INWY~09

Chapter 09

“Well now… I must say, I’m a little puzzled. I don’t see why this matter warrants such outrage from the Chancellor.”

Dante tilted his head innocently, as though he truly didn’t understand.

Then, as if struck by a sudden realization, he let out a soft “ah” and knitted his brow slightly.

“Unless… Lady Winfield is still suffering consequences because of me? In that case, allow me to apologize again—here and now.”

His words left the Chief Justice and Reichert gaping in shock. 

Not a single thing out of his mouth was remotely proper.

In fact, if it had been possible, the Chief Justice would have gladly leapt across the table to shut Dante’s mouth himself.

Bang!

The Chancellor, who had been growing redder and redder throughout Dante’s provocations, finally snapped. 

Fuming, he stormed out of the chamber with a furious huff, slamming the door behind him.

The room dissolved into chaos. 

And yet, Dante merely glanced around at the wreckage with a calm smile tugging at his lips. 

His tone was light, almost soothing, as he spoke again.

“It seems the Chief Justice will have to preside over the meeting in his stead. With the evidence I’ve provided, is it sufficient to review and approve my petition?”

In the chamber—still reeling from the uproar—Dante alone looked utterly at ease. 

The sight made the Chief Justice’s throat tighten uneasily.

***

“Do you, Dante Venachert, swear to spend your life with Lady Riena?”

“Yes.”

“And you, Lady Riena—do you swear to spend your life with Dante Venachert?”

“…”

The Pope, who presided over the vows, turned sharply at the silence. 

The longer she remained quiet, the deeper his face sank into awkward discomfort.

“Ahem… Lady Riena?”

“…Yes. I swear.”

The words came late, dragged from her lips. 

Riena bit down hard, pain pricking her skin until the faint taste of blood spread across her tongue.

Today, she had sold herself.

But whether she had or not, it didn’t matter.

At her reluctant answer, the officiant raised the declaration aloft.

“By the blessing of crown and church, I hereby pronounce Dante Venachert and Riena Venachert husband and wife.”

Polite applause filled the cathedral. 

And then, Dante’s face drew closer.

It was the customary moment of the marriage rite: the kiss.

His large hand lifted her veil with slow grace, his palm brushing against her cheek.

At the same time, Riena’s fingers clenched hard around her bouquet, petals fluttering to the ground.

Dante’s arm slipped around her waist, drawing her nearer. 

His head tilted just slightly—

And at last, the restrained claps gave way to jubilant cheers.

But amid the noise, Riena realized something strange.

The kiss never came.

She blinked her eyes open. 

Dante’s lips hovered so close, a breath’s width away—but did not touch. 

His golden gaze, calm and unblinking, lingered instead on her lips, where blood welled faintly from her bite.

Her trembling eyes met his steady ones.

Dante chuckled under his breath, low enough for only her to hear.

“Don’t look so tortured. I feel the same.”

Her lashes fluttered once, twice. And then—

Riena awoke.

Dim blue light seeped through the curtains, painting her chamber. 

Her body felt unbearably heavy, as though soaked through.

…It had been a dream.

Dry-mouthed, she reached for the water bottle on her nightstand and drank deeply, gulp after gulp.

Water spilt down her chin, trailing cold against her throat, dampening the silk of her slip.

She emptied the bottle in one go, set it down with a hollow clink, and wiped her mouth with her sleeve. 

Then her gaze drifted across the room, toward the trunks she had left packed in the corner.

“Today,” she murmured flatly.

Within a few hours, headlines would roar through the city. 

The Grand Duke’s petition for annulment had been approved.

This morning would be her last in the Behern palace.

Packing had taken barely an hour. 

After all, she had only two small trunks to her name.

Her eyes lowered to her hand. 

Slowly, she slid the three-carat diamond ring from her finger—the only proof she had ever been married to Dante Venachert.

A red mark lingered where it had rested. 

She rubbed it once, then rose to her feet.

