The lighting for their secret meeting had been kept to a minimum, but his noble, gray-blue eyes still shone from beneath his radiant blond hair.
‘Is there any woman alive who could resist a face like that?’ Beltania mused, concluding that ten years of education had indeed been insufficient for a woman of such low birth.
Knowing it was pointless to drag the matter out, she squeezed her eyes shut.
“Tell me what you want.”
“Grant me exclusive trade rights to the Duchy of Yggdrasil.”
Though they were cloaked in darkness, Liam read the tremor of shock in the Queen’s expression and flashed a victor’s smile.
Beltania, on the other hand, was utterly flustered.
She had been caught in the midst of her own plans to expand trade with Yggdrasil.
‘How did that leak?’ The talks had been conducted in absolute secrecy between the two royal families.
It was a royal matter.
If Crawford got involved, he would toy with it, suck it dry of all profit, and toss her the empty husk.
A slow, sensual smile spread across Liam’s lips.
Anger flared in Beltania’s eyes.
‘Sly fox.
He was after this from the start.
Or is this revenge for summoning me to this cursed place?’ Her head throbbed with the realization that her petty power play had backfired.
With trembling lips, she conceded, “I will discuss it with my ministers.”
After their private meeting concluded, Liam offered one last polite bow before the heavy doors swung shut behind him.
As he strode down the corridor with a smirk, his aide, Jason, fell into step beside him.
“It seems things were resolved just as you’d hoped, Your Grace,” Jason ventured, reading his master’s mood.
“Brilliantly.”
What more needed to be said?
Liam lowered the arm he had been favoring, his expression refreshed.
The value of what he had extracted from that woman—a woman who loathed giving up anything—was far more profitable than simply taking charge of one person.
And she had never expected him to demand the Yggdrasil monopoly.
“It’s good the deal went well, but for Her Majesty to summon you at this hour is truly outrageous, is it not?
Especially…” Jason trailed off, glancing around cautiously before rephrasing.
“…a newlywed groom on his wedding night.”
‘A newlywed groom.’ Liam, who knew the Queen’s true nature behind her benevolent motherly facade better than anyone, let out a snort.
“She’s a petty woman.”
“Pardon, sir?” Jason looked baffled by the uncharacteristically common descriptor, but Liam found the Queen remarkably similar to that pig of an ambassador from the Mine Principality—just as quick to raise a premature toast to a victory not yet won.
The thought of another woman surfaced, and his eyes darkened.
A month ago.
Liam had arrived at the palace, summoned by the Queen as he so often was.
“Marry Arlen Sermont.”
The abrupt proposal had been bewildering, even for Liam, who prided himself on his unshakable composure.
“And why should I do that?” He had not expected her to meddle in his marriage, and the blunt retort sounded disloyal even to his own ears.
“She’s a demure girl who has quietly received a lady’s education for ten years.
She’ll be a flawless Duchess.
It will not be a loss for you.”
Liam had to swallow a laugh.
‘Bullshit.’ If she were such a prize, she would have been matched with the Crown Prince, not him.
‘Why is she pushing a woman the late king designated for the Crown Prince onto me now?’ He considered the woman’s family name, his face a mask of neutrality.
“First, explain why you are thrusting the granddaughter of the so-called hero of the Tragedy of Leben Palace upon me.”
“You are aware of the royal family’s losses from the Triviaal Kingdom’s bad debts.
To restore our fallen dignity, I must have Viden marry the princess of Yggdrasil.
Only then can Stoneburn prosper.”
So that was it.
She meant to solidify the monarchy through a strategic marriage.
But that could not be all.
Liam stared into Queen Beltania’s unreadable eyes.
The Sermonts were not of ancient nobility; they had been ennobled thanks to a grandfather who had earned the king’s favor.
They were new money.
From the royal family’s perspective, Arlen Sermont was inadequate.
“Why me?”
“Because the talk of breaking the engagement must come from her.”
At that, Liam could not suppress a cold laugh.
To think she would resort to such a vulgar method—asking him to seduce a woman into breaking her own betrothal.
At the same time, he understood.
The royal family could not risk the public backlash of breaking the engagement themselves, especially not on the grounds of her humble birth.
But if ‘she’ broke it off, they would have just cause.
