Bringing My Wife Back

Chapter 001: Grief

The grand bedroom now felt suffocating. Amidst all the luxury, Atthy sat frozen at the edge of the bed, her wide eyes still trying to process every word that had just come out of her husband's mouth. Duke Hugh Griffith-who was supposed to be her protector and life partner-stood casually beside the bed. As he picked up the clothes scattered on the floor, he delivered words that pierced straight into Atthy's heart.

"You're nothing but a foolish woman. You think too highly of yourself. To me, you're no better than those who beg for a man's attention on the street in exchange for a sack of coins," Hugh said flatly, with no hint of remorse.

Those words shattered Atthy's entire world. Her body trembled, her heart slashed by an invisible blade. She wanted to scream, to challenge him, to fight back-but her mind told her to stay calm. This was her marriage-even if only on paper. Her family had placed high hopes on her, and Atthy knew she couldn't disappoint those expectations. Yet this wedding night was nothing like the dreamy fantasy young girls imagined when they longed for marital bliss.

"Are you satisfied now that you've slept with me?" Hugh asked with a mocking tone, looking at Atthy as if she were nothing more than an object unworthy of attention. His gaze was filled with arrogance, though for a fleeting second, a flicker of doubt passed beneath his detached demeanor.

"Satisfied?" Atthy echoed, her voice trembling but growing stronger. "Do you think this marriage is just about ambition and lies? Am I only worthy of being used to solidify your status?"

Hugh frowned, then replied coldly, "I'm simply clarifying your position, Athaleyah Galina. You must remember where you came from. Don't let the title of 'Duchess' on paper fool you into forgetting that you're just a pawn in a much larger game."

Atthy's eyes flared. "My position? Are you saying I'm only a 'Duchess on paper'? Your Grace, Duke Hugh Griffith, I am no puppet for you to play with as you please. I have my pride, and I will not continue to bow to your insults."

A moment of silence fell over the once opulent room, yet the tension remained thick. Each crumpled piece of clothing seemed to bear silent witness to the fierce clash between two souls trapped in a political marriage. Beneath the grandeur, Atthy felt a deep bitterness-a chasm of loneliness that began to consume her.

"You think sleeping with me gives you control over me? Woman... I, Duke Griffith, am not a man you can manipulate just because I've tasted your body," Hugh hissed, each word sharp and cutting. "I could easily find women like you on the streets-and you? You're just one of them."

Hearing those words, Atthy held back tears, but courage began to rise from the ruins of her dignity. "Why must you speak to me this way-on my first night as your wife? Is this what you think is right? It's been three months since our wedding, and you've barely acknowledged my existence. Has all of this just been a game to assert your power?"

Hugh fell silent for a moment. His face showed a brief flicker of doubt, quickly replaced by his usual coldness. "I want you to understand, Athaleyah. I want you to be aware of your place so that you're not lulled by an empty title. I've given you the chance to be honest-What are your ambitions?"

Atthy could no longer contain her anger. "Is it so wrong for me to have the ambition of winning my husband's heart?! So you're saying I'm merely a tool in your game? That my presence and my feelings mean nothing? I'm tired of swallowing all these insults, and tonight, I will not remain silent."

Hugh's eyes narrowed, seemingly startled by the fire and fury in Atthy's voice. "Will you keep crossing words with me? Then tell me-are you prepared to leave a marriage that at least grants you power and position?"

The air grew even more tense. Atthy stepped forward, her gaze sharp as a blade. "I know what I want. I want to choose my own path, to live by my own will-not according to your ambition or political games. I will not sacrifice my dignity just to satisfy your hollow pride."

Hugh remained still, then said in a hoarse voice, "Athaleyah Galina, your explanation contradicts everything I thought I knew about you. But I will give you a choice. I've heard enough. You are free to leave me. There's no need to involve the King. With my power, I'll ensure you won't face any trouble out there."

"I will go," Atthy replied firmly, though her voice still trembled with emotion. "But you must promise me one thing. Promise me-do not touch my family, do not interfere in their lives. Let them live in peace. I choose this path not to hurt, but to protect the peace of those I love."

Hugh froze for a moment, stunned by the request. Beneath his usual arrogance, a fleeting shadow of regret crossed his face-a feeling that almost made him falter. But pride and the need to stay in control quickly took over. ''You're truly stubborn,'' he muttered, though his tone now carried a note of uncertainty he couldn't shake.

''Correct,'' Atthy replied, her gaze sharp. ''And it's that very defiance that will keep me from living in your shadow. I will not be part of a power game that only strips away who I am.''

Moments later, Atthy turned away from Hugh. Her head felt heavy, but she couldn't suppress her urge to walk away-to find peace, or maybe just to flee from a suffocating reality.

