Chapter 8
Her back slid down the door until she landed on the floor with a dull thud. Her legs had given out completely. The cold seeping in, the ache from the fall—none of it mattered.
“How did it come to this…”
She hadn’t expected him to be a shining hero. She didn’t expect him to storm in like a knight in a play, defeating villains with ease.
She just wanted him to care.
She wanted to see him worried, asking if she was alright. To look her over carefully, asking if she was hurt. To kiss her gently and say he was sorry for not being there.
That’s what the old Sieghart would have done. He was the kind of man who once lost his temper over a simple cut she got from slicing fruit.
Maybe… maybe Natasha had hoped her pain would remind him he loved her. That even now, as distant as he’d become, if the woman he loved had been threatened, he’d still care.
“If the Empire ever threatens you, I will protect you with everything I have.”
Sieghart Aschart knew what the Empire meant to her.
He had seen her trembling from nightmares. He had been there when she mourned her parents’ deaths.
He knew.
“And yet… even now… he still pushed me away because he’s too busy?”
There was only one explanation.
The question that had haunted her finally had an answer. Natasha no longer had to wonder.
He didn’t love her.
And once she accepted that, she stopped looking for him.
Strangely enough, he didn’t seem to care.
Even though she’d pulled away, even though she didn’t visit or ask for him—Sieghart never once questioned it.
The servants in the mansion began to whisper.
“He finally had her and was disappointed.”
“He was drawn in by her looks, but now even those don’t interest him.”
Wherever Natasha went, nasty rumors followed. And slowly, the staff began to treat her differently.
The cheerful voices that used to share gossip with her faded. The gentle hands that once braided her hair now kept their distance. The warmth of their company disappeared, and loneliness settled in.
But there was nothing Natasha could do.
If she lashed out now, it would only make her look desperate. No one would sympathize with a dethroned princess acting out—they’d only mock her.
After ten days, her mind was exhausted. She picked up the divorce papers again and again—only to set them back down each time.
One day, Kayeina walked into the room, saw the papers on her desk, and gasped.
“If you divorce him, what do you think the Empire and the duchy will do? They’ll attack you, Princess. You’ll be left with no one to protect you. They’ll come for you.”
Kayeina was right.
Now that her whereabouts were known, Natasha had no choice but to stay under the protection of House Aschart.
To the duchy, she was a potential threat—royalty from a fallen kingdom. To the Empire, she was a nuisance that should’ve been erased long ago.
And even for Kayeina and Sir Dante, Natasha had to endure. Kayeina worked here. Sir Dante lived quietly at a remote estate. She couldn’t take them with her, and she had no way to protect them on her own.
“Just hold on a little longer, Madam. His Grace will come back to you. He loved you more than anyone.”
But Natasha couldn’t believe that anymore.
There was no hope left in this relationship.
Trying to fix what they had was like gluing shattered glass. Touch it, and it would only cut you deeper. Leave it, and it would never be whole again.
But love had made her foolish.
And now, she couldn’t walk away without putting others in danger. Kayeina was right—if she divorced Sieghart now, she would be vulnerable, and so would the last remnant of the Charlier royal family.
Until she found another way, she couldn’t leave.
Then one day, something unexpected happened.
Despite living in the same mansion, they had barely seen each other. But suddenly, Sieghart came looking for her.
She stared at him in disbelief. The man who hadn’t spared her a glance for days was now standing in front of her.
At first, she thought he was just a vision—a trick of her tired mind.
But when he raised one dark eyebrow at her silence, she realized he was real.
“There will be a knighting ceremony at the temple in three days. You’re expected to attend.”
She had already heard the news—Sieghart had been named a Sword master of the Empire. A title so rare and respected that the ceremony would be held at the temple itself.
“It’s just a formal event. No need for any extravagant preparations. Don’t cause a fuss dressing up or doing anything unnecessary.”
That was all he said.
No greeting. No explanation. Just an order.
She wasn’t a wife to him.
Just someone who would look good on his arm—for one day, in one place, before being dismissed again.
His tone left no room for kindness. There was no warmth—just orders, sharp and cold like a blade. But Natasha couldn’t even show how hurt she was. Instead, she forced a small smile and nodded.
“All right.”
“Then I’ll see you in three days.”
