Chapter 7
When they returned to the banquet hall, the gazes that met them were laced with a subtle but distinct shift in tone.
‘What is this… because of Edzov?’
Eclite also felt the shift in the room’s atmosphere and tightened his hold on Amelia’s hand. The warmth of his steady grip brought her comfort. The weight of their stares no longer bothered her.
‘That’s right. I’m not alone. He told me to stay by his side.’
At that moment, Meysarina approached, tears welling in her eyes.
“S-sister… Even if you hate me… how could you… sniff!”
Perfectly formed tears fell from her eyes, and Amelia’s expression turned to ice. Clearly, this stir was her doing.
‘Of course. There’s no way she’d stay quiet.’
With trembling steps, Meysarina clutched at Amelia, her voice quivering—but each word was sharp and deliberate, calculated to strike.
“Even though we’re not true sisters, I’ve always thought of you as one. I relied on you, admired you. When you wrote me that recommendation, it felt like you were truly accepting me as family… and that made me so happy. I worked hard because of that. But… am I still not family to you? Is that why you’re doing this?”
Meysarina, well-versed in navigating high society, was swiftly chipping away at Amelia’s reputation, feeding juicy scraps to the gossip-hungry noblewomen.
“Oh my, she seemed so sweet, too…”
“Lady Meysarina must have suffered terribly.”
“Well, birds of a feather, I suppose.”
“Yes. Just look at who she’s marrying—a monster Grand Duke…”
‘So this is what Mami meant… being torn apart with words.’
After all, slander was easier than praise. Amelia found it pathetic—petty and childish.
“No matter how much you hate me, this is too much. You could have simply taken it out on me, but deceiving all these people—that’s not right, is it?”
Meysarina’s voice shifted ever so slightly, and the room’s mood turned with it. She gestured tearfully to the other candidates.
“Everyone here respects the spirit of House Fiore and seeks to inherit its title with sincerity. Sister, your actions are a disgrace to them all.”
Behind her feigned grace, Meysarina’s true intent finally began to surface.
“Sister, please, stop this and blame only me. No matter how much you want it, you know better than anyone—you can’t become the head of House Fiore!”
Amelia’s lips twisted into a cold, bitter smile.
‘Is this a threat?’
The nobles murmured in response.
“What’s going on? Why can’t she?”
“Is she unqualified?”
“Come to think of it, we know little about the eldest daughter, don’t we?”
“Maybe there’s nothing worth knowing…”
Turning tearful eyes back to Amelia, Meysarina silently dared her to step down with grace. Otherwise—she would expose it: that Amelia had a terminally weak heart, that she had no skill, no chance. Just as Meysarina prepared her final blow, the grand doors of the hall swung open—and in walked Steward Kate alongside Duke Belvan.
Unbothered by the tense air, Belvan spoke with calm authority.
“Well, it seems I’ve arrived a bit late.”
All nobles bowed deeply to him. But ignoring them, Belvan went straight to Eclite and bowed low in respect.
“Your Highness, Grand Duke Clio. It is an honor to see you.”
As Belvan addressed Eclite with such deference, the nobles flushed with embarrassment. None of them had treated him as a Grand Duke. Yet before that, he was a prince of the realm. Every person present should have bowed to him and paid their respects.
Had he wished, Eclite could have accused them all of treason against the crown for their disrespect.
Eclite nodded slightly at Belvan’s bow.
“Thank you, Duke, for taking the time.”
“No, Your Highness. The honor is mine, truly, to receive such a visit.”
Turning at last to Amelia, Belvan addressed her gently.
“I had hoped to give you more time. It seems I’ve misjudged my generosity.”
“No, Your Grace. Thank you.”
Amelia was deeply grateful for his support. She hadn’t expected this much—for him to go so far as to protect even Eclite’s dignity.
‘What I can’t yet do… Grandfather has done for me.’
“Now then.”
Belvan extended his hand, and Kate, the steward, stepped forward to present the family’s ceremonial musket to Amelia.
“Let me formally introduce her to you all. Amelia Chezaret — she is the fourth official candidate for the head of House Fiore.”
Amelia received the musket from Belvan with steady hands. The nobles, observing this, began to shift their views, letting go of earlier doubts. Belvan’s endorsement had given them pause, even sparking faint anticipation.
“His Grace the Duke is personally backing her. She must have the skill.”
“Yes, it must’ve all been a misunderstanding earlier.”
The atmosphere turned swiftly, but Meysarina couldn’t bear it any longer and stepped forward.
“She can’t even use a musket. How can she possibly take the trial?”
The nobles paused again at her interruption.
“My sister wasn’t born with magic. Even if she were… I hate to say this, but her heart is too weak to channel mana. If she tries, she could die!”
Faced with this truth, Belvan remained silent. Even he could not refute it.