Hugh watched her from a distance, realizing something was missing inside him-something far deeper than mere feelings. As Atthy turned her back to him, the loneliness in her silhouette struck him. And then, he called out, more softly than before.

"Atthaleyah..."

Atthy didn't answer. Only her eyes reacted to the sound of his voice.

Hugh exhaled quietly. His tone turned colder as he finally said, ''Don't regret this.''

Atthy gave a faint smile, unshaken. ''Don't worry. I won't.''

His pride wouldn't let him admit that this time, his instincts screamed louder than ever-that it wasn't Atthy who would come to regret this, but himself.

Hugh opened the door to his chamber with calm, calculated movements. But his expression sharpened the moment he saw Atthy's three personal maids standing rigid outside.

They had been waiting for him.

All three stood with bowed heads, hands folded neatly, trying to appear obedient. But their anxiety was far too obvious to hide.

''Good morning, Your Grace,'' greeted Stela, trying to smile, though her lips quivered slightly.

Hugh didn't respond.

His gaze pierced through them like a blade, scanning their faces one by one.

Stela lowered her head further. Bela bit her lip to hold back her nerves. Rosa, the youngest, was already on the verge of collapsing, her knees weak.

Silence.

The tension was suffocating, as if the air itself had grown heavier.

''Is there something you'd like to tell me?''

His voice was flat, but the weight behind it nearly stopped their breath.

They exchanged glances. None of them dared to speak first.

''We... were only checking if the Duchess needed anything,'' Bela finally said.

A lie.

Too rehearsed.

Hugh sighed slowly. He had no interest in their excuses.

''You should know...'' he paused, letting his words hang in the air.

''...that I'm not a man you can fool twice.''

They froze.

''One more mistake...'' Hugh stepped forward, just enough to make them instinctively draw back.

''...and there won't be a third chance.''

His gaze remained cold, not flaring with rage-just a final, irrefutable verdict.

Now they knew one thing for certain.

Hugh Griffith would not give them another opportunity.

Without waiting for their reaction, Hugh walked past them, as if they no longer mattered.

The three maids stayed rooted to the spot, paralyzed by a fear more tangible than ever.

''My lord, shall I prepare anything?'' asked Helena, the head maid, who had just arrived swiftly.

''Send Alwyn to my study at once, and get Dr. Windfold to check on her!'' Hugh barked, his tone firm.

Helena blinked, taken aback. ''Excuse me, my lord?!''

''She... she seems injured. No-she is injured... Never mind that! Just take care of her!'' Hugh's voice tensed. His expression remained cold, but Helena caught something unusual-a hint of awkwardness.

She frowned slightly, wondering. ''Why does this man, usually colder than a mountain's peak, look... flustered?''

Still, she kept her curiosity to herself. Professionalism came first.

''Understood, my lord,'' she said, though her heart swirled with questions. Something about Hugh had shifted, and she could feel it.

Helena turned to glance at Atthy's three maids, still standing nervously by the door.

''What's going on with them?'' she thought. ''What are they hiding that they're too afraid to speak aloud?''

But her master came first.

''What are you waiting for?! Inside!'' she ordered.

The moment they entered, their expressions twisted with worry. Helena stiffened as she caught sight of the room. Her eyes widened, a hand flying to cover her mouth. The room was a mess. But more than that-the sight of Atthy made her chest tighten.

''Ah, Duchess!'' Helena rushed over. ''What happened?''

Atthy looked at her, her eyes blank but resolute. Her face pleaded for help without a word, yet beneath the pain, she clung to her pride.

Helena knew Atthy wasn't a woman who easily accepted pity. Which made seeing her like this all the more heartbreaking.

''Duchess, I'll quickl-''

''Helena,'' Atthy cut her off, her voice hoarse. ''Leave me... Please, let me be alone.''

Helena stood still, surprised by the request. But seeing how fragile Atthy looked, she held herself back and obeyed. With heavy steps, she left the room, though her worry only deepened.

Outside, she led the three maids away-but something gnawed at her. The maids were still visibly distressed, the tension between them unresolved.

They were hiding something.

---

On her way to the dining hall, Helena ran into Alwyn.

''Lady Helena!'' Alwyn called out. ''Please deliver this to the Duchess.'' He handed her a sealed envelope.

Helena raised a brow. ''A document?'' Still, she accepted it. ''Mr. Alwyn, forgive me-may I ask for your help? Please summon Dr. Sarah.''

''Dr. Sarah?'' Alwyn looked alert. ''Is the Duchess unwell?''

Helena nodded. ''Yes. Please see to it immediately.''

Alwyn didn't ask further and departed. But Helena's heart grew heavier.

What was truly happening to Atthy?

