INWY~08

Chapter 08

The Chancellor’s snake-like eyes swept over the gathered nobles, sharp and unyielding, before finally fixing on Dante.

“This meeting concerns the petition for annulment, which Grand Duke Venachert personally submitted to the Beherren district court one week ago.”

His stern voice pressed down on the chamber like a weight.

Look at him—puffing himself up like that, just because he’s Chancellor.

Clicking his tongue, Dante gave a lazy nod and answered without much care.

The Chancellor’s eye twitched at such insolence, and his voice rose sharply as he lashed out.

“Do you even understand the severity of this matter, Your Grace?”

The sharp bite in his tone was irritating. 

Dante’s gaze snapped upward, meeting his glare head-on, his expression hard.

To him, this old man, forever eager to gnaw at the smallest speck of weakness, looked nothing short of ridiculous. 

A faint, mocking smile tugged at his lips.

“How could I not know? The entire kingdom is buzzing with nothing else.”

His voice was steeped in deliberate provocation. 

The Chancellor’s face darkened, red with fury. 

He swung his gaze toward the nobles and thundered:

“Your title was granted on the explicit condition of marriage! And now you dare to demand annulment? Do not forget, Grand Duke—this is nothing less than deception against the crown! To so casually submit such a petition is to make a mockery of the royal house itself. If you fail to resolve this matter responsibly, know this—the consequences will be yours alone to bear!”

The old man’s roar froze the chamber in silence.

But while the others squirmed in unease, Dante remained perfectly unbothered.

“How reassuring,” he said lightly. “Since Your Excellency worries so much for me, I’ll be sure to take responsibility.”

He even chuckled.

Across the table, Crown Prince Reichert went pale. 

He cast a desperate glance toward the Chancellor, his throat dry. 

As expected, the Chancellor’s face flushed a dangerous shade of red.

Insane. 

Reichert’s mouth went dry as sand. 

The lunatic who threw the entire kingdom into chaos with this annulment—how is he the only one sitting there at ease?

And the Chancellor’s words were not wrong. 

Not a single one. 

But even surrounded by hostile nobles, all men of age and power who held the highest offices of the court, Dante was unfazed.

These were no trifling opponents—each one the head of a count’s household or higher. 

And yet, Dante Venachert treated them like nothing more than background noise.

Even though this matter, by all rights, placed him at a severe disadvantage, he behaved as if watching a fire on the far side of the river, unconcerned, amused.

Reichert clenched his teeth. 

He wanted nothing more than to wash his hands of it, but if this fire kept spreading, he himself would soon be caught in the blaze.

He forced himself forward to intervene before it spiralled further.

“Annulment itself is not impossible,” came another voice first—deep, weighty, and calm. 

“Provided there is a legitimate cause, supported by sound evidence. Is that not so, Your Grace?”

The chamber stilled.

It was Harold Carpenter, head of the Marquess of Carpenter’s house and Chief Justice of the Arbern High Court.

Of course. 

A man like Harold would not waste words. 

Unlike the Chancellor, he went straight to the point.

Dante dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement.

“I hadn’t submitted evidence with the petition, since it was bound for the High Court anyway… But since the Chief Justice himself is here, I’ll hand it over directly.”

With a flick of his fingers, Dante summoned his attendant. 

The man hurried forward and placed a slim envelope carefully before Harold.

All eyes in the chamber fixed at once upon that simple envelope.

“Go on. Have a look.”

Dante’s tone was light, almost playful, as though inviting him to open a party invitation.

Harold picked up the envelope. 

He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of countless eyes upon him, even before reading a single word.

Whatever lay inside, it would not be ordinary—that much was certain.

After all, the man who had presented it was Dante Venachert, one of the sharpest minds in Vermarch. 

Even a Chief Justice could not dismiss it lightly.

Rustle—

The papers slid free, and the air thickened instantly. 

Every noble in the room held their breath.

If the annulment were to be upheld, they would strike at the crown itself, using this as their chance to strip Dante of his title.

Either way—approved or denied—the kingdom would be thrown into turmoil.

Harold’s palms dampened with nervous sweat. 

He rubbed them discreetly against his sleeves, then unfolded the documents.