“Sister, I’m saying this for your sake. I don’t want to see you get hurt. Please, stop this now, I’m begging you.”
As Meysarina reached to stop her, Eclite stepped between them. He didn’t speak a word, but the chill in his gaze made Meysarina flinch and instinctively step back. Still, Amelia didn’t hide behind him—she stepped forward, facing them all.
“There’s no need for concern. I am still only a candidate—not yet the head of the house. I will take the trial formally, equally, and under the same conditions.”
She immediately loaded the musket she received from Belvan, gripping it with firm, practiced hands. Her posture—straight, composed, without hesitation—surprised Meysarina.
‘When did she… No, she must’ve learned the basics to put on a show. That’s all this is. Without magic, without a miracle, she’s already as good as dead.’
Unlike Meysarina’s emotional outburst, Amelia’s voice remained unwavering, calm yet firm.
“I will inherit this title with skill alone—so that no one can question it.”
“If you say so, I sincerely hope you can prove it.”
Meysarina said no more. She believed Amelia had cast away her only chance to preserve her pride.
‘The bluff ends here. I won’t even have to lift a finger—she’ll fall on her own.’
As the tension settled, Belvan spoke, voice sharp and commanding.
“The trial will take place in four days. As always, it will be a test of marksmanship. You must demonstrate flawless skill—enough to be acknowledged by the family’s musketeers. There will be no room for error.”
The once-gentle timbre of Belvan’s voice now carried a steel edge, filling the hall with heavy anticipation.
“In this test, effort is meaningless. You must show perfection, nothing less.”
Amelia’s grip on the musket tightened.
“In one week, a grand council will be held at the Imperial Palace, attended by the five great ducal houses. The newly appointed head of House Fiore will be present. Let us hope a new flower blooms beneath the sun.”
As she passed Amelia, Meysarina whispered coldly.
“Just be a pretty little decoration to make me shine, Sister.”
Satisfied by Amelia’s silence, Meysarina exited the hall.
‘Good. Father will hear of this soon. Not Grand Duke Bastien, but Grand Duke Clio? A disgrace. Father, who values bloodlines above all, won’t let this go. If I play this right…’
‘House Chezaret. The Fiore title. Everything will be mine. I’ll take everything from Amelia. Perfectly.’
Afterward, Belvan approached Amelia, exhaling wearily.
Eclite quietly stepped aside, giving him space. Belvan’s gaze softened as it rested on her, trembling faintly. Seeing Amelia standing with the musket in hand… it felt as though Ailey stood before him once more, alive.
“Amelia, because you are Ailey’s daughter, this is as far as I can help you. From here, you must be acknowledged—by everyone present.”
“I know. And I’m grateful you accepted my difficult request—truly, that alone means everything.”
“And the marriage…”
Belvan thought of Eclite, who had remained at Amelia’s side through it all. It seemed the only reason she had managed to endure this frightening and exhausting trial was thanks to Grand Duke Clio. Of course, the marriage itself was staggering—almost unbelievable.
“It’s been decided.”
Amelia’s short reply prompted no further questions from Belvan. After all, every step she was taking now was her own choice. Something—someone—had changed her.
“I must protect myself. I will protect myself.”
That conviction must have been tied to all of this. The real issue was whether Count Chezaret and the Imperial family would accept it.
‘That too, she and the Grand Duke will have to resolve.’
From the shadows of the chaotic banquet hall, watchful eyes observed everything.
They belonged to the musketeers of House Fiore, the very ones who would serve the new head of the house—and so Amelia’s candidacy was a cause of quiet concern.
Among them, however, stood one man smiling far too serenely. His light pink hair swayed with each graceful movement, and his gentle eyes drooped in calm warmth. Yet, despite the softness, his uniformed figure radiated solid strength. He was Isana, captain of House Fiore’s Tiers, the elite musketeer corps. As Amelia and Eclite exited the hall, Isana murmured to himself:
“This trial just got interesting. She’s the daughter of that genius musketeer.”
Ailey—once hailed as a genius, would have been a leading successor of House Fiore had she not chosen to marry Count Chezaret. That decision led to a tragic end, but—
“What’s genius worth if it doesn’t pass on properly? That heart of hers is weak, they say,” grumbled Kallen, the vice-captain.
Isana smiled on, unfazed.
“Still, her grip on the musket—flawless.”
“She probably learned it a long time ago.”
“Learned it just to never use it?”
Leaning casually against the balcony railing, Isana stared at the spot where Amelia had stood.
“Whether she’s just mimicking well or not—we’ll know in four days. But if Lady Meysarina’s right, and this is just a family squabble tainting Fiore’s honor…”
For a moment, the cheerful glint in his eyes vanished, replaced by something cold and flat.
“…then they’ll pay for that insult. Fully.”