A knock came at Atthy's door.

''Duchess, I'm coming in,'' Helena said before stepping in and handing her the document from Alwyn.

''Duchess... are you alright?'' she asked, trying to read the woman's expression.

Atthy offered a faint smile. ''I'm fine, Helena.''

''My apologies, Duchess. Mr. Alwyn left this for you...'' Helena added, keeping her tone professional.

But the moment Atthy saw the document, her expression shifted. A bitter smile crept onto her lips. Helena noticed-Atthy's eyes looked as if they were crying, even without tears.

''What is it, Duchess?'' Helena asked cautiously.

Atthy lifted the document, her gaze hollow. ''I no longer hold that title. Just Atthaleyah Galina now.''

''I beg your pardon, Duchess... I don't understand...''

''Your master sent me divorce papers,'' Atthy said, holding up Hugh's letter, her tone relaxed-yet the sadness in her eyes betrayed her.

''What?!'' Helena gasped, almost in disbelief.

She even forgot her original purpose of inviting Atthy to lunch. Her thoughts seethed with anger. Part of her wanted to confront Hugh and demand an explanation.

Before Atthy could sign the papers, Helena's hand instinctively stopped her.

**Chapter 002: Farewell**

Helena's eyes widened as she looked at Atthy, who remained unnervingly calm despite the deeply emotional situation. There were no tears in her eyes-only a quiet composure that starkly contrasted with Helena's growing unease. Her hand still held onto Atthy's, preventing her from gripping the divorce papers too tightly.

"Your Grace..." Helena's voice trembled slightly. "What exactly happened? Why did His Grace send this?"

Atthy took a deep breath, her gaze momentarily empty as if she was processing how to respond. Her delicate face looked exhausted. Even with a bitter smile on her lips, she remained composed despite the apparent devastation in her heart.

"You're asking the wrong person, Helena. Even I don't know why I have to endure all of this."

"Which is why you must not act rashly!"

"I'm tired, Helena... I just want to stop..."

"But, Your Grace-"

"Helena!" Atthy's voice was firm as she looked at her, her tone calm yet chastising. "I am not worthy of that title anymore. Your master has made it clear where I truly belong."

Helena fell silent, her heart heavy with the weight of those words. She knew Atthy never opened up easily, and for the first time, she saw a fragile side of the woman she deeply respected. But she couldn't ignore the nagging suspicion within her.

She wanted to embrace Atthy, to offer comfort, but she held back, maintaining her position as a servant.

"If His Grace truly wants this, then something bigger must be at play," Helena said gently. "I will speak to him and find out the truth."

Atthy turned to her, her eyes filled with despair. "Enough, Helena. I will not beg for sympathy. My dignity has already suffered enough."

Helena could feel the deep turmoil within Atthy. What had really happened between them? How did their marriage turn into this? Beneath the surface of this composed exterior, something darker was at work.

"Very well, Your Grace. Give me some time. I will find out the truth," Helena said with quiet determination. "But please, do not sign those papers just yet. Waiting a little longer won't hurt you."

"You're stubborn, Helena..."

Helena frowned slightly, looking at her imploringly.

Atthy gave a faint, bitter smile. Holding onto the divorce papers tightly, she turned toward the open window, allowing the cold morning breeze to wash over her.

"Your Grace..." Helena spoke, struggling to hold back tears. "Forgive me... but I cannot accept this," she said firmly, her emotions in turmoil. "I will find out why His Grace has sent you these papers."

Helena turned away and left the room in a hurry, her heart heavy with unanswered questions. Atthy's decisions were becoming increasingly difficult to understand, and it only added to her unease. Something far greater was being hidden from them all.

Her footsteps were quick as she made her way toward the dining hall, expecting to find Hugh there. But when she arrived, the room was empty.

"Lady Whitmore?" a servant who was clearing the table addressed her.

"Did His Grace take his lunch today?" Helena asked, masking her concern.

"It seems not, Lady Whitmore," the servant replied hesitantly. "I heard he canceled his meal due to urgent matters."

"What?!" Helena nearly shouted, her eyes widening. "And Sir Alwyn? Is he with the Duke?"

"No, Lady Whitmore," the servant responded. "Sir Gusev might be in his office, as the Duke suddenly left with Sir Rozenfeld."

Helena clenched her jaw, struggling to keep her growing frustration in check. She recalled Atthy's last words and felt a surge of unease.

"Very well, thank you," she said firmly.

Before she could leave, the servant hesitantly spoke again.

"Ah, Lady Whitmore, my apologies... there is one more thing."

"What is it now?" Helena asked impatiently.

"What should we do about Her Grace?" the servant asked worriedly. "Shall we prepare lunch for her?"

