Miriam frowned immediately.
"The Duchess has only just woken up," she said protectively. "Why must she rush over so early?"
The matron gave a cold snort.
"Of course." Her eyes swept over Elysia with thinly veiled sarcasm. "The Duchess comes from a distinguished military family and was personally chosen by His Majesty himself. Naturally, someone like Lady Melissa—a mere widow—would not deserve her attention."
Miriam’s eyes widened in disbelief.
"When did I ever say that?"
"If you cannot even express yourself properly," the matron replied sharply, "then perhaps you shouldn’t speak at all."
With only a few cutting remarks, she silenced Miriam completely.
Then she turned back toward Elysia.
"What does Your Grace think?"
The meaning behind the exchange could not have been clearer.
Melissa deliberately sent someone sharp-tongued and difficult in order to establish dominance from the very first morning after the wedding.
Yet facing the matron’s piercing stare, Elysia merely smiled.
"I should indeed go pay my respects to Lady Melissa."
Her voice remained soft and pleasant.
But the phrase ’pay my respects’ carried unmistakable emphasis.
The matron lowered her gaze slightly.
"Your Grace misunderstands," she corrected quickly. "This isn’t a formal courtesy visit, just a meeting. Lady Melissa merely wishes to see you."
Elysia appeared not to hear the clarification at all.
"General Benedict gave his life to save the Duke," she said gently. "As his widow, Lady Melissa deserves everyone’s respect."
She smiled faintly.
"I admire her greatly as well. Naturally, I should go pay my respects."
The matron’s expression relaxed immediately, faint smugness appearing across her face.
Then Elysia continued calmly:
"So please make a trip to the palace for me."
The matron blinked.
"To... the palace?"
Elysia nodded pleasantly.
"Yes. Kindly report that Lady Melissa, as the widow of a fallen hero, must naturally be greeted before even His Majesty and Her Majesty."
The matron froze instantly.
A chill ran down her spine.
Leaving aside whether she could even enter the palace successfully, merely implying that Melissa should take precedence over the King and Queen would be enough to cost her life.
The arrogance on her face disappeared completely.
She forced out a stiff smile.
"Your Grace jests. Naturally, His Majesty and Her Majesty come first."
Elysia smiled warmly.
"Since you understand that, then return and inform Lady Melissa that once I’ve completed my duties at the palace, I will visit her personally."
The matron stood speechless for several moments before finally bowing awkwardly and retreating.
Only after she disappeared did Miriam let out a relieved breath.
"She nearly made me die of anger," she muttered quietly.
Elysia sat before the vanity table, calmly sorting through the hairpins laid out before her.
"Are you truly planning to visit Lady Melissa later?" Miriam asked cautiously.
Elysia selected a silver hairpin decorated with pale jade blossoms.
"She is my aunt by marriage," she replied calmly. "And she is indeed the widow of a war hero. Of course I should visit her."
Then her tone sharpened slightly.
"But when I go will be decided by me."
Not by Melissa.
The first step into a household mattered more than most people realized.
If she lowered herself immediately after entering Draevenor Manor, her future days would become far more difficult.
These were lessons Elysia learned long ago from her sister-in-law.
Her sister-in-law came from an old aristocratic family overflowing with wives, concubines, legitimate heirs, and scheming relatives. According to her, the battles inside noble households were no less vicious than those fought upon actual battlefields.
After marrying into Hartwell Manor, however, she no longer had opportunities to use those skills.
With nothing else to do, she taught everything she knew to Elysia instead.
Elysia had once thought those lessons unnecessary.
In her previous life, she never had the chance to use them.
Now, things were different.
Once she finished dressing, the carriage was prepared outside.
Elysia left the manor accompanied by Miriam and another maidservant named Clara.
"I’m not drunk!"
A loud shout suddenly rang out near the gates.
"I can still drink three more barrels!"
Elysia paused just before stepping into the carriage.
Not far away, an unfamiliar carriage stood crookedly outside the entrance. Two men dressed like tavern workers struggled to support a young nobleman between them.
His robes were luxurious but disheveled, stained heavily with wine.
The greenstone circlet atop his head hung crookedly to one side.
The moment his feet touched the ground, he shoved one of the workers away roughly.
