvet box clutched in my hand. Randon was hovering behind me, his face full of a frantic, suppressed anxiety.
“My lady, please! I told you there were people in the drawing room!”
I ignored him, my gaze shifting between the two men. Eric looked as if he were ready to go to war, while Reinhardt had immediately wiped the coldness from his face, replaced by his usual charming mask.
*Why is Eric here?* I wondered. *He usually avoids guests like the plague.*
I realized he was likely there to "manage" Reinhardt, to ensure the Archduke didn't have a moment alone with me. It was so predictably possessive that it made my skin crawl.
“Your Highness,” Reinhardt said, standing up and gesturing toward the seat next to him. “You must be exhausted. Please, come and sit. I’ve brought the news about the peach orchards we discussed.”
Eric stood as well, his movements sharp and aggressive. He gestured to the seat on his other side. “Sit down, Cornelia. We have things to discuss before the Archduke takes his leave.”
I looked at them both. One was a man who brought gifts but carried a secret, dangerous agenda. The other was a husband who had treated me like a ghost for five years and now expected me to play the part of a dutiful wife.
The choice was clear.
I walked toward the center of the room, my head held high, and sat exactly where I wanted to sit.