"Yes, do it!" Helena commanded without hesitation. "Call the Duchess's personal maids and have them attend to her immediately!"

With that, Helena marched toward Alwyn's office, her mind swirling with questions. Each step felt heavier, weighed down by the growing tension.

Upon arriving, she forgot to knock and stormed inside. Alwyn looked up in shock.

"Lady Whitmore! What do you think you're doing?!"

Helena didn't care. She got straight to the point. "What was the meaning of the documents you handed me this morning?"

Alwyn's expression hardened. "You mean the divorce papers for Her Grace?"

"So you knew?!"

"Of course, I knew. I was the one who gave them to you!"

"Why? What happened between them? What is the real reason behind all of this?"

"That is not our concern, Lady Whitmore. We only follow orders."

"Her Grace is under my care. I have to know what is going on!"

Their argument was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

"Pardon me, Sir Gusev, is Lady Whitmore inside?"

Alwyn allowed them in, and three breathless maids entered, their faces filled with worry.

"We cannot find Her Grace anywhere..."

"One of the guards saw her leaving through the back gate."

"WHAT?!" Helena and Alwyn exclaimed in unison, their shock evident.

Helena's heartbeat quickened, her worry morphing into outright fear.

"Where?! Why are you only telling me this now?!"

---

At the manor, Atthy rarely complained. She was a quiet young lady, a reserved woman. She kept her distance from the chaos around her. But when necessary, she would not hesitate to act. Most of her time was spent indoors, enjoying the solitude while bearing her responsibilities. This had surprised the manor's residents, who had initially viewed her with suspicion. They had heard rumors about the Duke's future wife-a flamboyant socialite with a trail of lovers. But reality had proven them wrong.

At first, she was unwelcome. A lady from a lower noble house, entering a political marriage for ambition. But time revealed a different truth. Atthy carried herself with dignity, showing intelligence and an unexpected sense of calm. Yet, one thing truly stunned the manor's inhabitants-Atthy left. Alone. Without guards, without maids, without anyone. Just like that, she walked away.

---

"What do you mean?!"

Alwyn's shout echoed through the room, his voice trembling with barely contained fury. His sharp eyes bore into the trembling servant standing before him.

"I'm sorry... Forgive us, Sir Gusev... We... We did not know..." one of the servants stammered, his face ashen. "But one of the guards saw the Duchess leaving through the back gate."

"What?!" Alwyn's eyes widened. Before he could say another word, a knock sounded at the door.

"Enter!" he commanded sharply.

A young guard stepped in hesitantly, his face tense as he faced Alwyn.

"You... Aren't you the new guard?" Alwyn narrowed his eyes.

"Y-yes... Forgive me, sir. I was stationed at the back gate... The Duchess asked me to deliver this to you..." His hands trembled as he handed over a large envelope.

"Ah!" the guard gasped upon seeing Helena in the room. "Lady Whitmore, the Duchess also entrusted this to you."

Helena took the envelope with a suspicious expression. "Why did she have you deliver it?!"

"I... I don't know, my lady... The Duchess only said that His Grace already knew of her departure," the guard stammered.

"Then where is she?!" Helena's voice rose, her gaze as sharp as a blade.

"S-she... is already gone..." he answered helplessly.

"What?! Gone?! With whom?!" Helena nearly lunged forward.

"A-alone... S-she did not tell me anything... I am truly sorry..."

Silence swallowed the room. The servants lowered their heads, afraid to make a sound. The young guard looked like a shadow wishing to disappear, his body shaking violently.

---

"WHAT IS THIS?!"

Alwyn slammed the envelope onto the table, scattering the papers as his breath came in sharp bursts.

'I do not need a divorce settlement. As long as your lord leaves me alone, that will be enough for me.'

A single slip of paper with two cutting sentences accompanied the signed divorce decree from Atthy.

No one dared to speak. All eyes were fixed on Alwyn, who stood rigid, his face flushed with barely contained fury.

"S-Sir Gusev..." the guard murmured weakly.

Alwyn's piercing gaze locked onto him. "Who recommended you?" His voice was lower now, but far more menacing than his earlier shouts.

"I... I was only following orders, my lord..."

"Fool!" Alwyn's voice exploded. "Your carelessness could bring disaster! Did you not think twice when you saw a Duchess leaving the manor alone?!"

The guard nearly stumbled backward, his legs trembling. But before he could say another word, Alwyn raised his hand, cutting off any attempt at an excuse.

"Summon all the guards! Find the Duchess immediately!"

The guard bolted out of the room, leaving behind an atmosphere thick with tension.

Helena, still clutching her own letter, clenched the paper tightly. Her fingers trembled as her eyes darted over the words left by Atthy.

