TIHYGR CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 7

A few minutes after the carriage carrying Grace departed, Walter and Joseph also left the castle gates. As he guided his horse beside Walter, Joseph tilted his head and asked,

“By the way, Your Grace, did the young lady give you any indication of where she would be headed… or where to meet?”

“No.”

Walter’s curt reply made Joseph squint in confusion.

“Uh… then how are you going to meet her?”

Walter didn’t even feel the need to respond. What lingered in his mind were the vividly green eyes, clear even from afar.

Grace Taylor had looked straight at him—then silently turned and walked away, without so much as asking where he’d be. That could only mean one thing: she already knew—and would come find him herself.

Walter nudged his horse into a brisker pace toward the inn.

“Huh…? It was so busy this morning. Are they not open for business today?”

Sure enough, the inn was completely empty. After handing over his horse to Joseph, Walter swiftly climbed the stairs.

The higher he went, the closer the fresh scent of forest seemed to come. Taking two, three steps at a time, he reached the top floor in an instant, halting before his room and taking a deep breath. Feeling oddly compelled to knock, he chuckled under his breath and gripped the doorknob, holding his breath as he turned it.

The moment the door opened, Walter felt the forest spill into him.

Grace had arrived at the inn before Walter. Standing alone in the empty room, she eventually perched on the edge of the sofa.

She had cast aside fear and pride long ago when she first began preparing for this hunt. And yet, a rare anxiety began to swell within her.

Closing her eyes, she recalled the pitch-black eyes that had met hers—the man who had turned the grand cathedral into nothing more than a backdrop. At the thought of him, her palms grew damp.

Opening her eyes, Grace reached into her coat and pulled something out. A worn crest bearing a roaring tiger transported her back to a winter thirteen years ago.

That day, the beacon announcing the crown prince’s death was lit. News followed that the prince, along with the Duke and Duchess of Richmond, had perished in a carriage accident on the way to visit the ailing Emperor.

On their way to the capital in mourning clothes, young Grace sat in the carriage with her parents, overhearing whispers exchanged in hushed voices.

“The Duke of Richmond said he would act ahead of the Empress. His Majesty should be safe.”

“Then… the body…”

“Shh. Likely the young heir.”

“How tragic…”

Her gentle mother eventually blinked away tears.

As they traveled through the night and reached a ridge, they came upon a knight, barely clinging to life. Seeing his gruesome state, Grace’s parents sent her back into the carriage. From inside, she listened intently.

Strangely, the knight’s voice rang clear.

“He… the Madam is… protecting him…”

“Sir!”

“Run… They’ll come soon. Beware… those who can’t be seen…”

The knight never finished.

After a brief, grave conversation, her parents helped her out of the carriage. Pressing the fallen knight’s crest into her small hand, they placed her in a guard’s arms and sent her back to House Taylor.

That was the last time she saw them.

The Taylors’ carriage was later found burnt to ashes, just like the one that had carried the crown prince and the Richmonds. The fire had raged so fiercely that no proper remains could be recovered. The Empress’s investigators ruled it an accident, but Grace thought differently.

The Duke of Richmond had acted to protect someone from the Empress. The unidentifiable corpse of a young heir. The mention of protection by “the Madam.”

Even as a child, Grace was able to piece it together.

Just like the Richmonds, her parents had been killed by the Empress. And the surviving crown prince had been hidden away under the Madam’s protection.

Grace vowed revenge—and prepared carefully over many years.

A man with black hair and black eyes.

That was all the information she had on Walter Richmond—once a crown prince, now a hidden duke. After the incident, the young Walter had secluded himself under the Madam’s care, citing poor health, and a few years later disappeared to the front lines with his knights, wandering the battlefield for a decade.

How many men in the Empire had black hair and eyes? But the moment she glimpsed Walter in the corridor, she knew. He was the one.

Thankfully, he responded to her call. And he had witnessed the collapse of her wedding.

Now, all that remained was to place herself in his hands—a task more difficult and vital than any that came before. She hadn’t been nervous even when her wedding fell apart in public, but now, her mouth ran dry.

As she replayed possible conversations in her head, a bell echoed faintly in her ears. She snapped her eyes open.

Footsteps, urgent and rapid, thundered up the stairs—leaping two, three steps at a time.

It’s him.

The moment Grace stood up, the door swung open without warning, and the overwhelming presence of a man filled the room.

Darkness that devoured light and sound.

Facing Walter up close, Grace instinctively thought of night—of a new moon sky where even time and space felt crushed by shadow. He engulfed her wordlessly, like a tide. She didn’t even realize she’d been holding her breath.

Despite wearing a simple yet formal suit, a raw, visceral energy radiated from him. His towering frame filled the doorway; his wide shoulders and long limbs gave him a sleek power rather than bulk. Perhaps it was the sharpness in his striking features.

Grace exhaled, pressing her nails into her palm. She couldn’t afford to be overwhelmed—not now. She bent her knee in a graceful curtsy.

“Please forgive my intrusion.”

Walter stared at her, unblinking.

Even as she straightened, her movements fluid and calm, the sunlight filtering into the dim room made her seem radiant, just as she had in the cathedral. Walter, swallowing a strange sensation, shut the door behind him.

The air between them pressed outward, as if it couldn’t hold them both. In a moment so tense even blinking felt dangerous, Walter moved first. Despite having raced up the stairs, he moved like a predator in its domain—measured and sure.

As he drew near, Grace felt an invisible wave push against her entire body. He stopped a few steps away and spoke.

“The Taylor estate was in chaos.”

His voice was low and grating—dangerously seductive. Grace smiled faintly and nodded.

“I imagine so.”

Walter pulled the wedding invitation from his coat and asked bluntly,

“Are you the ‘sharpest blade’?”

“Yes.”

“What do you want from me? What is it you claim to know?”

He looked at her with his head slightly tilted down, his eyes sharp with the weight of a life soaked in blood.

But Grace had no retreat. She bit down gently on the inside of her cheek.

“I hope this trip—coming all this way to see you—proves worth it.”

Walter scoffed, slipping one hand into his pocket as he looked her over.

Was it the bold impression she left in the cathedral? Or the way her hair was neatly braided? Even without the wedding dress, she still looked like a bride ready to walk down the aisle.

Then Grace raised her gaze and spoke clearly.

“Make me your official lover, Your Grace.”

“…What?”

Caught off guard by her audacity, Walter echoed her words after a pause. Grace looked him straight in the eye and repeated,

“Make me your official lover. Take me with you to Richmond.”

Walter went silent, then let out a sharp laugh.

“You want me to publicly declare that you, the woman who walked into a wedding with the Empress’s nephew, are my hidden lover? What exactly do I gain from that?”

“If taking control of House Richmond is all you want, then no—you don’t need me. But I don’t think that’s your end goal… is it?”

“…”

“Isn’t that right?”

Grace drew a deep breath.

There was a reason Walter Richmond had to be at the very start of Grace Taylor’s long-prepared revenge.

It was time to play her hidden card.

“Your Highness, the Crown Prince.”