That night, the imperial palace buzzed with a lively, celebratory atmosphere under the glow of chandeliers hanging from the ornate ceiling.
Although the occasion was officially a celebration of victory in the war, in honor of Duke Dyssehard, the event seemed far smaller than one would expect for a venue of this grandeur.
It was no coincidence. The Emperor himself had approved Adrian's wish to keep the gathering "modest"… but no one, without exception, knew that modesty had never been part of Adrian Dyssehard's 's vocabulary. The man simply saw no need for more people around him, particularly young ladies and younger men.
For he was planning something far greater than a mere celebration.
The guests spread out across the grand hall, speaking quietly beneath soft music, until the Emperor stood at the center, atop the grand staircase, to deliver his speech and invite Duke Dyssehard to ascend for the honor. Adrian climbed the steps with light, graceful precision.
Unconsciously, many voices fell silent, as if the very air had decided to hold its breath. His appearance was not loud… yet it compelled everyone to straighten themselves without understanding why. His broad shoulders, straight posture, calm expression bordering on insolence… all exuded an aura surpassing conventional authority.
He approached the Emperor with quiet, measured steps, and the Emperor raised his glass:
"Duke Dyssehard … on behalf of the Empire, we award you the Sword of the Empire, in recognition of your immense contribution to victory in this war. All soldiers will be granted honors for this great triumph."
Applause filled the hall. The Emperor looked at him:
"Tell me… what reward do you desire?"
Adrian lifted his chin slightly, a dangerous gleam appearing in his eyes — the kind any soldier who had faced him on the battlefield would recognize. He spoke in a calm, precise voice, as sharp as a blade:
"I have two requests, Your Majesty."
The nobles exchanged glances. Never had the Duke made a direct request before.
"First… I would like the Carlton border territory."
A low murmur spread. Carlton was a neglected, distant region, with minimal resources and rife with problems. The Emperor raised an eyebrow in surprise:
"Carlton? It is barely populated… its resources are meager. Why—"
Adrian interrupted politely:
"I know. Yet I still want it."
The Emperor stared as if trying to solve an illogical equation, yet he agreed:
"Very well… it shall be yours."
All ears were tuned with curiosity to hear the Duke's second request. The Emperor straightened his posture:
"And your second request?"
Here… everything changed.
Adrian spoke with unwavering confidence, his voice carrying clearly to the far corners of the hall:
"I request an imperial decree appointing Miss Nerys von Holsten as my economic and personal advisor for three years."
At that very moment, the hall froze entirely. Even the music choked in the throats of the musicians.
Seconds of shocking silence passed.
Eyes widened in disbelief; some mouths opened unconsciously. The Emperor himself froze. Marquis Holsten's glass slipped from his hand, crashing onto the marble with a resounding clatter.
It was a blatant insult — not just to the family, but to all noble conventions.
A noblewoman… serving a man?
And remaining with him for three years?
In front of everyone?
By direct decree?
Had the Duke gone mad?
This was no mere audacity. This was an outright declaration of insolence and challenge.
Helen exchanged glances with Duchess Lizaria, then with Duke Arthur, all wearing the same question on their faces:
What exactly does Adrian intend to do?
Before anyone could speak, Adrian — as if reading their thoughts — preempted them.
He spoke quietly, yet each word shredded nerves:
"I have just returned from war… and my work has been lacking recently since the passing of my late brother William. I heard Miss Nerys possesses remarkable genius in administration. I envy the Marquis for having a daughter like her."
A subtle smirk flickered in his eyes:
"And since I care for Miss Nerys's reputation amidst rumors… I officially request to borrow her from her father for a period. I will ensure she is treated with full respect… she is a talisman that elevates any house she joins."
Whispers erupted around him like sparks flying.
He turned toward the Marquis directly, with a look that made the man's entire face tense:
"I hope the Marquis will grant me his talisman… for some time."
He said it with a small, almost mocking smile.
The Marquis exhaled rapidly, then spoke in a low, anxious tone:
"If you truly value my daughter… request her in marriage. That is the only honorable way for a noblewoman to leave her father's house."
Adrian's gaze was silent, provocative. He did not appear as a man considering marriage… but a man fully aware he held a thread no one could sever.