---

Dear Helena,

The ever-strict head maid, yet someone I hold so dearly. Thank you for everything. Forgive me for not being able to bid you farewell in a better way.

Send my regards to Lily and Miriam-I love them dearly. It is a pity that our time together was so short.

I have returned all the clothes and accessories your lord gave me. I took none of them, for they were never to my taste. The same goes for Stella, Bela, and Rosa. They were the maids your lord assigned to me, and I want you to take care of them now.

I cannot pay them, for I have no money. I can only entrust them to you. Please, ask your lord to continue their wages, for they were never my choice. I hope you understand.

Forgive me, Helena, for leaving like this without warning. But I know you-you would have stopped me had you known my decision.

I made a promise to your lord, and I must uphold it.

P.S. I love you dearly. You are like a mother to me.

---

A heavy silence filled the room.

Helena clutched the letter, her lips trembling. The servants lowered their heads, while Alwyn stared at the table with a dark expression. His fists clenched, as if trying to suppress the storm brewing inside him.

Suddenly, the door burst open.

"Apologies, I'm late!"

Sarah, the young physician, strode in cheerfully, carrying her medical bag. "I was called to the kitchen earlier-they said a servant had-"

She stopped abruptly, sensing the change in the room. Her smile faded.

Her eyes scanned the space-pale faces, a shaken Helena, and Alwyn standing rigid, his expression dangerously dark.

"What... happened?" Sarah asked quietly.

Alwyn turned to her slowly. "Dr. Sarah," his voice was low, almost a whisper, yet it made Sarah straighten her back instinctively. "This is not the time for questions. Gather all your medical supplies. Be prepared. You may be facing something difficult."

Sarah swallowed hard. "What happened?"

---

Snow continued to fall, each flake settling atop Atthy's bowed head. She struggled to move, her legs sinking into the thick snow that buried the path up to her knees.

The biting wind gnawed at her skin, piercing even the thick coat wrapped around her frail body. Her breath came in ragged gasps, mixing with the warm mist that vanished the moment it touched the freezing air.

"Where am I supposed to go?" Atthy thought in despair, her steps growing heavier as if the earth itself rejected her presence.

For three months, she had lived in Skythia, yet the world outside the manor remained a mystery. She only knew the roads traveled by carriages, but now, they all looked the same-lost beneath the endless blanket of snow. The towering forest surrounding the estate loomed over her, its trees like black giants watching her in silence.

She kept walking, despite having no destination. The snow had erased all signs of direction, turning the world into a vast, white labyrinth. Her body, once accustomed to the searing heat of deserts and sprawling savannas, now faced a new torment-the merciless cold that stripped away what little strength she had left.

The wind howled, carrying an eerie wail like the cry of ghosts. Her body trembled violently. The sharp pain in her fingers had given way to numbness. When she could no longer take another step, she collapsed beneath a massive tree, its roots protruding from the frozen earth.

Leaning against it, her breath came in short gasps. She gazed at the gray sky, which darkened as night approached. Her eyes, distant and empty, reflected a life unraveling before her. From the granddaughter of a modest noble, to the Duchess wielding great power, and now-she was nothing. No longer a Galina. No longer a Griffith.

The merciless cold continued its assault, seeping into her very bones. The warmth of the manor, the loyal maids who once attended to her, the crackling fireplace-all seemed like a dream too far gone.

Slowly, her senses dulled. The agony that had once racked her limbs faded into nothingness. She knew what was happening-hypothermia. Her head grew heavy, her thoughts drifting between painful memories.

She saw her family-the proud yet kind grandfather, the strict but loving father, the laughter of her younger siblings in the golden fields. Tears welled in her eyes, freezing before they could fall.

Then, another figure appeared in her mind-cold, piercing eyes, an imposing presence, a voice that spoke her name in a tone both distant and captivating.

"Duke Hugh Griffith..." she whispered weakly, barely a breath.

A searing pain burned in her chest, mingling with an unbearable longing. Was this the end? Would she die alone in this foreign land, never resolving the burdens weighing on her heart?

As her consciousness faded, heavy footsteps approached from the distance. Something was coming-whether salvation or doom, she did not know.

She closed her eyes, surrendering to whatever fate awaited her.

The footsteps drew nearer, shattering the eerie silence of the frozen forest.

"Someone... help me..." she murmured weakly, before everything turned to darkness.

---

Chapter 003: Conspiracy

At another time, long before Atthy's wedding.

---

Inside Queen Silvia's private residence, the atmosphere was heavy-laden with calculations and unspoken intrigue. The large room, filled with dark, aged wooden furniture, rarely welcomed outside visitors; only those who played a significant role in the kingdom were permitted entry. Today, only three people occupied the chamber: Grand Duke Margrave, Prince Davion, and Queen Silvia, a noblewoman with sharp intellect and boundless ambition.