Her role as Grand Duchess ended today.

***

The Kingdom of Vermarch. 

In the very heart of Behern—the city often called the second capital after Arbern—there stood a wide square with a great fountain.

Except at the latest hours of the night, the place was always alive with footsteps.

Now, a boy clutching a bundle of newspapers almost larger than himself darted through the crowd, shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Paper! Buy a paper!”

His cry drew every eye at once.

“You there, lad—give me one.”

“Yes, sir! Five krangs!”

The moment one man received his paper, others crowded in like a wave.

A woman from a market stall, an old painter sketching on a bench, a group of schoolchildren—all pushing, clamouring, fighting to get their copy.

The newspapers of Vermarch were beloved by all, from commoners to nobles. 

Their sensational stories were daily entertainment.

But today, the fervour was unmatched. 

People shoved, barked, and nearly broke into blows.

One man frowned at the sight—then shrugged. 

He knew why.

Weeks earlier, Grand Duke Venachert had walked into Behern’s district court and filed for annulment.

Divorce alone would have been shocking enough. 

But annulment? In a kingdom that held marriage sacred, it was a scandal beyond measure.

Politically, too, the implications were explosive. 

The annulment confirmed what his detractors had claimed all along—that Dante’s marriage had been nothing but a ploy to secure his title.

Now, the newest issue is out. 

And everyone burned to read it.

The man unfolded his copy, his hands trembling with anticipation.

***

Dante scanned the headlines with bored eyes. 

Then, with a sharp laugh, he tossed the paper aside.

“They’ve managed to turn me into pure trash. Even with the reasons kept under seal.”

Standing by the window, he exhaled smoke. 

The light cigar he favoured left only the faintest trace, whisked away by the cool autumn breeze drifting in.

The past weeks had been unbearable—endless debates, tedious procedures, and detestable faces.

At last, yesterday, the annulment was approved.

Of course, it had been agreed that the Duchess’s specific faults would remain undisclosed to the public.

Dante flicked the ash from his cigar with idle fingers.

“Your Grace,” said a voice. “This afternoon.”

“This afternoon?” He raised a brow at his butler, cigar between his lips.

“She departs today.”

Hudson hesitated, watching him carefully.

“Ah.”

Dante exhaled, the smoke trailing with his dry sigh.

“I see. I’d forgotten, with all the commotion.”

Since submitting the petition, he had hardly been in Behern. 

The summons from the crown in Arbern had been endless; businessmen had swarmed him like vultures, begging for his continued patronage.

Steel, pharmaceuticals, trade—every industry fed from his hand. 

And all had feared losing his favour.

He had smiled, elegant as ever, and in return showered them with biting sarcasm and vicious insults, sharp enough to make their ears bleed.

Dante took another drag, smirking faintly.

“Should I see her off, then? Might soften the public a little.”

Hudson said nothing. 

He merely bowed his head.

Dante clicked his tongue. 

Loyal as he was, the man had the stubbornness of an ox in matters like this.

Silence stretched. 

Finally, Dante crushed the cigar into the ashtray and asked,

“And the arrangements?”

“The assets to be transferred to her are already deposited in Behern Bank, under Lady Margaret’s name.”

Efficient, as expected of his butler. Dante nodded, satisfied.

Then he waved Hudson away. 

The man bowed and withdrew quietly.

Help me.

Why should I?

Surely a nobleman like you knows the meaning of noblesse oblige.

The memory surfaced, unbidden. Dante snorted, amused.

A bold woman, that one. 

To dare speak such words, even as she claimed not to know him.

Lost in idle thoughts, he reached for another cigar from its gold case.

And just then—

Knock, knock.

Dante’s gaze flicked to the door.

No one came to his study unbidden—not even Hudson.

His brows arched slightly. 

This was rare. 

Very rare.

“Enter.”

The door creaked open.

And at the figure that stepped inside, Dante almost laughed aloud in disbelief.