Chapter 1
It rained all day during the funeral of Princess Karoline.
The weather in Fritz, caught awkwardly between winter and spring, was neither cold enough to freeze the rain nor warm enough to stop it.
Mikhail stepped out of the carriage and lightly brushed the raindrops off his shoulders. The coachman hurried after him and held an umbrella over his head.
“Young master, your clothes will get wet.”
Mikhail pushed the umbrella away with one hand.
“It’s fine. I won’t be here long. No need to make a fuss. Getting a little wet will look better anyway.”
Dressed neatly in his naval uniform, the young officer held a bouquet of baby’s breath in his hand. Coming to pay respects while looking too polished would attract gossip—especially for someone who had inherited everything the late princess left behind.
Standing in the rain, Mikhail walked into the garden.
The funeral site, simply decorated with white flowers, was modest. Instead of a funeral march, only the sound of rain filled the air.
It was far too simple for a ceremony mourning the emperor’s great-aunt, but this had been Princess Karoline’s own wish.
Just like her.
Mikhail placed the bouquet on the gravestone. There weren’t many flowers laid there.
A middle-aged bishop overseeing the funeral approached him and spoke.
“My condolences, Captain Adenauer. I heard Her Highness Karoline cherished you greatly while she was alive. They say she treated you like her own grandson.”
Princess Karoline, the emperor’s great-aunt, had no close family. She never married and spent her entire life traveling the continent. Since she rarely stayed in one place, she had little interaction with other nobles.
There was only one exception.
Mikhail.
The bishop, clearly aware of this, continued with a practiced smile.
“I also heard you achieved great merit in the recent naval battle. Her Highness would surely be pleased.”
Pleased?
How could the living know what pleases the dead?
Mikhail curved his lips into a polite smile. It was refined, yet cold and imposing.
“I certainly hope so.”
On the way back to the estate, the rain grew heavier.
Mikhail leaned back in his seat and brushed his damp hair back. The sound of rain hitting the window was unusually loud.
Ethan, sitting in the driver’s seat, spoke when he noticed Mikhail’s gaze.
“It’s not even spring yet, but the rain is lasting quite long, sir.”
“Looks like spring is trying to stretch itself out.”
As long as it rained, the season grew longer.
That had been one of Princess Karoline’s favorite sayings.
Even while traveling the world, she regularly sent letters to Mikhail, and they always ended with the same line.
Even in her will.
“Mikhail, the men of the Adenauer family all make the wrong marriages.
It started when my dear sister Isolin met your grandfather. Your father’s and your uncle’s both ended in divorce, so it seems to be true.
You resemble Isolin more than anyone, and I worry you might walk the same path.
Fortunately, the only daughter of the Visvaren Marquis family—whom I was close to in my youth—has come of age.
If you don’t have a suitable partner, think of me and meet her.
Rain falls at the beginning and end of every season. Everyone needs a place to take shelter from it.”
After her death, Princess Karoline left all her assets to Mikhail.
Trusts, bonds, vast wealth, and even the Traum Estate—once used as an imperial villa.
But there was one condition attached to the inheritance:
Mikhail had to marry.
When he returned from the southern front and read the will, he let out a hollow laugh.
“Did Grandmother really distrust me that much?”
Even at the moment of her death, she had worried about his marriage.
She had even chosen a candidate for him herself.
It wasn’t something he could easily refuse.
Whoever it was, the Traum Estate would need a new mistress.
Mikhail’s wife.
Lady Adenauer.
He had postponed the matter due to urgent affairs, but now that even the funeral was over, there was no avoiding it any longer.
Mikhail turned his gaze to the rain outside the window. The sky, darkened by the rain, seemed to mock the sun.
With a faint smirk, he took out a cigarette and placed it between his lips.
“Ethan, contact the Visvaren marquis family.”
The dead feel nothing.
And yet, nothing can outweigh the wishes of the dead.
Click. The lighter sparked.