"Skythia has fallen," Silvia said, her voice low and weighty, as though bearing a burden too great for one person. "Hugh Griffith's victory is not something we can ignore. We all know this is only the beginning. Skythia is now under his control, and he won't stop there."

Prince Davion sat calmly in the chair to the right of his grandfather, eyes fixed sharply on Margrave. "Griffith grows stronger," he replied, his tone firm yet composed. "With Skythia in his grasp, he strengthens not only his power abroad, but also within the kingdom. If we don't act swiftly, he will become an even greater threat."

"And we know who truly controls the throne right now," Silvia added, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully. "Only we can determine what happens next."

Margrave nodded slowly, his expression grave. "Davion, you understand your position. We need more than just a claim to power. We need far greater influence. Griffith is building his strength beyond our borders-but we, who are within the palace walls, are the ones shaping the course of history. We cannot allow them to take that from us."

Silvia turned her gaze to Margrave, her eyes keen with purpose. "And we know who holds the throne. All we need is a sharper move."

Margrave gave a thin smile. "And that move lies beyond the kingdom. We need someone we can control from within."

"A pawn," Silvia said softly. "Someone bold enough to step into Griffith's territory-but naïve enough not to grasp the danger."

Margrave met her gaze, his voice calculated and firm. "We must find the right pawn."

---

Viscount Darius Malenor Seeks Opportunity

Viscount Darius Malenor approached Queen Silvia with measured steps, his eyes sharp with calculation. He knew the Queen was searching for a way to strengthen her position-and this was an opportunity he could not afford to miss.

"Your Majesty, I've heard you're seeking someone capable of offering strategic support," he said, his tone cautious yet direct. "I believe I can offer more than mere allegiance."

Silvia raised an eyebrow, unsurprised. She watched the Viscount closely, assessing more than just his words. "And what exactly are you offering, Viscount?"

The Viscount inclined his head respectfully. "I understand the political climate in the capital is... delicate, with rivalries that grow ever more complex. Yet I also see opportunities where others see only fog. The Griffith and Margrave clans are locked in an endless struggle, and I believe there's room to maneuver-room that could benefit both you and Prince Davion."

Silvia remained composed, weighing his words. "And you think I need someone like you to take advantage of that?"

"I merely wish to inform Your Majesty that I possess certain connections that could prove useful," the Viscount replied, his voice low, almost a whisper. "And I know how to move without drawing too much attention-to myself, or to you."

Silvia regarded him for a moment. "Hold on," she said finally. "I'm not interested in games with no stakes. What you're offering-does it go beyond hollow whispers, Viscount?"

A faint smile touched the Viscount's lips. "We both know you don't play with risks, Your Majesty. But sometimes, the greatest risk is ignoring the opportunity right in front of you."

Silvia didn't respond immediately. But in her mind, she already recognized-this Viscount was more than just another opportunist.

---

The Pawn

In the private meeting chamber, the three of them sat with elegance-yet beneath it, a current of caution simmered.

Margrave lazily sipped his wine before speaking with dry sarcasm. "Viscount Darius Malenor-a sparrow flying higher than the wind allows. It's only a matter of time before he tires and falls."

Davion smirked faintly. "Too small for this sky. Just a bird trying to soar, but his wings are far too fragile."

Silvia, ever the more measured among them, rested her hand on the table. "Yet even a sparrow can peck if we let our guard down. He may be new, but his honeyed words have already reached ears that matter."

Margrave let out a quiet chuckle. "He can chirp all day, but it changes nothing. Let him flap those wings-we control a far greater wind."

But Davion shook his head slowly, eyes narrowing. "That's not what concerns me. Ambition alone makes him no threat. But this one-he's not just a noisy sparrow. He knows exactly where he wants to fly."

Silvia looked sharply at him. "You mean?"

Davion pressed his fingertip to the table, thoughtful. "This Viscount... he isn't simply trying to climb. He knows which way the wind blows. Someone's guiding him-or at the very least, someone's given him enough courage to speak to you so boldly, Your Majesty."

Silence settled over the room. Margrave, who had previously dismissed the matter, now looked slightly more grave.

Finally, Silvia spoke, her voice cold. "Rat or not, we mustn't grow complacent. It's always the hidden ones that prove the most dangerous."

Margrave ended the discussion with a frosty smile. "We know our place in the sky. Let the sparrow fly low. If he dares to soar too high-we'll break his wings."

---

The Confrontation of Three Counts

In a lavish chamber dimly lit by candlelight, three influential figures sat around a round table of carved blackwood. The scent of aged wine mingled with a hint of incense smoke, creating an atmosphere thick with tension. Their shadows flickered faintly on the tall windowpanes overlooking the city-reflections of the power play unfolding within.

