TGDHC Chapter 124

Chapter 124 – Aftermath

The Grand Duke didn’t even blink.

Count Avoir swallowed his wounded pride and continued calmly,
“Meisel may have acted disrespectfully toward Her Grace, but it was only out of a young lady’s jealousy. She never truly intended harm.”

But as he spoke, his words faded.
The Grand Duke’s sharp gaze was fixed on him—so cold that it made the Count’s throat tighten.

“Is that what you think?” the Duke said quietly.

“O-of course…”

“The poison she used—where do you think she got it? It couldn’t have been cheap.”

The Duke’s voice sank lower and lower, like a heavy weight pressing on the air.

“Do you really believe your daughter bought such an expensive thing just to use it on a mere head maid?”

The killing intent radiating from him seemed to choke the Count’s breath. His neck tilted back involuntarily under the pressure.

A small cough came from Norton, who stood guard nearby, breaking the suffocating silence. Only then did the Duke reluctantly pull his aura back.

“If she had used it on the Grand Duchess instead,” he said slowly, “there would be no trace of the Avoir family left in this land.”

He turned away from the Count, who was gasping for breath.

“Leave,” the Duke said curtly.

It was a perfect dismissal—but the Count couldn’t bring himself to move.

If he left now, Meisel’s exile to the monastery would be final.

He desperately tried to think of some argument to persuade the Duke when—

“Count Avoir,” the Duke said quietly, “do you think I’m keeping silent because I don’t know?”

The Count froze.

“W-What do you mean, Your Grace?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

The Duke ran a hand roughly through his hair.

“You seem to think you’re clever, but you’re not very good at hiding your greed.”

The Count pressed his lips tightly together.

‘Is he talking about placing my men in positions around the castle? Or about making the merchant guild leader my ally to siphon off their profits? Or maybe…’

There were too many possible sins to name just one.

“I haven’t bothered to expose you,” the Duke said, his gaze turning razor-sharp. “Only because it’s troublesome. That’s the only reason.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

Lately, he had been feeling the urge to burn everything down—and his dark eyes shone with that dangerous impulse.

The Count understood the message clearly.

If he argued any further about Meisel, the Duke would tear open every shady deal and favor the Avoir family had ever received.

And there was a lot to uncover.

In the end, the Count could only leave the room with a dark, heavy expression.

When Count Avoir stepped out of his carriage at his mansion, staggering slightly, a figure was walking toward him from the front door.

It was Tiern Bierri.

“Tiern!” the Count called urgently. “Why are you here? Did you see Meisel?”

He had spent half the day at the Grand Duke’s castle searching for his nephew, hoping he could help see Meisel—but they had missed each other.

As Tiern approached, the lamplight illuminated his pale, rigid face. A small travel bag hung from his shoulder.

“Answer me!” the Count snapped.

Tiern finally spoke quietly.
“I’m moving to the Grand Duke’s castle.”

“What?”

“Thank you for everything until now.”

That was all he said before turning to leave.

Furious, the Count grabbed his nephew’s arm with a trembling hand.

“By whose permission? I fed and housed you all these years, and this is how you repay me? You were here for a reason—to be useful!”

All the anger he couldn’t vent at the Duke now burst out at Tiern.

“You ungrateful brat! You think the Avoir estate is some kind of inn you can come and go from?”

Tiern’s tone remained calm.
“I think I’ve already paid my debt—being known as the Avoir family’s connection to the Grand Duke’s knight commander should be more than enough.”

“Have you ever done a single thing to help this family?!” the Count roared.

Tiern had never accepted even small favors or underhanded requests. He was stubborn, just like his late father.

“If that’s what you wanted me for, then I’ll never be of use to you,” Tiern replied flatly.

“I stayed here only because of Meisel. Now that reason is gone, there’s no point in staying.”

“You worthless, prideful fool!” the Count spat, pointing a shaking finger at him.

“I’ve heard the rumors—you’re guarding the Marquess’s daughter now, aren’t you?” His voice dripped with mockery.

“Have you already forgotten how your father died? And you still dare call yourself Bierri’s son?”

Tiern’s eyes turned sharp.
“Don’t you dare speak of my father again.”

The Count clenched his teeth but stayed silent.