“I suppose I should grant Grandmother’s wish.”
After a long stretch of rain, the sky finally cleared.
At the Visvaren estate, the maids bustled about as if they had been waiting for this day—hanging laundry, cleaning, and moving busily. A breeze flowed through the open windows, brushing past a woman’s veil as she wiped dishes.
“Mrs. Sveña, should I place these dishes in the cabinet?”
“Yes, put them on the third shelf, Miss Cincere.”
Cincere stood, carefully arranged the cleaned dishes, and left her spot. Her slow, steady steps caused the hem of her skirt to sway just above the floor.
Once she was gone, the kitchen maid clicked her tongue.
“Miss Cincere is so kind… what a shame. She’s at such a beautiful age, yet she’s stuck washing dishes like a servant. With her looks, she’d have plenty of suitors—if only she didn’t limp.”
“Don’t say that. The Visvaren family took in a girl with nowhere to go. She should already be grateful.”
Sincere Reverence.
She couldn’t dance or stand for long. A limp defined her.
Who would want a flower that had already been broken before it bloomed?
When she was ten, a carriage accident took her parents and left her crippled. Only she and her twin younger sister, Erze, survived.
With nowhere else to go, they were taken in by their uncle, the Marquis of Visvaren.
He adopted the flawless one.
Erze.
Sincere, on the other hand, was little more than an extra who came along.
Time passed, and the ten-year-old girl grew into a beautiful young woman—but her circumstances never changed.
So she chose not to grieve over what wouldn’t change.
Ignoring the chatter from the kitchen, Cincere walked down the hallway.
Life at Visvaren wasn’t always happy, but she was satisfied.
At least she didn’t go hungry. She could earn a little money through small tasks.
And most importantly, the thing she loved most was here.
Her twin sister, Erze Visvaren—soon to be married.
A few days earlier, the Visvaren family received an unexpected letter.
It came from the Visvaren matriarch living in the imperial capital, Frits.
It read:
“Captain Mikhail Adenauer has requested a Visvaren daughter.”
The Marquis was overjoyed and made his decision immediately.
“Erze, write a letter of acceptance at once. There’s no reason to refuse such a match.”
“But, Uncle, I don’t even know who Captain Adenauer is…”
“You can get to know him later. Don’t worry about anything. Wife, prepare for our departure to the capital. At last, Erze will enter Fritz’s high society.”
And just like that, the marriage was decided over dinner.
Cincere felt uneasy seeing that Erze didn’t seem happy—but she still supported the marriage.
Erze would leave after getting married.
It would be lonely.
But that was fine.
Someone unwanted like herself was enough alone.
She only wished for her beloved sister to have a good marriage.
Before Erze left for the capital, she planned to give her a gift.
Just as she was heading to her room, the Marchioness approached her.
“Cincere, have you seen Erze?”
“Wasn’t she in her room? I’ve been in the kitchen, so I haven’t seen her.”
“She went out earlier to send a letter, but it’s almost dinner, and she’s not back. Nothing’s happened, has it? She already seemed reluctant about the marriage. It would be troublesome if she had other thoughts.”
It sounded less like concern and more like suspicion.
Just as Cincere was about to shake her head—
The front door opened, and a footman entered. Through the window, a black mail carriage could be seen.
“Miss Cincere! A letter for you!”
“For me? There shouldn’t be anyone sending me letters…”
She took the envelope, feeling something strange.
There was no sender.
A chill crept over her.
For some reason, it felt like she had seen the handwriting before.
As if guided by something, her hands opened the letter.
“Dear Sister Cincere,
You always said I should have a good marriage. That you wanted me to live comfortably and without want.
But… I’m sorry. I can’t marry a man I don’t love.
If you truly love me, please wish for my happiness.
With sincerity,
Erze.”
It was unmistakably her handwriting.
“…Erze.”
The meaning was clear.
The daughter of the Visvaren family—
had run away before her wedding.