Amelia and Eclite left the banquet hall together.
They had accomplished all they needed there—there was no reason to stay. Yet instead of returning to her quarters, Amelia paused in the rear gardens.
“Hah… One hurdle crossed. Or is this just the beginning?”
Eclite glanced around. The Fiore rear gardens, lush with plants and flowers, had one strange, barren patch—completely lifeless. Amelia noticed his confusion and gave a sheepish smile.
“It looks strange, right?”
“This isn’t part of the gardens?”
“It is. But only this spot has withered away.”
A flicker of deep longing passed through her eyes.
“This used to be a bed of violets—Mother’s favorite place.”
Eclite’s eyes widened slightly.
“I came here only once, but I still remember how happy she looked. That expression—it’s still so vivid. But now, it’s all barren. My grandfather tried to save it, but… it didn’t work.”
Her eyes trembled with quiet sorrow, and Eclite’s face darkened too.
“But since the ground remains, it’s where I remember her most.”
No matter how much she tried to be strong—tried to seem fine—Amelia was scared. And it hurt. It would only get harder. That’s why, here, where her mother’s strength still lingered, she sought comfort.
The cold night wind carried the sharp scent of barren earth, making the emptiness more real. Eclite, displeased by the wind tugging at her, raised his hand—and the wind shifted, passing around her instead. Then, stepping closer, he took off his coat and gently draped it over her shoulders. Amelia froze for a moment, then smiled awkwardly.
“Th-thank you.”
“No need.”
“And I’ve been meaning to say—you looked amazing tonight.”
She gazed at him, astonished by the transformation.
“I was honestly shocked. Mami must have given you a hard time. You do hate banquets, don’t you?”
Eclite recalled the tiny maid, trembling but doing her utmost.
“It was fine. Actually, I was grateful.”
“Huh?”
“Did I… suit the occasion?”
“Suit? You were perfect.”
Amelia couldn’t take her eyes off the way his blue eyes glimmered under the night sky.
“Your eyes… they’re so beautiful.”
Cool yet sometimes disarmingly gentle—unreasonably so.
“I’m glad, if I pleased you even a little.”
That smile—gentle and warm—it caught her off guard. Because in those soft eyes… she was reflected clearly. Unmistakably.
‘It’s just because we’re facing each other. That’s all.’
Still, their eyes kept meeting, again and again. From the moment they first met until now, his gaze had never left her. Amelia turned away, warmth blooming on her cold cheeks. Feeling strangely off balance, she quickly changed the subject.
“Don’t you wonder why I want revenge on Grand Duke Bastien? Why I’m after Edzov?”
He’d seen her confront Edzov—surely, she owed him some explanation. But Eclite responded, without hesitation:
“I don’t need to know.”
“What?”
“All we need is to achieve our goals. I want the throne. You want revenge.”
“Ah… Right, of course.”
“If you don’t wish to speak of it, then don’t. I don’t want to cause you pain by making you recall something you’d rather forget. Not your body, not your heart—none of it.”
Amelia exhaled slowly again. It was as if he understood everything—as if he truly saw her. Though they both claimed this was a relationship of mutual use…
‘Why is he being so kind to me?’
Why did it feel like she was the only one receiving anything from him? Swallowing the warmth rising in her chest, Amelia finally asked,
“You say you want to become Emperor… then why choose someone like me, someone insignificant?”
If he truly desired the throne, if that was his ambition, then choosing her—it was too much of a gamble, wasn’t it?
“Because you chose me.”
“…What?”
“You were all I had. The only noble to choose me was you.”
“I’m not a duchess yet.”
“You will be. You’ll inherit House Fiore.”
His voice shifted—suddenly unwavering, firm enough to make her heart tremble the moment the words reached her ears.
“W-Why are you so certain?”
“Because I trust you. That’s all. So take responsibility for me—and never leave.”
His blue eyes blazed with intensity, and Amelia felt as if she were being drawn into them.
“Earlier, to my brother… you said if he wanted you, he’d have to submit.”
“That’s because he kept ordering me around, and I was furious…”
“But I hated it.”
“What?”
‘Because I want to be the only one you choose… the only one you want.’
He swallowed the words he truly wanted to say. Instead, Eclite stepped closer. His presence enveloped her, his scent, the heat of him—it struck her, and she tensed.
“When knights choose their liege, they swear an oath. A proper pledge of fealty.”
“An o-oath? Wait—!”
He gently took her pale wrist in his hand. They had touched before—but this time, it felt different. The moment his skin met hers, it burned, so hot it made her breath quicken. Under the moonlight, his jet-black hair shimmered, casting shadows across his face. He looked like a graceful, dangerous beast.
Without hesitation, he knelt before her—and pressed his rough lips to the delicate skin of her wrist.
“Because I want you to make me Emperor… I shall submit to you.”
