16.
Chandelier…?
That unsettling sense—like something vital had slipped from memory.
“Yes, thankfully it stopped quickly, so no one was hurt.
But a few bottles of wine in the cellar shattered.
They’ve probably been cleaning up since dawn,” Marsha explained.
Nina’s expression grew grave.
That day—something had happened.
But what exactly?
…An earthquake, broken wine, a chandelier?
She muttered the words again and again—earthquake, wine, chandelier—until suddenly, the long-buried memory surged back like a flood, and her eyes snapped wide open.
How… how could I have forgotten that?
Even if it had been thirty years ago, to have let such a thing slip from her mind was unthinkable.
Nina leapt to her feet.
“Marsha, I have to go.”
“Wh–where?”
“The Duke of Grenville’s birthday celebration.
I have to be there.”
“Now?”
“Yes, right this instant!”
Marsha looked utterly flustered by her mistress’s sudden change of heart, but wasted no time.
She sprang up from her seat and dashed for the dressing room.
A noblewoman’s preparations always took time—if they meant to arrive in time for the festivities, not a moment could be lost.
Memory is a curious thing.
At times, it becomes a blank canvas, leaving nothing behind.
At others, it recalls only fragments, or worse—twists what truly happened.
And yet, with the smallest of triggers, long-buried memories can awaken all at once, rushing back in a torrent.
Just like now.
Please… let it not be too late.
Inside the swaying carriage, Nina rubbed her palms together, trying to ease the tension coiled in her chest.
To forget what ought to be forgotten—that she could understand.
But this?
How could she have ever forgotten this?
“So the wine broke at dawn—an ominous sign, as if blood were bound to be spilled.”
Before her return, she remembered muttering those very words.
The reason was simple.
On this day, at the Duke of Grenville’s birthday celebration, an incident had occurred.
“It was today… the day Marquis Solderspurd injured his leg.”
The early morning tremor that rippled across the capital had loosened the grand chandelier in the banquet hall.
Allen M.
Solderspurd,
her husband’s dearest friend, was caught beneath it when it came crashing down.
One leg pinned, crushed, beyond saving.
He would go on to lose that leg, withdraw from society, and within months, pass away
—felled by complications that followed the amputation.
She still remembered how, during the mourning period, she had refrained from tormenting her husband.
The image was seared in her mind.
Him seated before the gravestone, silent and unmoving from dawn till dusk, as though he were a hollow shell.
A man who looked as though a single touch might make him shatter.
“…But now that I think of it, wasn’t something strange about it all?”
No matter how brutal life could be, no true friend stands idly by when another’s house is crumbling.
Most would at least try
—somehow, in whatever small way—to help.
That is what friendship means.
And yet the Duke of Grenville had done nothing.
Not even the pretense of support.
“Perhaps it wasn’t that he wouldn’t help, but that he couldn’t.”
For when disaster strikes at a banquet, responsibility falls squarely on the host.
Yet the victim of that night’s accident had been none other than Marquis Solderspurd—one of the great peers of the realm, and Ash’s dearest friend.
So then, how exactly had House Grenville borne responsibility for his death?
Could Ash have been drawn into it as well…?
The thought seemed all too plausible.
He, too, had lost a lifelong friend—was it possible that Duke Grenville had shouldered a punishment that mirrored his grief?
That line of reasoning only deepened her resolve.
More than ever, she wanted—no, needed—to prevent the disaster from happening this time.
The carriage rattled on, urgency mounting with every turn of the wheel, until at last it drew to a halt before the gates of Grenville Manor.
The estate lay far away, days of travel under normal circumstances.
But she had arrived swiftly, thanks to one of the empire’s dwindling relics- the teleportation portal.
A vestige of the waning Age of Magic, now supplanted by the Age of Knights.
Magic had all but faded into obsolescence—yet here and there, scattered through the land, remnants like this portal still endured.
Teleportation Portal.
A portal could only connect to another that already existed—and among the dwindling few that still remained, both Bayern and Grenville were fortunate enough to possess one.
Thanks to that, Nina managed to arrive just in time.
Hastily straightening her appearance inside the carriage, she stepped across the threshold of Grenville Manor.
No sooner had she appeared than the eyes of those making their way toward the banquet hall fastened upon her.
Don’t mind them.
Focus on what matters now.
Was it because her old trauma had been stirred once again?
Cold sweat traced her back, her heartbeat thundered in her ears, and her vision threatened to blur into haze.
But she forced herself to remember the horrors of that night—the sight that had been seared into her memory—and clung tightly to her fraying composure.
