Chapter 42
Following custom, Ninia personally wrote and sent letters to twelve noble families. Contrary to her expectation that some might decline, every one of them replied that they would attend.
The northern nobles who had once sought to challenge the new Grand Duke were now completely subdued after the defeat of the earl who had been at their center.
Now, instead of factions rejecting Tarahan, the halls were filled with those seeking to curry favor and catch whatever crumbs might fall from his table.
Two weeks later, as Tarahan had promised, the glass greenhouse was fully completed.
Built swiftly with countless laborers and the finest materials, the beautiful structure now illuminated the once-barren garden far more brilliantly than any central noble’s prized estate.
“I didn’t think it would really be finished.”
Standing at the entrance, Ninia gazed up in awe at the glass dome glimmering beneath the sunlight. Even for someone accustomed to the refined aesthetics of nobility from various nations, it was breathtaking. Inside, the greenhouse overflowed with magnificent plants.
“Everything in here must be hard to find.”
Scarlet yerlak flowers that only grew in the hottest tropical regions. Vast leaves rarely seen in the north. And deeper within—rare blooms so exquisite that even in the capital they were seldom found, all arranged in perfect harmony.
“Why did he suddenly build a greenhouse?”
The lavish glasshouse breathed new life into Ninia, who had been confined to this desolate land. She did not know his intentions, but she felt she might come to love this place.
At the center of the greenhouse, the workers were bustling. They draped white cloths over tables, arranged vases of anemones, and placed three-tiered trays of desserts made by the new head chef, appointed just a week ago.
“Should we put this here?”
“He’s not usually the type to teach us these things… but we really don’t know how to do it…”
The maids asked Ninia repeatedly, hesitant and uncertain. She guided their hands gently, helping them with the arrangement.
“You’re doing well.”
Most of the maids were simple women—tenant farmers’ wives and daughters—who had never before prepared for a tea party. So from the very moment she sent the invitations, Ninia had begun teaching them how to host distinguished guests.
Among the busy servants was Viole. She blended in easily, as if she’d never been the one to deliver those suspicious letters to Ninia.
“…She might have been sent to watch me.”
It was possible that someone among Lentus Castle’s staff was working for outsiders, just as Viole had been. Tarahan’s territory had clearly drawn foreign attention. But now was not the time to purge them.
The invited ladies would be arriving soon. Ninia tore her gaze away from Viole.
A drowsy afternoon—perfect for a tea party. Twelve carriages lined up neatly in the once-empty stable yard.
“Welcome to Lentus Castle.”
The waiting maids led the guests toward the greenhouse. The noblewomen, who had seen only the rough, half-repaired roads on their way in, widened their eyes as they stepped inside.
When they finally faced Ninia, their eyes glittered like a pack of wolves.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Your Grace, and thank you for inviting us.”
“There are few greenhouses in the north—but I’ve never seen such a beautiful one!”
The rumor that the Grand Duchess was treated poorly was well-known across northern society. Yet upon entering her garden, the ladies quickly realized the truth was quite the opposite.
Most of these noblewomen had once fled to the capital during the war and then returned.
And in the capital—ah, how dazzling and extravagant it was.
The women there had draped themselves in gowns and jewels unimaginable in the north.
Their gazes swept over Ninia from head to toe. Her gown was among the latest fashions from the capital, and even the teaware and tea leaves her maids presented were of such rare quality that they couldn’t be found anywhere outside the imperial city.
“You must be dearly loved by His Grace. As a fellow woman, I can’t help but envy you.”
For a brief instant, Ninia froze—but the moment was so fleeting that no one noticed.
“Thank you for saying so.”
She accepted every polite compliment with grace. She knew most of it was empty flattery, attempts to win her favor and gain advantage.
Still, one phrase echoed in her mind again and again.
“…Loved?”
Once, she had been a saint of love and sacrifice. Yet ironically, she did not truly understand what love was. The idea of sharing such an emotion with someone had never occurred to her.
“And now they speak of love…”
Hearing the word from another’s lips felt strangely foreign. Even in her confusion, Ninia guided the ladies to their seats.
Soon, each lady had found a seat according to her rank, and the time came for introductions in order.
Ninia memorized their faces and names one by one. All but the last woman at the end of the table had introduced themselves.
“I am Tairan Lawen, Your Grace.”
Ninia’s gaze fixed on her. The woman’s black eyes and long black hair framed a pale, northern face—an impression as dark and sharp as a crow.
When Lady Lawen finished her greeting, no one else paid her any attention.
The conversation naturally gravitated around Ninia. From snippets of their exchanges, she could tell which women were close, and which factions were at odds.
Northern society was small and tightly knit, already divided into familiar circles. Whether Lady Lawen had no acquaintances here or simply preferred isolation, she remained silent and apart as chatter filled the room.
“Will these gatherings be regular?”
“Please invite us again, Your Grace.”
The tea party eventually drew to a close. Ninia gifted each guest a packet of rare tea leaves as they departed—an uncommon luxury in the north that left them smiling with satisfaction.
As the guests rose and began to leave, Lady Lawen trailed at the very end of the line. Ninia’s gaze fell upon the seat where she had been sitting—there lay a yellow handkerchief.
“Lady Lawen, you dropped your handkerchief.”
At her call, the woman halted mid-step. A few of the other ladies cast disdainful glances her way, their faces smug, before continuing on down the path.
When their mocking laughter faded, only Ninia and Lady Lawen remained.
From beyond the quiet greenhouse came the faint chirping of birds. Lady Lawen stepped closer, traced the sign of the cross before Ninia, and offered a curt greeting.
“May the blessing of Goddess Kanere be upon you.”
Lady Lawen was one of the Goddess’s “lambs.” Ninia had expected as much, yet she could not suppress the instinctive revulsion that stirred within her.
When Ninia did not return the gesture, Lady Lawen’s eyes sharpened. Instead of rebuking her directly, she spoke in a measured tone.
“The Goddess wishes to extend Her hand to this forsaken land. Under the grace of the High Pontiff, the Temple has approved the construction of a shrine in Danteor.”
At those words, Ninia’s eyes quivered faintly. A crushing weight pressed upon her chest, as though a heavy stone had settled inside.
Even as pain spread through her ribs, her mind raced—thinking of the imperial envoys who had recently reported back about Danteor.
“Now that the land has become livable, they want to plant a temple here.”
News of Danteor’s recovery must have reached the capital.
The Church of Kanere always built its temples in prosperous, sunlit places that reeked of wealth.
And wherever a temple rose, the land’s owner was expected to pay enormous annual offerings in “gratitude to the Goddess.”
The Temple intended to build on Tarahan’s reclaimed land—both to collect taxes and to keep watch, while drawing in converts from outside.
“They’ve likely already sent him a proposal…”
For most lords, hosting a temple within their lands was a great honor. But Tarahan would certainly have refused. That was why they had come to her.
“It doesn’t matter how you do it—just bring me the Grand Duke’s seal on this document. The Temple will handle the rest.”
Ninia took the offered paper warily. As she read, her face went pale.
It was a forged document of consent—one declaring the Grand Duke’s agreement to build a temple in Danteor.
“This is impossible. Even if the Grand Duke’s seal were on it, such a fake would never pass…”
She couldn’t finish her sentence.
The validation of noble seals was overseen by the capital—by the Emperor himself, who was hopelessly devoted to the Goddess.
That same Emperor had watched Ninia’s execution once, and for the High Pontiff’s word, he would have knelt to kiss the foot of a filthy slave.
