"But why me, when I have two brothers?" I asked, the question tumbling out. "Shouldn't they be the ones making bargains to save the house? Why am I the one traded like a piece of property?"
Why Norielle?
Zilda's face fell, and she looked away for a moment, as if the question pained her too. When she looked back, her eyes were glistening with unshed tears.
"Neoven is the heir," she said quietly. "He has to marry someone who will strengthen his claim to the lands. Not just save them. And Leopold... his lordship says he's too young, too soft. Not fit to strike a bargain with a man like the grand duke."
That kinda makes sense.
She paused, her hands twisting in her apron. "And... the Grand duke specifically asked for you, my lady. When the count first reached out, He said he would only agree to the marriage if it was with Norielle Graham who will marry his son. No one else." She added, her voice dropping even lower, "More importantly, House Valios only has one son."
Right. The main villain was the sole child.
The words clicked into place with a cold finality. Evander Valios, the Evander. The man who would become the story's most feared villain, was an only son. Which meant this marriage wasn't just a bargain for House Graham's survival it was a bargain for House Valios's future, too. For their line to continue, their only son had to marry someone. And he'd chosen Norielle.
I leaned back in the armchair, my mind spinning. All this time, I'd seen myself as a pawn being traded to save a failing house, but we were both pieces in this game, weren't we?
"Why her?" I asked again. "Why Norielle, out of all the noble daughters in Roswal?"
"That is something that I don't have an answer for, my lady." She replied.
A soft scrape at the door took our interest. A servant, an older woman named Elara, pushed the oak door open just enough to to slip through, holding her gloved hands folded at her waist. She curtsied low, her movements barely making a sound.
"Forgive the intrusion, my lady," she said, her voice as soft as moss underfoot. "His lordship has ordered me to inform you to prepare yourself. The Grand Duke and young lord will be arriving in an hour."
The air in the library shifted, but I didn't flinch. I just let out a slow breath, feeling the coolness fill my lungs. An hour. Enough time to get ready, enough time to steady myself. Not enough time to overthink.
Zilda turned to Elara with a slight nod. "Understood." She said.
Elara curtsied again and left, the door clicking shut with a soft, final sound.
I stood up, my legs firm beneath me, and walked to the window. Outside, roses climbed the stone wall, their thorns sharp against the soft petals.
"An hour," I said, more to myself than to her. "Before meeting the villain again."
Honestly? He scares the shit out of me. More than the male lead who killed Norielle. At least he had a reason. Evander... he just does it because he can.
Zilda did not flinch at my candor. She merely stepped forward, "My lady, we have to get back to your chamber and prepare. Time will slip away faster than water through our fingers." She said, her voice steady as stone.
I nodded, tearing my gaze from the roses. As we walked down the marble hallway, the portraits of Graham ancestors stared down at me with unreadable eyes. They all looked the same, set jaws, stiff postures, like they been carved from stone instead of painted. No sign any of them had ever felt as out of place as I did.
We reached the heavy oak door to my room, and Zilda pushed it open. Afternoon light streamed through the tall windows, catching the silver threads of the gown laid across the bed like spun spider silk. Beside it, a small tray held a vial of rose oil and a comb inlaid with tiny pearls, simple, elegant, nothing extra.
Maids were already bustling about the room, their movements quick and practiced. One looked up as we entered, curtsying briefly.
"My lady, the bath is already prepared." She said.
This feels crazy, I was alright with Zilda alone but having so many people taking care of me is so good yet uncomfortable. I didn't even know their names, couldn't tell one from the other, and they were about to help me undress like it was nothing.
"Go on," Zilda said, noticing my hesitation. "I'll have the gown ready by the time you're done, my lady."
I walked toward the bathing chamber, the maids falling in step behind me. Inside, the tub was filled to the brim with warm, cloudy water, and candles flickered in wall sconces, casting soft shadows across the marble tiles. No one spoke as they helped me slip out of my day dress just quick, efficient movements, the kind that came from doing this a hundred times over.
I stood frozen for a second, then forced myself to relax, reminding myself this was normal for Norielle, even if it felt like anything but normal for me.
I sank into the water, and a low sigh escaped me. The warmth seeped into my muscles, loosening the knot that had been tight in my stomach since Elara's news. An hour. I could breathe for a little while longer.
"Shall I wash your hair, my lady?" one of the maids asked, holding up a jar of rose-scented soap.
"Yeah," I said.