The silence grew suffocating as his eyes scanned the page. 

Then—his eyes widened in shock.

He adjusted his spectacles, almost disbelieving what he had just read.

“…Your Grace… is this true?”

His voice cracked with disbelief.

Gasps rippled through the chamber. 

Reichert and the Chancellor both frowned, unable to restrain their impatience.

What could it possibly be?

Unable to bear the suspense, the Chancellor barked at Harold.

“Do not waste our time, Chief Justice. Tell us at once what evidence the Grand Duke has submitted.”

But Harold only pressed his lips together, darting uneasy glances toward Dante.

He had expected—at most—that the documents might concern the Duchess’s low birth or debts. 

Nothing more.

But this—if true—left no doubt where the judgment would fall.

“Chief Justice,” Reichert interjected, trying to mask his own desperation. “Time is short. Speak plainly.”

His voice was even, but his insides twisted with unease.

For Dante Venachert to submit such evidence—he, who never relinquished anything without gain—could only mean one thing: he had no further use for his wife.

Or worse—that her absence suited some greater scheme.

Reichert chewed his lip raw.

What unsettled him most was that Dante himself had filed the annulment, with documents as proof. 

Everyone knew his marriage had been nothing more than a sham to fulfil the late king’s condition for his title. 

And yet it had been tolerated—because, sham or not, marriage was marriage.

But annulment? Now?

This was not merely about his union.

Marriage to the royal house was sacred. 

It was also a shackle on Dante’s freedom, a safeguard for the crown.

And if that shackle was cast aside…

The nobles would never stand for it. 

Their titles, their pride—all had been tested when the crown granted a dukedom to a half-blood like Dante. 

If the conditions for that grant dissolved so easily, they would tear everything down with it.

It was a crisis that could shake the very foundation of the monarchy.

Reichert’s throat dried. 

With the king bedridden and himself acting in his stead, the nobles now had the perfect pretext to sink their teeth into the crown.

Grinding his molars, Reichert glared at Dante. 

The bastard knew all of this—he was certain of it.

The chamber was thick with tension, every man calculating, watching, waiting.

And through it all, Dante alone remained at ease, tapping his fingers idly against the table.

Fools.

He arched a brow, smirking faintly. 

He could see their minds turning—measuring losses, tallying gains, wrapped up in petty calculations.

National stability? The crown’s dignity? 

Nothing but excuses. 

Just like those worthless reports they submit for me to “review.”

The tapping ceased.

Dante hadn’t spoken yet for one simple reason: he saw no need. 

He had wanted chaos. 

He had wanted suspicion to fester among them.

Now, he checked his watch.

Thirty minutes. 

That was long enough.

He straightened in his chair, composed his expression, and finally gave them what they had been waiting for.

“The Grand Duchess is suffering from an incurable illness. As a result, she has been declared infertile.”

The moment his words fell, the nobles’ faces shifted all at once—shock, disbelief, outrage.

The Chancellor shot to his feet, his face crimson.

“Is this some kind of joke, Grand Duke!”

He nearly spat the words.

Of course, he would react so. 

Three years ago, when the late king had demanded marriage as a condition, the Chancellor—Norman—had been the first to thrust forward his own daughter.

It had been the perfect opportunity: secure influence over both the royal house and the Venachert dukedom.

But that dream had shattered the moment Dante brought home that nameless woman instead.

Norman had never forgotten the insult. 

His daughter, once the most sought-after flower of high society, had become the woman spurned by the Grand Duke—her prospects ruined, her name tainted.

And now, to hear that the wife Dante had chosen instead was “terminally ill” and “infertile”—and that he dared use it to annul the marriage—

It could only mean one thing: Dante had schemed this from the start.

The so-called evidence? Surely forged. 

Not worth examining.

Norman’s hands clenched with murderous fury. 

He wanted nothing more than to tear the man apart.

The chamber bristled with tension, nobles glancing nervously at one another, unsure which way to turn.

Reichert shut his eyes, sweat running cold down his back.

The madman has done it. 

He’s really gone and done it.

“Answer me, Grand Duke!”

Norman’s face twisted in rage as he barked the demand.

And Dante—meeting his glare—slowly curved his lips into a smile.