Tiern’s nickname—The Mad Dog of Blenheim—wasn’t for nothing. No one, not even family, knew what he might do when provoked.

Tiern spoke again, his voice steady.
“I’ve thought about it a lot—about how my father would feel seeing me serve the Grand Duchess.”

He paused.

“Now I’m sure. If he were alive, he would have liked Her Grace very much.”

“Th-that’s absurd!” the Count shouted.

“Either way, my presence here will only make things uncomfortable,” Tiern said simply.

He pried his uncle’s hand off his wrist and let it drop. Even that brief touch left the Count’s wrist aching.

“I’ll send you news of Meisel when I can. Take care of yourself, Uncle.”

“Y-you insolent boy…!” the Count sputtered, but Tiern was already walking away. He didn’t look back once.

Meisel was exiled to the monastery.

Because of the revelation I’d staged, the rumor spread through high society in less than a day.

Count Avoir tried to contain it, but it was useless. A murder had taken place inside the Grand Duke’s castle—and everyone knew Meisel had twice tried to frame me before that.

On the day she left, Meisel begged and cried to see Loic one last time, but the request was firmly denied.

Tiern was assigned to escort her to the monastery.

When he came to see me before leaving, I couldn’t meet his eyes.

Yes, Meisel was guilty—but did I really have to humiliate her publicly in front of all those young ladies?

If I voiced that thought aloud, I wouldn’t have had an answer.

But Tiern only bowed his head politely and said nothing before departing.

Marzella’s body was buried somewhere outside the castle.

‘Meisel killed Marzella.’

When I first saw it in the prison, I couldn’t speak for a long time.

In my memories of the original story, Meisel had been nothing more than a shallow villainess—someone who would spill tea at a tea party or ruin a dress, not commit murder.

‘And yet… she’s still the same careless Meisel when you look at how sloppy her plan was.’

Did she kill Marzella on purpose? Or was it an accident?

Either way, my anger wouldn’t fade.

‘She killed someone?’

Who did she think she was?

Every time Meisel schemed against me, I had chosen not to retaliate. I didn’t want things to escalate.

She was just a cliché villainess—I didn’t want to waste my energy on her.

But that was foolish of me.

I should have crushed the spark before it became a fire.

I’d pretended to be kind and forgiving—and now, someone was dead.

This world was no different from the real one.

If you don’t fight back when bitten, you’ll be treated like prey.

The only difference was that here, being seen as weak could literally get you killed.

So I made my third vow since being reborn:

‘An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.’

This time, I would repay everything in full.

I would make sure Meisel could never dream of being “the future Grand Duchess” again.

And in the end, I did.

The Duke blocked Count Avoir’s interference, and Meisel received the harshest punishment a noble could get for killing a commoner—banishment.

‘Even so… that doesn’t bring the dead back.’

Maybe it was because I had hated Marzella that I felt even worse.

My heart was heavy with guilt I couldn’t explain.

“Annette?”

Lost in thought, I looked up into Loic’s gentle black eyes.

“Do you have no appetite?”

He set a steaming bowl of spicy tomato stew in front of me.

Maybe because I’d been listless for days, Loic had been watching me with growing worry.

“You should try at least one bite,” he said, moistening his lips nervously. “You’ve lost weight these past few days.”

‘Have I?’

It was true—I’d been out of it lately.

Only then did I really notice his worried face.

He looked thinner too, his sharp jawline more defined, his dark eyes searching my expression.

Instead of answering, I gave him a small smile.

“So the knights are eating spicy tomato stew again today?”

“…Pardon?” Loic blinked.

“Sir Norton told me,” I said teasingly. “Every time you cook, you make so much stew that the knights end up eating to their hearts’ content.”

Loic’s ears reddened slightly.

“Well… I learned to cook in large portions. I can’t seem to make smaller ones.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I laughed softly.

“You should ask Sir Leon to teach you again.”

Seeing me laugh seemed to ease Loic’s tension; his face relaxed.

“Norton said that, did he? That man should be grateful—how many can say they’ve tasted the Grand Duke’s tomato stew?”

His attempt at humor was clumsy but endearing. I was still smiling when a knock came at the door.

“Your Grace, Young Lord Raphael has arrived,” said Leta’s voice—she had recently returned to work.

As the door opened, a head of brown hair peeked inside.