I lean back against the tub's edge, trying not to flinch at the thought of her hands in my hair, another small intimacy I wasn't used to sharing with anyone.
Soon she rinsed it out, and they dried me with soft linen towels before helping me into the gown, forest green as deep moss, silver threads weaving across the bodice, shimmering in the light. Zilda laced the back tight enough to hold me straight, not tight enough to suffocate.
Then they started with the pearls and jewelry, and I couldn't help but think this is over the top when I was just greeting guests, not attending a coronation.
They sat me at the vanity, and I froze facing the mirror. The girl staring back was beautiful, no way around it. High cheekbones catching light, full lips curved slightly, and Norielle's eyes is as clear as emeralds, framed by dark lashes. My hair fell loose in honeyed waves down my back, a silver leaves pinned at my temple, clipped delicate pearl drops to my ears, and fastened a thin silver chain with a green stone that matched the gown on my neck. Perfect. Polished. Everything a noble daughter should be.
Still. Over the top, but what do I know?
Just as the maid finished tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, a sharp, polite knock echoed at the chamber door. Zilda moved to open it, and there stood Marcus, the head butler, his black coat pressed so sharp it could cut, his posture as straight as the marble columns in the hall.
"My lady," he said, curtsying with practiced grace. "Forgive the interruption, but his lordship has asked that you make your way down to the entrance hall. The Grand Duke's carriage has been spotted on the eastern road, they will be here within five minutes."
Five minutes. The breath I have been holding caught in my throat. Time had slipped faster than water, just as Zilda had said.
Marcus glanced past me at the maids. "You four will join the other staff at the front steps to greet the guests. See that everything is in order."
The maids nodded in unison, curtsying to me before gathering their things and filing out. As they left, I caught a glimpse of the hallway outside, servants moving in perfect, quiet waves, carrying fresh flowers to place in the entrance hall, adjusting the tapestries that hung on the walls, polishing the brass handles until they shone like gold.
"Let's head now, my lady," Marcus said gently.
He led the way down the marble hallway, and the full scale of the preparations hit me. Chandeliers had been lit even in the afternoon light, casting warm, golden glows across the floor. Fresh roses filled tall vases every few feet, their sweet scent mixing with the warm smell of beeswax and polished wood. At the end of the hall, the entrance doors stood open wide, and I could see more servants lined up on the steps outside, standing at attention with quiet dignity.
And there, waiting by the doors, were the count and Norielle's brothers, all dressed in sharp velvet coats, their hair neatly combed. Neoven stood tall, his jaw set like the ancestors in the portraits, while Leopold fidgeted slightly with his cuffs.
Then, from the drive below, came the sound of hooves on gravel slow, steady, and impossible to ignore.
They were here.
Down the steps, the servants stood perfectly still as a massive white carriage rolled into view. It's wood polished to a high shine, its wheels trimmed in silver, and the Valios crest emblazoned on the door in deep red. Two horses, as black as night, pulled it with effortless grace, their manes braided with red ribbons.
The carriage came to a stop right at the bottom of the steps. A footman in Valios livery jumped down, moving quickly to lower the step and open the door. First to emerge was the Grand Duke himself, tall, broad-shouldered, with black hair cut sharp and swept back from his forehead, and eyes that held the same cold crimson as his son's. He wore a coat of deep purple velvet, and carried a cane topped with a single red gem.
He scanned the steps, his gaze passing over the servants, the count, the brothers then landed on me. I felt a shiver run down my spine, but forced myself to hold his stare, keeping my back straight.
Then Evander stepped out.
With dark hair that fell above ears and those same crimson eyes eyes that seemed to cut through the afternoon light like shards of glass. He wore a black coat, adorned with intricate silver detailing along the edges and seams, secured with ornate silver buttons with fur collar added a touch of imposing elegance.
Terrifyingly handsome.
For a long moment, he said nothing. He just stood there, looking up at me, his expression completely unreadable. The only sound was the rustle of leaves in the wind and the soft snort of the horses.
Then the Grand Duke spoke, his voice deep and commanding, carrying up the steps without effort. "Count Graham," he said, nodding at Norielle's father.
The count stepped forward immediately, bowing low until his head was nearly level with his knees. "Your Grace. Lord Evander. Welcome to Graham Estate."
Neoven and Leopold followed suit, bowing deeply beside their father. I took a deep breath, lifted my skirts slightly, and curtsied, hoping the movement was as graceful as Norielle would have made it.