Count Markus Hazen was the first to speak, his smile faint yet sharp, like a dagger wrapped in silk.

"Viscount Darius Malenor? A new pawn placed on the board. I wonder what Margrave sees in him beyond raw ambition."

Count Frendel Belatrix let out a soft scoff, his fingers tapping the rim of his untouched wine cup. His gaze swept across the room before settling on Markus.

"Raw ambition is often the finest tool. He comes from Nauruan-a backwater no noble even glances at. And now he's trying to carve influence in this circle. I almost admire his courage... or perhaps his blindness."

Viscount Dalmar Yegev, who had until then listened in with a relaxed expression, finally spoke.

"Courage or foolishness? The line between the two is thin. More often than not, one leads to the other. But one thing is certain-Margrave doesn't gamble without reason. I wonder... is Darius Malenor truly just a pawn-or something more dangerous?"

Markus tapped the table with his fingers, the rhythm precise-like a countdown to execution. His voice remained cold and calculated.

"Margrave has a keen eye for tools. But this one, Darius Malenor, is too brittle. One misstep, and he'll shatter before reaching his mark."

Frendel grinned, a glint of cunning in his eyes. He leaned back, savoring every word.

"That's the beauty of it. A pawn like him is easily steered-and even easier to destroy. The question isn't if we move, but when we begin the game."

Dalmar raised his glass, swirling the wine before taking a slow sip. His tone dripped with irony.

"Let the game play out. But if Margrave thinks he can use a piece like Darius Malenor without consequence, then he's clearly underestimating the board."

Markus looked at his two companions, his eyes shadowed-harboring plans not yet spoken.

"We watch them. Let Darius Malenor walk as far as he dares, until he believes he holds power. That's when we remind him-true power belongs only to those who know how to wield it."

Frendel raised his cup with a smile that bordered on predatory.

"To true power-and the fall of those too foolish to hold it."

Three glasses clinked in a quiet chime. In that room, an unclaimed victory was silently toasted-while outside, the pawn they spoke of may have just taken his first step into an invisible trap.

---

The Art of Persuasion

The meeting room in Baron Galina's manor exuded a strained elegance. A deep red carpet stretched across the floor, while portraits of the Galina family lined the walls in a desperate attempt to convey nobility. Candlelight flickered warmly, casting shadows into every corner-less a display of grandeur and more a mask for what was lacking.

The Viscount entered with measured steps, a thin smile playing on his lips, eyes sharp and calculating. His fingers trailed the edge of his glove with casual ease-a small, unassuming gesture that nonetheless signaled control to anyone observant. Baron Galina rose from his chair at once, his welcome theatrical and overly enthusiastic.

"Ah, Lord Viscount! What an honor it is for this house to receive your visit," the Baron exclaimed, gesturing as if on stage.

The Viscount inclined his head slightly, suppressing a smirk. "Baron Galina, the honor is entirely mine. Your manor has... a particular charm."

The Baron, missing the veiled insult, beamed. "Oh, thank you. I do my best to uphold aristocratic standards-though of course, there are always challenges." He gestured toward the chair opposite him. "Please, sit. I'm sure we have much to discuss."

They sat across from each other. The Viscount allowed silence to linger, studying the Baron like a predator assessing its prey. The Baron gripped his wineglass, tapping its rim nervously as though seeking balance.

"Our plan is progressing as expected," the Viscount finally said, his tone relaxed but undeniably in control. "The Margrave has accepted the proposal for Athaleyah to marry Duke Hugh. A significant step in strengthening House Galina's position."

Baron Galina lit up, pride washing over his face. "Excellent! I knew this would succeed. Athaleyah is the jewel of our house-she'll make a splendid Duchess. Count Veraga will rue the day he underestimated me."

The Viscount nodded slowly, letting the Baron revel in his own delusions. "However, I must remind you, Baron," he said, voice now edged with gravity, "this step must be handled with the utmost care. You understand-this isn't merely about the honor of House Galina. This is about playing a part in the Margrave's greater strategy."

The Baron nodded quickly, though uncertainty flickered in his eyes. "Of course, of course. I'll make sure everything goes smoothly. You know my loyalty is unwavering."

The Viscount smiled, though his gaze remained cold. "Your loyalty is not in question, Baron. But there are many eyes watching our every move. One misstep, and it becomes a weapon in our enemies' hands. You understand me?"

Tension tightened the Baron's posture before he masked it with an awkward chuckle. He sipped his wine, though the tremble in his hand betrayed him as he set the glass down. "Naturally. All for the common cause-and for the Margrave's benefit, of course."

