Marianne pulled back with a beaming smile. "How are you doing, Aunt? I'm so glad you're back in the North safe and sound. How was your trip from the southern borders?"
"We'll talk about that later, dear. Tell me– did you come alone?"
Marianne nodded gently, then turned toward the table, her expression blooming with polite delight as she greeted everyone else.
"Lord Fenwick, you look well," she said, offering a graceful dip of her head. "Your daughter's embroidery was the talk of the wedding. I must compliment her again– such remarkable skills."
She floated between the nobles like a gentle breeze, offering delicate curtsies, and gentle touches to shoulders and sleeves in a way that made each recipient sit a little straighter, a little prouder, as if her touch alone validated them.
"Lady Harrow," she chimed sweetly, "that brooch is stunning. It suits you perfectly."
Her voice drifted through the halls like honeyed chimes, soothing, graceful, and impossibly pleasant. Every word sounded sincere, and every gesture was seen as a small blessing.
She greeted each noble with warm familiarity, except for Lilian.
Not even a glance was spared in her direction, as if she wasn't present in the dining hall with them.
By the time Marianne reached the center of the room, near the Duke's seat, several chairs scraped back eagerly.
"Lady Marianne, please," a nobleman said quickly, rising to his feet. "Sit by the Duke."
"Yes, yes," another insisted. "It's only proper that the seat has been reserved for you. You've always sat with him."
Marianne blinked slowly, lowering her lashes in a gentle display of modesty. "Oh, I couldn't possibly. This is the new lady's first meal with us. So she should have the seat and not me. I wouldn't want to be in the way… or be the start of some misunderstanding."
Her tone was soft, earnest, and the very perfect portrait of courtesy.
"Don't be ridiculous," Constance said sweetly, flicking her fingers for a servant to pull the chair out again. "You've been seated there long before now. You should continue to claim your rights. That girl–" her chin tilted subtly toward Lilian– "is merely carrying the title of his wife. She is nothing more. Everyone here knows who the Duke's true bride really is."
A delicate blush warmed Marianne's cheeks as she shook her head, smiling with downcast humility. "Only if everyone is truly comfortable with it, of course. I would never want to overstep."
The steward opened his mouth to say something.
"Not a word, Cedric," Constance cut him off without even looking at him.
And he kept quiet.
A few nobles laughed, charmed by Marianne's modesty, their admiration for her practically glowing.
Meanwhile, at the far end of the table, Lilian watched them and cringed internally at the sight, at least she hoped her face didn't betray her. She was more concerned with the food she intended to eat than whatever performance was unfolding at the Duke's side of the table.
The faster they were served, the sooner she could leave this circus.
"Nonsense," Lord Simpson declared firmly. "You belong right there."
Although none of them looked in Lilian's direction, she could feel it, and the message that was being heavily passed across.
This is the seat that matters.
This is the woman who belongs by his side.
This is the type of woman you'll never ever become.
But the entire charade shattered the moment a deep voice cut cleanly through their chatter.
"And why is there so much noise in the dining hall?"
Every noble immediately rose to their feet as the Duke entered. He wore one of his dark, fur-trimmed cloaks, an unmistakable sign he had important business after breakfast.
His hair was tied back in a precise manbun, with not a single strand daring to fall out of place. His posture was composed, his steps unhurried, and in that moment he seemed even more imposing than usual– more striking, more impossibly handsome.
Marianne's cheeks flushed the second she looked at him.
"Greetings, Your Grace," she breathed, dipping into a delicate curtsy.
"I see you're here as well." The Duke gave her only a brief glance before turning toward his aunt. "I'm assuming you invited her?"
"You say it as though you didn't want her here," Constance tsked, waving off the implication as she nudged Marianne closer to him. "She's family and always will be. Of course I'd invite her for breakfast."
Standing side by side, they did look like the perfect pair – the radiant northern beauty and the striking, stoic Duke. The nobles were practically glowing with unhidden approval.
But the Duke barely spared Marianne a glance. Whatever Constance was murmuring to him slid right past his interest. He moved away first, heading toward his place at the table… then stopped abruptly.
"Wait," his brows drew together, and the change in his eyes was immediate. "Where's my wife?"
A ripple passed through the hall.
He noticed the empty chair beside his. His gaze swept the table and halted when he found Lilian, seated at the far end with the nobles, practically exiled.
"Why are you sitting there?" His voice cooled instantly. "Didn't anyone tell her she's meant to sit here. Cedric?"
"They wouldn't let me," Cedric's hands were raised in surrender.
The Duke exhaled sharply before turning to Lilian. "Come."
Constance's eyes widened, disbelief twisting her features as she watched her nephew beckon that useless tramp over. "What do you mean–"
"Enough, Aunt."
The hall froze.
He silenced her with a single command without even looking at her, his steady gaze pinned on Lilian.
"Come here."
On a normal day, Lilian would have refused. She had no intention of sitting beside him from the start. But after what they did to her, especially Constance, she wanted to wipe that smirk off their faces for good.
So she rose.
The hall quieted as she stepped away from the far end of the table and made her way toward the Duke. Her maids hurried to pull out the chair beside him.
Once Caelan sat, she followed, taking her rightful place at his side.
"Let's all eat, shall we?" he said calmly.
"But this is unfair," Constance finally snapped, unable to restrain herself at how easily he brushed off Marianne. "That seat was always reserved for Marianne. Where will she sit?"
"She can sit with you," he replied, still looking genuinely confused about why this was even a discussion. "There are plenty of empty chairs. This shouldn't be a problem, Aunt. I have somewhere important to be, and I don't have time for this."
Almost immediately, Marianne agreed, placing a gentle hand on Constance's shoulder. "Yes, Aunt. I can always sit with you. It's not a problem."
Lady Constance wanted to say something, but Marianne shook her head, telling her not to push it to avoid offending the Duke.
The steward lifted his chin lightly where he stood, as if silently saying, as it should be.
The Duke's unbothered reaction silenced the hall further. The nobles exchanged awkward glances, some disbelief flickering across their faces before irritation followed. But in the end, forced acceptance settled over them like a heavy cloak.
Lilian watched it all with quiet clarity, noticing the shift in their expression. The balance in the room had changed, and they all knew it.
She almost smiled.
Almost.
Of course no one would go against the Duke.
But why was he defending her like this?
She glanced sideways at him. He seemed entirely withdrawn into his own thoughts, paying little attention to the table or the tension simmering around them.
And that sparked an idea.
If she was going to survive here, she couldn't do it alone. Not in this den of wolves, not when existing seemed to offend half the room. She needed someone powerful, someone untouchable to stand between her and the claws always aimed her way. Unfortunately, the only person who fits that description… was him.
The Duke.
Even thinking it made her chest tighten.
She had nothing he preferred, no flawless northern beauty, no charm, no appeal. She didn't even fit his taste.
So then…
What could she possibly offer a man who had everything… except a reason to protect her?