Now was no time for weakness.
If she could save Marquis Solderspurd, perhaps when the divorce inevitably came, her grandfather might be granted clemency.
So stay sharp.
Her once-dull eyes sharpened, clear light blazing in their depths as her resolve took hold.
“…I’ll enter quietly.
Don’t announce my arrival.”
Having reached the entrance to the banquet hall, Nina leaned toward the footman and made her request.
And with that, she slipped into the hall, silent as a shadow.
The very first thing Nina sought out was the chandelier.
It should have been around there…
She narrowed her gaze, scanning the ceiling.
Yet outwardly, there seemed to be nothing amiss.
…Would anyone even believe me?
Her expression darkened.
If there are no visible signs, they’ll most likely dismiss my words outright…
In time the truth would prove her right—but what good would that do after the disaster had already struck?
I’ll have to keep watch.
The moment I see the slightest irregularity, I’ll speak up then.
If she raised alarm now, no one would believe her.
Worse, she might be accused of spoiling the duke’s birthday celebration.
Her eyes drifted across the glittering hall.
The first people to catch her notice were Duke Grenville and his duchess.
“……”
And then—her younger brother Neville, Marquis Solderspurd, her husband, and Hoshi.
The four of them stood together, exchanging polite words with the Grenville couple.
Neville Taylor.
The next heir to House Taylor—and her younger brother by two years.
Neville’s expression curdled the instant his eyes met hers, and he turned his head away.
The sight made her want to spit out a curse—that insolent brat—yet all she felt was a rush of fondness and ache.
Here was the brother who, in this very hall years ago, had declared himself severed from her after her scandals had piled beyond redemption.
And yet… beneath it all, Neville had always been soft-hearted, kind.
Even when she herself had been the first to proclaim estrangement from their parents and grandfather, Neville had begged her not to drive the nail deeper into their parents’ hearts.
Later, when their grandfather finally fell from grace and Neville learned the truth behind her marriage, he had still refused to abandon her.
He had tried, alone, to restore the family name—until overwork stole his life away.
A bittersweet smile tugged at Nina’s lips, weighed down by the grief welling to the crown of her head.
“Your Grace, happy birthday,” she said softly.
“…Yes, you came.
I’m glad you did,”
replied Duke Grenville, his smile awkward, his eyes betraying unease.
After all, everyone gathered here knew theirs was a shop-window friendship—for display only.
They despised each other, yet for politics’ sake put on a show of cordiality.
Nina’s sudden appearance made the air turn icy.
“…The Duke of Bayern told us you would not be attending.
Perhaps there’s been some mistake?”
sneered the Duchess of Grenville, a laugh sharp in her voice.
Nina pulled her lips taut in reply.
“Yes, he did say something had come up at home, and that I might be late.
I suppose you mistook that for me not coming at all.”
The duchess’s barb was met with a gentle hand on her shoulder.
Duke Grenville, smiling as if to smooth things over, said warmly,
“Still, I’m grateful you came, even if belatedly.”
As always, he was the only one glad to see her.
Hoshi, her husband’s aide, wore his customary smile—impossible to read whether he felt anything at all.
But the Duchess of Grenville, Ash, the Marquis of Sothersford, and Neville…
all five of them curved their mouths in mocking disdain at her presence.
Standing among them, Nina felt the urge to shrink back.
But she steeled herself instead.
The reason she had returned to face her husband’s resentment,
the reason she had chosen to shoulder her own karmic debt—wasn’t it to keep others, her family, from being crushed beneath it?
Then she had no right to falter here.
Tonight, she had to keep disaster from striking anyone.
“Since I’ve offered my congratulations, I’ll take my leave.
There’s an unwelcome face here.”
Neville didn’t so much as meet her gaze before turning on his heel.
“It’s been a long time since you’ve met—surely you could exchange a few words more.”
But Ash, too, stepped back as though he’d been waiting for the excuse.
Her husband, following her brother’s lead, left her standing alone in the circle.
Heat flared across Nina’s face.
Her own flesh and blood, and now even her husband and his closest friend
—each of them vanishing, as if to flaunt how little they wanted anything to do with her.
And of course, the onlookers noticed.
Curious eyes slid toward her, whispering behind raised hands.
“…Did you see that?
Not a single one of them acknowledged her.”
“At the very least, they might have offered a greeting.
What a humiliation.”
“So the rumors must be true, then…”
The words rang in her ears, sharp as glass.
Her jaw clenched, if only to hold back.