"Precisely," the Viscount said, observing him closely. "Still, I must ensure you are truly prepared. Count Veraga will likely seek to disrupt this arrangement. And Athaleyah herself must be... guided carefully."

The Baron leaned forward, eager. "Don't worry about Athaleyah. She's clever-she knows what's expected. With some guidance, she'll be a Duchess unlike any other."

The Viscount gave a faint smile, though his eyes remained razor-sharp. "Intelligence can be a double-edged sword, Baron. Make sure she knows where to aim it."

The Baron nodded again, though unease now clung to his features. "Of course. Everything will proceed as planned."

The Viscount rose, signaling the end of the meeting. "Good. I'll report this progress to Grand Duke Margrave. Do not make mistakes, Baron."

The Baron stood quickly and bowed deeply. "You can rely on me, my lord."

The Viscount returned a thin smile and left the room. As the door closed behind him, that smile vanished-replaced by an expression of cold calculation. Inside the room, Baron Galina let out a breath of relief, unaware that in this game, he was no player-only a piece on the board.

---

A Father's Advice

Some time later.

A father sat at the edge of the table, his face stern as he gazed at his daughter sitting across from him.

"You must accept this, my child. Marry him. It will change your life... and ours."

The daughter lowered her gaze, her fingers clutching the edge of her gown. "But I can't, Father... This burden is too heavy. I don't want to be a part of this game."

He sighed deeply. "You have no choice. This is bigger than us. Trust me, this is the best path forward."

The girl bit her lip, fear welling up in her eyes. "But what if I fail? What if I can't face it?"

Her father reached out and gripped her shoulder, his touch cold. "You won't fail. You only need to follow the plan. If this succeeds... we will be at the top."

---

The Meeting at Baron Galina's Manor

Meanwhile, in Baron Galina's estate in Nauruan, Darius waited in the spacious drawing room, which bore the marks of faded opulence. The room was large, furnished with expensive yet aging antiques, showing signs of neglect. The flicker of candlelight on the long dark wood table cast soft shadows against the walls, which, though vast, felt empty and unkempt. Outside, the night wind blew the heavy, worn curtains, mirroring the state of the once-lively manor now devoid of warmth.

Darius sat casually in a plush chair, once a symbol of wealth but now a little worn. His smile, thin but satisfied, couldn't be hidden, feeling content with the plans set in motion. "Baron," he spoke in a low yet firm voice, "this is an opportunity we cannot waste. My warning is clear-we are at the perfect juncture. This marriage is not just about political gain, but about toppling Veraga and taking control of everything."

Robert, sitting awkwardly across from him, looked at Darius with a mix of hope and doubt. Though his life was filled with luxury, Robert often felt something was missing-something beyond wealth that he couldn't attain. "But, can we really trust Duke Griffith? He won't fall into our trap that easily, will he?" His voice wavered, as though still trying to reassure himself.

Darius chuckled softly, his tone oozing confidence. "Duke Griffith is not the problem, Baron. We can handle him with ease. Once we have Lady Athaleyah on our side, nothing will stop us. I've thought of everything, including how to deal with Veraga. All we need is a little push and your daughter's help." Darius' smile grew wider, laden with meaning. "Lady Athaleyah will be able to subdue Duke Griffith, maybe even his followers. I'm certain she has that ability."

Robert felt his throat tighten, though he tried to remain calm. Every word Darius spoke seemed to press him further into a corner. "Athaleyah... Yes, if she succeeds, this will change everything," he replied, trying to convince himself that this was an opportunity that couldn't be missed.

Darius stared at him intently, measuring every reaction from Robert. "Lady Athaleyah is our key, Baron. If she can secure a position by Duke Griffith's side, we won't just control this region. We'll control much more-more than you can imagine." His words hung in the air, laden with the weight of their implications.

Robert fell silent, his gaze shifting to the large window looking outside. Despite the size and grandeur of his estate, there was an unsettling emptiness within. He knew this was a grand opportunity, yet couldn't shake the feeling that he was playing a far more dangerous game than he had initially realized.

---

The Couple's Desperation

Some time later, inside a manor dimly lit by candlelight, a husband and wife sat facing each other in the corner of a room.

The woman lowered her head, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm afraid... we can't escape this."

The man sighed deeply, his eyes filled with confusion and anger. "We're cornered. There's no other choice. All of this... because of him."

The woman bit her lip, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. "If they find out... we won't just lose everything. We'll die."

The man's gaze sharpened, his expression grim. "We've come this far. There's no turning back now. If this fails... we die. But we must move forward, no matter the cost."

Outside the manor, the night wind howled fiercely. In the distance, the lights of the capital flickered under the darkened sky. And within the shadows, something began to stir.

---