"You may be mistaken, Marquis. By working with her, I elevate your daughter's value… grant her a higher standing than any hasty engagement could. I offer you a service… not the other way around."
The Emperor, sensing the situation could escalate further, intervened decisively:
"If the young lady is truly as talented as you claim… it is an honor for her and her family. The excellence of the women of her family reflects the worth of the Holstens, whose contributions during the war cannot be denied. Duke Dyssehard is a man of reliability, and I will not deny his request. I shall issue the decree."
A murmur filled the hall, half shock, half astonishment.
Adrian remained standing, expressionless, as if expecting this outcome from the start.
After the celebration, while the world buzzed about the Duke's actions, Adrian sent Edwin to summon Nerys to his office at the Marquis's estate.
When she entered… Adrian leaned casually on the edge of his desk, arms folded, eyes fixed on her as if she were a guilty party awaiting punishment.
She halted midway, speaking sharply despite the tremor in her voice:
"Duke… what exactly have you done?"
He raised an eyebrow slowly, mocking her question.
"I bought you from your father for three years. That's all."
She gasped audibly.
"What exactly are you talking about?"
He continued in a cold, deadly tone:
"I took you under an imperial decree. The contract between your father and me is very clear — you are now mine."
"Do you call this cooperation?" she asked, horrified.
"And who said I wanted cooperation?"
Her words froze in her throat. Before she could recover her voice, he moved.
He took two quiet steps forward… then placed his hand on her neck, not violently, but with authority. He slid his thumb slowly across her skin, pressing directly on her pulse.
Her heartbeat skyrocketed, terrified of him.
He tilted his head slightly, speaking in a low, dangerous voice:
"So… Nerys… are you afraid of death?"
Her eyes were teary, but she refused to crumble before him.
"No."
"Good."
He pressed slightly on her pulse.
"Yet… you came to me with full confidence. You threw yourself before me. Why? If you do not fear… why cling to life all of a sudden?"
She tried to push his hand away, but her movement only strengthened his control. He freed his hands from his pockets, pulled her close to his chest, grasped her neck again, and held her firmly. She was terrified; her entire body trembled in his hands.
"Answer me."
He spoke as a command, not a question.
She struggled to breathe, replying quickly:
"Because I have returned to life… and I will not repeat my past mistakes. I am living this life again, and I was truthful when I said I wanted to help you."
He finally released her neck, yet his voice remained firm:
"I told you before, I do not need your help. But you do not understand."
He stepped back, sat behind his desk slowly, leaned back, crossed a leg, and lit a cigar without taking his eyes off her.
"I will explain… the investors you mentioned? They are mere fictitious companies. I created them to distribute my funds away from the Emperor's gaze. I did not need help… I only needed time to regroup and reclaim it."
Her eyelid twitched.
She asked hoarsely:
"If you did not need me… why do you want me in Dyssehard?"
As she thought, her eyes suddenly widened.
"Impossible… do you think… I know who killed your brother?"
Adrian extinguished his cigar slowly, then stood.
He stepped toward her deliberately, exuding menace.
"That's a good point. Have you discovered anything?"
"No… I told you my father was not involved. There is another unknown party. He orchestrated the late Duke's assassination… and he tried to trap you as well. My father was merely an accomplice… perhaps even a victim."
"You have told me nothing useful; I already know that."
His voice was cold as metal:
"Did you learn anything through working with your father?"
"No… he does not know the identity. An unknown person contacted him before, and my father refused to participate in the assassination because it would ruin his business. All that remains… are old letters."
Adrian approached the door and knocked.
Edwin entered.
Without turning, Adrian said:
"From now on… you will remain here in my castle. For three years. You will bring only essential belongings. Everything you need will be prepared here, including a personal maid."
Then he looked at her directly, his tone binding her like a leash:
"And bring the letters with you."
He turned his back, adding:
"Prepare yourself… in a week, we leave for Carlton."
Nerys left with Edwin, her steps heavy, as if the ground beneath her were slipping.
Her hand trembled as it touched her neck, where the imprint of his thumb remained — scorching, inescapable.
She realized… she had fallen into a trap, and she had walked into it with her own feet, like a mouse entering a snare.