INWY~04

Chapter 04

Clatter.

Walter, the head chef, shot to his feet when the cart rolled into the kitchen.

“Has Her Highness eaten at all?”

At his anxious question, Margaret slowly shook her head.

The chef’s face immediately sank with disappointment. 

Margaret sighed as she spoke.

“Perhaps because the physician came by today… She seems to have even less of an appetite than usual.”

“Oh? And what did the physician say?”

Disappointment hadn’t even had time to settle before expectation bloomed across the chef’s face again. 

Margaret shook her head in exasperation.

How could a person’s moods swing so wildly without shame?

“Don’t get your hopes up. The rumours around the palace are nothing but nonsense.”

Rumours, indeed. 

Pregnancy.

Margaret had been by the Grand Duchess’s side every hour of every day, save for when she slept. 

If such a thing were true, she of all people would have noticed. 

Impossible.

Still, at least the physician had said it wasn’t anything serious. 

That was some relief—but no comfort against the heaviness in her chest.

Just as Margaret was about to sigh again out of habit, the chef exhaled so heavily it seemed the floor might cave in.

“Ah, I was hoping to see a child with both Their Highnesses’ faces in it someday…”

“I told you not to say such foolish things!”

***

The room was dark, not a single lamp lit. 

Riena sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly out the window.

Two years. 

That was all the time left to her, the sentence handed down along with her diagnosis.

She could no longer even summon bitter laughter. 

But hearing the doctor’s verdict had forced a harsh clarity upon her—this was her reality.

The days she had spent in this palace, beside the Grand Duke, had always felt like wandering through a dream. 

Not in any romantic sense—simply because they were days that never belonged to her, never fit her.

How do you feel now?

She asked herself again and again. 

What did it feel like to finally wake from a dream?

For hours she posed the same question, and still the answer would not come.

“…Haa.”

Dragging a dry hand down her face, Riena rose slowly from the bed.

She might not know how she felt, but she did know what she had to do next. 

That answer was clear.

Click.

For the first time in a week, she stepped out of her room and headed straight for the staircase that led to the second floor—where Dante’s study awaited.

***

“We’ve arrived, Your Grace.”

Dante lifted his head from the last page of the miserable excuse for a report he had been skimming, tossed carelessly beside him like a rag.

The view outside was already steeped in twilight. 

Thanks to that cursed birthday banquet, he had wasted an entire day.

And this report was the final insult—every word no better than meaningless ink blots staining paper. 

With a flick of his wrist, he cast it aside and reached for his jacket.

The attendant jumped out of the car the moment it stopped, hurriedly circling around to open the back door. 

Only then did Dante step down, unhurried, his polished shoes meeting the ground.

As the door clicked shut, he pulled a wallet from inside his jacket. 

It was thick with banknotes, just enough to keep its shape intact. 

He plucked out a neat stack and handed it to the attendant.

“You’ve done well.”

The man’s eyes widened at the sight of the bills pinched between Dante’s long fingers. 

Flustered, he waved his hands in refusal.

“No, no, Your Grace. I couldn’t possibly accept such a large sum. Your thought alone is—”

“Your thoughts?”

Dante’s brow twitched.

“It’s money I’m giving you. Not my thoughts.”

“…F-forgive me.”

A faint chill laced his golden eyes as he looked down at the man. 

Colour drained from the attendant’s face until, at last, he accepted the notes with trembling hands.

“…Thank you.”

Dante gave him nothing more than a cold glance before striding into the palace.

“Welcome back, Your Grace.”

The butler was waiting in the hall, as always, immaculate no matter the hour.

“Has anything happened?”

“…Her Highness is waiting for you in your study.”

Dante froze in the act of handing over his jacket. 

Midnight had long passed.

“At this hour?”

“She has already waited several hours. I told her I would inform her as soon as you returned, but… she insisted she would wait. I could not dissuade her further.”

“So the Grand Duchess does not care for sleep.”

A dry chuckle left his lips. 

He nodded faintly and dismissed the butler with a wave. 

The man bowed and carried the jacket away.

Dante climbed the stairs with long, steady strides, the soft echo of his fine shoes trailing him through the dim corridor.

Bang.

It was his own study; there was no need to knock. 

He pushed the door open with a cool, indifferent expression.

At the sound, Riena slowly turned her head from the sofa. 

Their eyes met. 

Dante arched a brow.

So she really is here.

Without a word, he passed her by and went straight to the cabinet against the wall.

Rows of untouched bottles gleamed within—wine, brandy, champagne—all still sealed. 

Dante rarely drank. 

They were decorations, nothing more.

Selecting a few bottles, he glanced back at her.

“What’s your preference? Wine? Brandy? Or perhaps you’ve come to celebrate with champagne?”

The word celebrate made her shoulders twitch before she shook her head.

“No. I’ll pass.”

“Shame. I thought you came at this hour for a bit of tipsy companionship.”

The teasing drawl made her frown as though she’d overheard something she was never meant to.

“Why? Who knows—maybe you did bring good news.”

So he’d heard the rumours. 

Heat burned at her ears, sharp with humiliation.

Unlike before, she did not bother to hide her displeasure. 

Dante chuckled softly at the sight.

He set the bottles back in the cabinet and wandered toward her, settling with a casual lean on the sofa opposite hers.

“I don’t usually indulge in jokes, but I’m tired tonight.”

It wasn’t an excuse. 

Weariness clung to his voice.

Riena knew from Lady Margaret that he had attended the crown prince of Reichert’s 

birthday banquet.

His blood. 

His despised kin.

Of course, his mood was foul. 

Perhaps even at its worst.

Dante pressed a finger hard against his temple, then tilted his chin toward her.

“The physician came by today, didn’t he?”

“…Yes. This afternoon.”

“And the diagnosis?”

Riena hesitated, then shook her head as he downed a glass of water in one swift motion.

“It was… nothing important.”

“Really.”

His golden eyes bored into her, sharp and unrelenting, searching for the truth. 

Her shoulders trembled beneath the weight of it.

That gaze again—always questioning, always probing.

She bit her lip, forcing herself not to look away. 

Eventually, he dropped his eyes, setting the glass down with a soft thud. 

Relief swept over her—only to be caught again on the brown envelope at her side.

Thump. Thump.

Her heart pounded heavily. 

She clenched her trembling fingers into her palm.

…Don’t be afraid, Riena.

Inside that thin envelope was the divorce decree. 

She had prepared it before he returned, waiting here in his study with the papers beside her, repeating to herself over and over like a spell:

Don’t be afraid. 

You’ve already been sentenced to death. There’s nothing left to fear.

But the truth was, she felt more afraid now than she had when the physician told her she had only two years left.

Still, she could not delay. 

If not now, she would never find the chance—or the courage.

It was time. 

Time to end this long, one-sided love.

She would not let him see her waste away. 

Nor would she watch his indifference toward her dying body.

Drawing in a deep breath, Riena steeled herself. 

Her face set with determination as she placed the envelope on the table and slid it toward him.

His languid gaze dropped to the object suddenly before him. 

With a faint arch of his brow, he asked,

“What’s this?”

“…A divorce decree.”

His hand froze midway to the envelope. 

His brows furrowed as though he had heard something utterly absurd.

Her heart thudded harder at his reaction, but she kept her voice steady.

“The very divorce decree you prepared, Your Grace.”

It was true. 

The document she had just handed him had once been tucked away in his desk. 

She had found it by accident long ago.

And when the doctor pronounced her death sentence, it had almost felt like a stroke of fortune—she wouldn’t even need to apply to the courts for new papers.

Silence pressed down upon them. 

Riena watched him quietly before speaking again, her voice soft but firm.