"Do you know who I am?" he barked drunkenly. "The Duke is my cousin! The Dowager practically raised me herself. I’ve even met His Majesty personally!"
The poor worker covered his face silently, too frightened to argue.
Meanwhile, the surrounding servants lowered their voices carefully, coaxing him with obvious familiarity.
Elysia frowned slightly.
"That is the Duke’s cousin?"
Clara nodded quickly.
"Yes, Your Grace."
Elysia immediately understood who he was.
Lucien Asheford.
Infamous throughout the capital for his love of wine and women.
A regular patron of the Velvet Lantern.
Yesterday, while the Duke married, Lucien apparently spent the night drunk in a courtesan’s embrace instead.
What exactly had Cassiel brought into Draevenor Manor?
Suppressing a sigh, Elysia stepped directly into the carriage.
She never noticed that from behind the flowering trees nearby, Lucien had already caught sight of her.
The moment her face entered his vision, the drunken haze in his eyes cleared abruptly.
Like a stone dropped into still water.
Lucien rubbed his face hard and grabbed the nearest servant.
"Who was that girl?"
His voice lowered instinctively.
"Why haven’t I seen her before?"
The servant glanced nervously toward the departing carriage.
"That was the Duchess of Draevenor."
"The Duchess?"
Lucien frowned slowly as memory returned.
Right.
His unconscious cousin married yesterday.
Watching the carriage disappear into the distance, Lucien muttered thoughtfully:
"But Cousin Cassiel is still asleep."
A grin suddenly spread across his face.
"She couldn’t have consummated the marriage by herself."
For some reason, the thought amused him greatly.
After entering the palace, Elysia first went to see the Queen.
According to royal custom, newly married women of noble rank needed to formally present themselves at court shortly after the wedding ceremony.
Since the former Emperor and Dowager Sereia had long since passed away, the current King now stood in the place of Cassiel’s father.
Thus, Elysia entered the palace not as the daughter of Hartwell Manor—
But as the new Duchess of Draevenor.
She deliberately chose her timing carefully.
By now, the noblewomen’s morning gathering should have already ended, while court affairs had not yet fully concluded.
If she was fortunate, she might have a quiet moment alone with the Queen before the King arrived.
Unfortunately—
There was one thing she had not anticipated.
Outside the palace hall, she ran directly into Vaelen.
Leonhart mentioned earlier that Vaelen had fallen ill.
Looking at him now, it was obvious.
He appeared noticeably thinner than before, his complexion still pale from lingering sickness.
At the moment, he stood quietly beneath the corridor eaves, head slightly lowered as though lost in thought.
Whether he waited for someone or simply stared blankly into space, Elysia neither knew nor cared.
Still, courtesy required acknowledgment.
So she stopped briefly and offered a calm greeting.
"Your Highness."
Vaelen looked up immediately.
Then froze.
Among the noblewomen of Aveanlor, unmarried girls wore their hair loosely.
Married women did not.
Today, Elysia’s hair had been carefully braided and coiled high upon her head, secured with silver combs and delicate jeweled pins.
For a brief instant, the image from his fever dream resurfaced once more.
Elysia beneath candlelight.
Dressed in bridal robes.
Smiling softly.
The memory flickered slowly before dissolving into the woman now standing before him.
Only this Elysia no longer smiled at him.
If anything, her expression seemed faintly cold.
Vaelen frowned instinctively.
When had Elysia ever looked at him like that before?
An inexplicable irritation rose inside his chest.
His voice lowered slightly.
"Elysia."
He stared at her closely.
"Marrying my uncle... you must be very pleased with yourself."
Elysia shook her head calmly.
"No."
Something in Vaelen’s gaze shifted slightly.
So she wasn’t happy?
For some reason, the realization eased the tightness in his chest slightly.
Just as he prepared to speak again—
Elysia lifted her eyes and corrected him calmly.
"You should call me Aunt."
Vaelen froze completely.
Only after several moments did he finally realize—
Her "no" had not referred to the marriage at all.
She was correcting his form of address.
Elysia looked at him calmly with the composure of a proper elder lecturing a younger relative.
"Addressing me by my given name was highly improper," she said evenly.
Then she added softly:
"Your Highness has very poor manners."