That was all he said before turning and walking away—just three cold sentences. It wasn’t even a proper conversation. He didn’t try to hide how detached he was.
“…Yes. I’ll see you in three days.”
Still, Natasha didn’t protest.
She did exactly as he said. It would be her first appearance as the Duchess at a formal public event, but because Sieghart had told her not to make a fuss, she didn’t even let herself worry over what to wear.
And just like that, three days passed.
The grand temple had opened its doors to the public for the knighting ceremony—an incredibly rare event that happened perhaps once every hundred years. Naturally, it drew a large crowd.
Among the many worthy candidates, Duke Aschart had emerged as the clear choice. Until now, the title of Honorary Knight had always gone to members of the Letius Imperial Family or other major powers. That the duke had been chosen shocked the Empire.
A man who had declared independence from the throne had now claimed one of its highest honors. Of course, considering his strength and achievements, it was well deserved. The temple was likely honoring his efforts to purify and protect lands overrun by monsters.
The nobles buzzed with conversation. They had expected House Aschart to fall after its break from the Empire—but instead, it had risen higher. Some even debated whether it was time to change allegiances.
The wave of murmurs faded when the soft sound of a harp filled the air.
The ceremony had begun.
Slender fingers moved gracefully across the strings, producing a delicate and ethereal sound. Every movement was precise—almost ritualistic—as if even the musician’s gestures were part of the sacred melody. The music danced from one note to the next, each pluck like a shining thread in a tapestry.
As the harp played, the man of the hour appeared.
His steps, confident and smooth, seemed to move in perfect time with the flowing rhythm. As the hem of his ceremonial robe swayed, it revealed a noble bearing that made his presence impossible to ignore.
He descended the stairs and came to a halt before the Pope, kneeling on one knee in reverence.
The Pope smiled, pleased, and gently lowered a tiara onto his head. The dazzling diamonds and crystals shimmered like stars in the night sky.
“Sieghart Aschart. Your efforts have brought peace to this world. The lives you’ve saved are beyond measure. In honor of your light and your beauty, I name you the fourteenth Honorary Knight of the Empire.”
A crown adorned with the Eternal Flame. A legendary sword that never dulled. A divine aura said to carry the power of the gods.
These sacred gifts—bestowed only to Honorary Knights—now belonged to Sieghart.
“May Aschart be forever blessed. May its people know joy and abundance without end.”
With the Pope’s final blessing, the ceremony came to a close. A grand banquet followed in celebration of Sieghart’s new title.
Cheers filled the air, surrounding the newly honored man.
Natasha was among them.
Though she hadn’t expected it, she somehow found herself standing right beside him. His large hand rested lightly around her shoulders, unfamiliar but deliberate.
“Congratulations on your marriage, Your Grace.”
People spoke as if nothing were wrong—as if there had been no change at all between them. Congratulations poured in, smiles bright and polite.
Next to Sieghart, Natasha had become a symbol—a stand-in for his presence. She was expected to smile and respond to meaningless comments. A ceremonial partner. Nothing more than a well-dressed shield.
“To have such a perfect man as your husband—you must be so happy.”
The words, disguised as flattery, were laced with mockery. These nobles weren’t blind—they had surely sensed the tension between the two.
What kind of husband leaves his wife completely alone at her first public appearance since the wedding?
Their questions came one after another, all under the guise of curiosity, but each one brimming with subtle scorn. And they didn’t let her leave easily.
Only after some time was Natasha finally able to escape the crowd. Mentally exhausted from the invasive questions, she wandered aimlessly before collapsing behind a pillar. Her body felt limp, like soaked paper barely holding itself together.
Leaning back against the column, she looked up at the ceremony’s final ritual.
It was time for the Honorary Knight to receive divine grace—by drinking holy water, a blessing said to symbolize God’s mercy.
Sieghart raised the sacred chalice he had received from the Pope high into the air. The radiant vessel glimmered as he brought it to his lips.
A few seconds later, his throat moved—then—
“Kyaaah!”
A scream pierced the silence.
Blood burst from Sieghart’s mouth.
The high-pitched cry was quickly followed by others. One scream after another layered over each other like chaotic music. Panic rippled through the temple.
Natasha watched in shock. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. Even her scream was trapped.
“Th-The Duke…! Duke Aschart—!”
Sieghart collapsed, blood pouring from him.
