~Chapter 11~
The next day.
Reinhardt left the bridal chamber early in the morning.
“Sorry, I have too much work piled up…”
He looked regretful as he left.
“It’s alright.”
Claudel shook her head with a smile.
As the Duke of Valdemar, he naturally had many things to take care of.
Just preparing for the wedding must have already left him with a mountain of documents to sign and handle.
Still, even in the middle of his busyness, Reinhardt had not forgotten to be considerate toward Claudel.
“From today, this is the maid who will be serving you, Madam. Her name is Penelope.”
A maid bowed her head politely toward Claudel.
She was a cute-looking girl, with faint freckles scattered over her young face.
“……”
Claudel stared at Penelope with a strange feeling.
It made her truly realize that this life was different from the past.
In her previous life, Grit had always clung to her everywhere she went, so she had never been given a new personal maid.
But now…
“Madam?”
“Ah, yes.”
Claudel came back to her senses and gently rose from her seat.
“I’d like to take a bath first.”
“I’ll guide you, Madam.”
Penelope cheerfully led Claudel to the bathroom connected to the bridal chamber.
Claudel felt relieved inside.
‘Good. It doesn’t seem like they completely dislike me.’
Of course, there was still some distance because she had once been the King’s mistress.
But at least it was much kinder than in her past life, when people had looked at her with scorn after her attempted suicide.
Click.
The bathroom door opened.
Hot steam poured out, the water already heated beforehand.
“We’ve prepared bath additives with rose or citrus scent. Which would you prefer, Madam?”
“The citrus one, please.”
“As you wish.”
As the bath additive was placed in the water, a refreshing fragrance filled the air.
Penelope dipped her hand to check the temperature, then naturally reached for Claudel’s robe.
“Then, I’ll help you undress—”
“Stop.”
Claudel instinctively grabbed her collar and stepped back.
“No.”
Penelope looked at Claudel with a puzzled face.
“Madam?”
“……”
Claudel bit down gently on the soft flesh inside her mouth.
The King’s name, carved deeply into her body.
She didn’t want anyone in the world to see that scar.
“Your service isn’t needed any further. Please leave now.”
“Yes? But…”
“Hurry.”
Claudel firmly drew the line.
“T-then… if you need anything, please ring the bell.”
Leaving those words behind, Penelope stepped out, still unable to hide her bewildered expression.
Left alone, Claudel finally removed her robe.
Rustle.
The robe fell to the floor like a discarded shell.
Claudel stared quietly into the mirror at Hermann’s name carved below her chest.
‘If I truly have returned to the past…’
When she closed her eyes, the burning image of Valdemar’s duchy still appeared vividly.
Reinhardt’s warm hand brushing her cheek.
His voice telling her to survive, at least she must live…
‘Your Grace…’
Therefore, Claudel resolved—
This life, she would live only for Reinhardt.
For his sake…
She was prepared to do anything.
“Hey, did you hear?”
Claudel, who had just finished her bath and was about to step outside, froze in place.
Penelope, waiting outside, happened to be talking with another maid passing by.
“That maid, Grit—the one who tried to kill Madam! It’s chaos right now!”
“Chaos? What do you mean?”
“She’s acting so confident, saying she’ll never be punished!”
The other maid, who had started the gossip, continued with a disgusted look.
“She’s even demanding to see Madam right away!!”
“My goodness… is that really true?”
“That’s what I’m saying! She really doesn’t know her place…”
At that moment, Claudel’s eyes turned cold.
If even the chamber maids had heard the rumors, then Grit’s arrogance must have been truly excessive.
“Penelope.”
Claudel stepped forward and called her maid.
“M-Madam?!”
The startled maids turned to Claudel like sparrows splashed with water.
At the same time, they unconsciously caught their breath.
‘My goodness…’
Her silver hair, only half-dried with a towel, clung damply over her shoulders.
Her cheeks, flushed pink from the bath’s steam.
Her blue eyes, languid yet sharp, fixed directly on the two maids.
Of course, when they first saw Claudel, they had thought she was breathtakingly beautiful.
Yet, there had always been something off-putting—because she seemed to lack the warmth, the vitality that any living being should have.
She had felt more like a painted beauty in a masterpiece than a living person.
But now…
“Madam, your hair is still wet! What if you catch a cold…!”
Snapping out of her daze, Penelope hurried to Claudel’s side.
“It’s fine.”
Claudel shook her head and lifted her gaze slightly.
Her eyes were strangely chilling.
“More importantly… did you say Grit wants to see me?”
The maids had not been wrong at all.
Even while locked up in the dark, lightless underground prison—
Grit’s arrogance showed no sign of dying down.
“What on earth are you thinking, My Lady?”
Grit glared at Claudel, her eyes wide and blazing.
“Viscount Dotrisch will be furious! Aren’t you worried about that?”
“Yes.”
For a moment, Grit doubted her ears.
But Claudel’s face remained calm and unshaken.
“And you got the title wrong.”
“What?”
“It’s not My Lady. You should be calling me the Duchess of Valdemar.”
“……”
Grit instinctively studied Claudel with wary eyes.
Her usual fragile look was gone.
Her sculpted, beautiful face was cold and expressionless.
“Tell me, Grit… do you know the custom before an execution is carried out?”
“E-Execution? What nonsense are you talking about all of a sudden?”
Startled, Grit tried to sound sharp, pretending not to be afraid.
“They say a criminal sentenced to death is granted one small mercy, within reason.”
Claudel only smiled softly, her eyes curving gently.
It was a smile as warm as a saint’s.
“That’s why I came here.”
“What?”
“You said you wanted to see me, didn’t you?”
A chill ran down Grit’s spine.
Those words meant only one thing—
…that she was already considered a criminal awaiting execution.
“W-what are you saying? You’re not really saying you’ll have me executed, are you?”
“That’s right.”
Claudel nodded calmly.
“Did you really think you could try to assassinate the Duchess of Valdemar and get away with it?”
“Assassinate? No, it was clearly you who tried to commit suicide—!”
“Even if you keep shouting that it was a suicide attempt, what good will it do?”
Claudel’s smile deepened.
Like a rose in bloom laced with poison—radiant, but deadly.
“No one believes your words.”
“Th-the Viscount won’t just sit back and watch! He’ll clear my name! He’ll save me!”
Grit screamed with veins bulging in her neck.
But Claudel only gazed at her quietly.
Grit—the eyes and ears of her father.
The maid who reported every small move Claudel made back to him.
In her past life, Claudel had lived in fear of Grit.
Always terrified that some bad report would reach her father…
Terrified of his disappointment.
But now—
“Do you really think so?”
Claudel’s tone was calm, almost casual.
“The man who sold his only daughter for his own wealth and power. Do you think such a cold-blooded man would really save a mere maid?”
“……”
Grit froze, struck right in her weak spot.
Her desperate shouting stopped at once.
“If you truly believe that…”
Claudel’s voice cut into Grit’s ears with mocking sharpness.
“Then Grit, you’re truly naïve.”
In that moment, sparks flared in Grit’s eyes.
“D-do you think I’ll stay quiet?!” she shouted, gritting her teeth.
“I’ll testify! I’ll say Viscount Dotrisch ordered me to kill you!”
“Is that so?”
But Claudel’s face remained indifferent.
“Yes! Do you think I wouldn’t dare?!”
Fueled by venom, Grit hurled her words at Claudel once again.
“Even if I die, the Dotrisch family won’t escape unscathed—!”
“Do as you please.”
