~Chapter 12~
“What… what did you say?”
Grit forgot even to struggle. Her eyes went wide with shock.
Claudel—who had always begged for her father’s love.
Even if she acted stubborn on the outside, Grit believed that when the family’s honor was truly at stake, Claudel would eventually bow her head.
But… such a cold response?
“Valdemar was planning from the beginning to hold the Dotrisch family responsible.”
“W-what?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You, a maid of the Dotrisch family, attacked me—the Duchess of Valdemar.”
Claudel lightly shrugged her shoulders.
“No matter how powerful my father thinks he is, there’s no way he can escape responsibility entirely.”
“T-that’s…”
“But the only question is how large a price he’ll have to pay. And—”
Claudel looked Grit straight in the eyes, speaking each word clearly.
“That price has already been decided.”
At those words, Grit felt her heart drop with a heavy thud.
“No matter what you scream or shout, your words will never change Valdemar’s decision.”
Her tone was calm and steady, as though she were stating an absolute truth—
like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west, like rain falling from the sky to the ground.
“So then, farewell, Grit.”
With that, Claudel turned her body lightly, like a butterfly.
“I won’t bother to see you off. We were never that close, after all.”
“M-my lady? No—my lady Duchess! Please wait!”
Grit crawled desperately to the bars.
Clang, clang, clang!
She shook the iron bars as hard as she could, but Claudel never once looked back.
Grit’s eyes reddened as she shouted desperately:
“I-I was wrong! Please, spare me—please!”
Her pitiful cries echoed through the underground prison.
But no one answered.
Three days later.
Grit’s execution was carried out.
As a warning for daring to attack the Duchess of Valdemar, she was brought to the guillotine in front of the crowd.
Claudel did not bother to attend the execution site.
Meanwhile, the House of Valdemar demanded compensation from the Dotrisch family.
The punishment included about 100,000 marks, a handwritten letter of apology, and a permanent record of the crime in the noble registry.
“100,000 marks… that’s about the price of a whole castle.”
Even though Viscount Dotrisch had made a fortune by selling his daughter to the King as a mistress, paying this fine would still force him to sell much of his personal property.
And the record of guilt? Unless Valdemar allowed its removal, the Dotrisch family name would forever carry that shame.
Clearly, Valdemar had clenched its teeth over this matter.
“Well… it’s my father’s problem to deal with.”
As Claudel thought this indifferently, a knock came at the door.
Knock, knock.
“Come in.”
“Good morning, Madam!”
It was Penelope. She handed Claudel a letter.
“A letter has arrived.”
“For me?”
Claudel took it without much thought—but her face stiffened slightly.
On the envelope was written:
[Viscount Maximilian Dotrisch]
It was her father’s name.
“Sigh…”
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
Claudel let out a long sigh and tore open the letter without care.
**[Claudel, what on earth are you doing?
The House of Valdemar has sent me a formal letter of protest.
How could Grit suddenly attempt to assassinate you? I don’t understand this at all.
Surely, you don’t really intend to extort money from your own father?
And leaving a record of crime on the noble list—how much disgrace do you intend to bring on our family?
It seems His Grace the Duke has made some great misunderstanding, so I expect you to properly explain the truth on my behalf.
I trust you will resolve this matter well, and so I will end this here.]**
He hadn’t even bothered with a polite greeting.
The writing was rushed and nearly unreadable—proof of his panic.
At least he had the sense not to mention how he had once forced her toward suicide.
But…
“There’s not a single word about Grit.”
To him, Grit’s fate clearly didn’t matter.
He must have thought there was no need to even mention it.
And yet, Grit had believed in him with all her heart.
“…”
Claudel’s mouth tasted bitter.
“I’d burn this letter right now if I could… but I should first tell Reinhardt I received it, then dispose of it.”
Of course, Reinhardt would never suspect her of siding with her father.
Still, she wanted to leave no room for misunderstanding.
At that moment, another knock came.
Knock, knock.
A man stepped lightly into the room.
It was Reinhardt.
Claudel quickly rose to her feet.
“Your Grace.”
Penelope was quietly surprised.
Claudel, who usually wore a calm, expressionless face, suddenly lit up the moment she saw Reinhardt.
Like a flower blooming all at once—
her eyes sparkled like stars, and her cheeks flushed red.
She looked just like a girl who had fallen into her first love.
“Claudel, have you eaten breakfast yet?”
“Yes. What about you, Your Grace?”
“I have as well.”
Reinhardt smiled at her, then gave Penelope a small gesture, asking her to leave them alone.
“I’ll step out then.”
Of course, they were a newly married couple. They needed time alone.
With a bow, Penelope quietly withdrew.
Reinhardt’s gaze fell on the letter lying on the desk.
“What is that letter?”
Claudel’s face dimmed slightly.
“It’s from my father.”
Holding it in both hands, she respectfully presented it as if for inspection.
“Of course, I have no intention of persuading you for the sake of the Dotrisch family. You don’t have to worry about that. And…”
She bit her lower lip, unable to finish her sentence.
Reinhardt’s expression softened with pity.
“You don’t have to show me such letters every time.”
“But…”
“From the way you handled the assassination attempt, I’ve already seen clearly how much Claudel truly cares for Valdemar.”
Reinhardt reassured her once again, then suddenly pulled something from inside his coat.
“More importantly, Claudel.”
He placed a small velvet case into her hands.
“This is a gift.”
Claudel’s eyes trembled faintly.
“This is…?”
The shape was familiar.
She had seen it before, in her past life, when she had inherited the late Duchess’s jewels as the mistress of Valdemar.
Reinhardt smiled softly.
“Open it.”
Click.
With trembling fingers, Claudel lifted the lid.
Inside was a platinum chain with a vivid blue sapphire pendant.
“For a bride’s blessing, wasn’t it supposed to be something new, something old, something borrowed, and something blue?”
Reinhardt picked up the necklace and stepped behind her.
Before her eyes, the platinum chain shimmered as it fell gracefully.
“This necklace belonged to my mother.”
The cool touch of the chain brushed against her neck.
Clink.
The clasp locked in place.
To Claudel, the small sound roared like thunder in her ears.
“So, with this necklace… that should count as the ‘old’ and the ‘blue,’ don’t you think?”
His playful voice tickled her ear.
Claudel knew very well how precious this necklace was to Reinhardt.
His parents—the former Duke and Duchess—had been a loving couple.
Unlike most noble marriages arranged for power, theirs had been a rare marriage of love.
Back then, relations between the royal family and the Valdemar house had been good.
Even another royal princess had been married into the North.
And this necklace…
“It was the gift the late Duke gave to his wife on their very first wedding anniversary.”
