INWU~CHAPTER 01

Chapter 01

“What’s the matter?”

The butler had come running, so frantically he hadn’t even wiped the sweat from his brow. 

His pallid, anxious face was an ill omen—whatever news he bore, it was certainly nothing good.

“I asked you twice now. What is it?”

Dante’s patience had already worn thin. 

The man had done nothing but call out to him, offering no answer.

Dante’s narrowed eyes swept over the butler, who stood rigid as stone. 

And now that he looked closer, it wasn’t just sweat soaking the man—he seemed drenched, as though he’d been caught outside the downpour.

Shaa—

The sound of heavy rain suddenly pressed against Dante’s ears. 

Only then did he realise it had started storming.

Turning toward the window, he stared at the deluge pouring down, so thick it swallowed the world in darkness.

So the clouds had been gathering for this. 

Even the weather was insufferably unlucky.

Clicking his tongue against the inside of his cheek, Dante turned back to the butler, who still stood there with the blank, devastated expression of a man delivering death itself.

Dante raised a brow. 

He had waited long enough. 

A sharp curse was already on his tongue—

And then, at last, the butler spoke.

“…Her Grace…”

Just those two words quavered, spilling from his trembling lips. 

His hands clenched tightly, his face collapsing in anguish as he forced out the rest.

“…Her Grace has met with an accident.”

Crash—!

Before Dante could speak, a thunderbolt split the sky, crashing into the earth with a deafening roar.

The sound rang in his ears, heavy and oppressive. 

A foul, muddy sense of irritation clung to him, as if someone had dumped a bucket of filth over his head. 

Staring at the butler, still dripping wet, Dante asked slowly,

“What happened?”

“The carriage… it skidded on the rain-slicked road, struck a gas lamp, and overturned. There was a small explosion, and the carriage caught fire. The coachman was found badly injured but alive…”

“I couldn’t care less about the coachman.”

The butler’s stumbling explanation was cut off by Dante’s cold voice. 

He tilted his head with disdain.

“T-the thing is… Her Grace has not yet been found. The carriage overturned right beside the river. It’s possible the explosion flung her into the water…”

Shaa—

Dante turned back to the window. 

The rain lashed down in thick, violent sheets.

With the sun long set and the storm so fierce, the world outside was nothing but pitch black.

“…How wretchedly unlucky.”

Of all things, a carriage accident.

A bitter laugh slipped from him. 

Dante closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again and said,

“Send out a search party at once. Release the hounds. And call in professional divers.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Even if it’s only the corpse—bring it back.”

***

The Grand Duchy soon buzzed with strange rumours.

“Is it true, Walter?”

“I’m telling you, it is! Lady Margaret just went to ask His Grace’s permission to summon the physician.”

“Oh my! Then it must be true! Since when did they become so close, I wonder?”

“Then Her Grace really is pregnant? That explains why she’s been looking unwell lately!”

In the kitchen, the servants clustered in a corner, whispering feverishly—until a soft cough came from behind them.

“Ahem.”

“Eek!”

The cook, Walter, spun around, startled by the unexpected sound. 

But it was too late. 

Hudson, the butler of Behren Palace, already had a firm grip on his thick wrist.

“And where do you think you’re going, Walter?”

“…Ah.”

The burly chef drooped his brows and folded his hands politely, like a chastised child, before the butler who was barely half his size.

“You heard everything, didn’t you?”

There was no need to ask. 

The cook’s booming voice had carried all the way down the hall.

“Rumours about Her Grace have been spreading lately. Was it you who started them, Walter?”

“What? No, absolutely not! I’d never! I only repeated what I heard elsewhere!”

Walter waved his hands desperately. 

Hudson studied him for a long moment before sighing.

“You know as well as I do—rumours are dangerous inside the palace.”

The chef hunched his shoulders like a scolded child, nodding meekly. 

But unlike a child, Walter was an adult. 

And adults rarely learned their lesson.

As if to prove the point, Walter lifted his head with a sly look and asked cautiously,

“But… is it true, then?”

Click.

Leaving the Grand Duke’s office, Lady Margaret found Hudson waiting just outside. 

She bowed her head politely.

“Sir Hudson. I was just about to find you. His Grace will be departing shortly.”

“Thank you, Lady Margaret.”

Deep lines had formed around her eyes with age. 

She had served here for over twenty years, and as head lady-in-waiting, she was one of the strictest, most exacting figures in the palace.

She kept no personal chatter with the servants, and her rigorous rules extended even to the Grand Duchess herself when she first arrived three years ago.

And yet, when the Grand Duchess’s health began to falter, Margaret treated her with an uncharacteristic gentleness. 

This alone had fueled the strange whispers now echoing through the palace.

“Sir Hudson? Was there something you wished to say?”

“Ah—my apologies, my lady. I was lost in thought…”

Realising he had been blocking her way, Hudson stepped aside. 

Margaret gave no further comment, only bowed again and passed him quietly.

…Could the rumours be true? 

No, surely not.

Watching her retreating back, Hudson frowned in thought before turning to the office door. 

He knocked softly.

Knock, knock.

Receiving no reply, he opened the door anyway, knowing silence was permission enough.

Inside, the Grand Duke, Dante Venachert, was dressed immaculately, signing documents with precise strokes. 

He glanced up at his butler.

“The train leaves soon. We’d better depart.”

“Yes, Your Grace. The car is waiting at the palace gate.”

Dante capped his pen and rose, adjusting his attire in the mirror with flawless composure—the very image of Behren Palace’s master.

While fixing his tie, Dante spoke casually.

“By the way, I hear there’s a rumour spreading through the palace.”

“…Ah?”

Hudson’s face was drained of colour. 

So His Grace had heard already?

“And apparently, the servants are particularly fond of it.”

“Y-yes, Your Grace. It seems someone has been spreading nonsense. If I find out who, I’ll deal with it immediately—”

“What is this rumour, exactly?”

The golden hair beneath the sunlight gleamed as Dante’s lips curved into a mischievous smile.

…Is he joking? 

Hudson blinked, unsure how to answer.

“As the master of this palace, surely I have the right to know what stories are being told within my own walls.”

But Dante’s gaze was sharp. 

This wasn’t a jest. 

It was a question.

A bead of sweat slid down Hudson’s back. 

How was he supposed to tell His Grace that the servants whispered about the Grand Duchess carrying his child?

“At this rate, we’ll miss the train.”

Dante flicked his eyes to the watch on his wrist. 

He wanted an answer. 

Now.

Finally, Hudson confessed.

“There are whispers that… Her Grace may be with a child.”

Dante’s brow twitched.

“Pregnant?”

“Yes, Your Grace. There has been no physician’s confirmation. I believe it began among the maids attending to her…”

Hudson swallowed, waiting anxiously.

For a moment Dante said nothing. 

Then a low chuckle slipped from his lips.

“As if.”

He laughed once more, briefly and cuttingly, then slid his hands into his pockets and strode forward.

“They say Chef Walter can cook even a shoe.”

“…A shoe, Your Grace?”

Hudson blinked at the bizarre comment. 

Dante smirked.

“Tell me, which of those rumours sounds more believable to you?”

Hudson’s jaw snapped shut.

He had served Dante since the day the man was first granted his title. 

He knew exactly what that remark meant.

Dante Venachert was a master of words, and this was his way of saying—

Don’t spout nonsense to me.