And as the Queen’s own nephew, he was the only suitable candidate for the sordid task.
“You’re telling me to seduce the Crown Prince’s fiancée.”
The Queen’s eyebrow twitched at his bluntness.
It was a nasty habit of his, forcing people to state their ugly intentions aloud.
“With that handsome face of yours, it should be easy enough, would it not?”
Of course, it was easy.
Seducing women was simpler than the ledgers he reviewed daily.
Arlen Sermont, however, would be forever plagued by the scandal of a woman who defied a royal decree to chase after another man.
“Will you accept?”
Having extracted the promise from the Queen’s own lips, Liam deferred his answer.
He had been about to refuse, but his thoughts drifted to the woman from the police headquarters.
A woman with a disposition as pliable as her frail appearance suggested… she might not be so bad.
“First, tell me what I get.” Like a true businessman, Liam demanded his price.
Beltania’s eyes grew cold.
“I will give you full control of the Stoneburn overland transport business.”
“And the railway line connecting Mine and Pavilca?”
“As you wished, the royal family will withdraw.”
It was an excellent offer.
The royal family would pull out of a project that had just broken ground, leaving it ripe for the Crawford Company to milk for profit.
“I’ll do it.” A chilling, crooked smile touched Liam’s lips.
As he left the palace, a cool dawn breeze brushed against his skin, the gray city slowly emerging from the gloom.
Shaking off the memory, Liam climbed into his carriage, eager to be gone.
“To the estate, sir?”
“No.
Pearl Avenue.”
He redirected his aide and sank deep into the backrest.
A pretty, clueless woman was not a bad thing.
She was already in love with him, so she was unlikely to cause trouble.
She would simply be the new mistress of an estate that saw dozens of new servants every month.
In that sense, it was a good deal, a profitable marriage.
As always, Liam resolved to focus solely on his goals.
A satisfied smile played on his lips.
The carriage, carrying the man whose father had once been master of this palace, glided silently through the gates.
A stray lock of hair tickled her eyelids.
Arlen’s eyes fluttered open, and she stared blankly at the gilded painting on the ceiling above.
‘Ah.
The Crawford ducal estate.’ Her hazy mind slowly registered the unfamiliar surroundings.
She must have drifted off after Liam left at dawn, the disappointment leaving her aimless.
Sunlight streamed through the window, sharp and bright.
The space beside her was still empty.
‘Breakfast.
Did I oversleep?’ Startled, Arlen sat bolt upright.
Realizing she was naked, she hastily clutched the blanket to her chest just as a polite knock sounded at the door.
“Madam, are you awake?”
At the unfamiliar woman’s voice, Arlen fumbled for her fallen robe, slipped it on, and sat primly on the edge of the bed before answering.
“Come in.”
The door opened to reveal a stern-faced, middle-aged woman flanked by maids.
She entered and curtsied.
“I am Mrs.
Deborah Hasherd, the second butler of this estate.
I will also be serving as your personal secretary.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Arlen offered a small smile to the woman, whose black hair, streaked with white, was pulled into a severe bun.
Mrs.
Deborah merely cleared her throat, her expression unchanging.
“These girls will attend to you.”
She gestured to a few maids who looked to be about Betty’s age.
One approached with a basin of water and gently dabbed Arlen’s hands with a damp towel.
The touch was respectful, but being tended to while practically naked felt deeply embarrassing.
“I don’t see Betty,” Arlen remarked.
“From tomorrow, I would prefer she attend me.”
“You mean the maid you brought with you, Madam,” Mrs.
Deborah stated, her tone frosty.
“With all due respect, I have judged that maid too inexperienced to serve the Duchess.”
The words were a clear reminder of her new station, but Arlen shook her head.
“No.
I am more comfortable with Betty.
Please do as I say.”
Faced with the quiet but firm command in Arlen’s steady gaze, Mrs.
Deborah had no choice but to incline her head.
Her eyes, however, held no trace of respect.
“And the Duke?”
“He left for his office at dawn.”
‘So I did oversleep.’ Her hopes of sharing breakfast and seeing him off evaporated.
The wall clock read seven o’clock; he was clearly an early riser.
As the maids attended her, Arlen’s gaze drifted around the room.
The spacious suite—a large bedroom, an adjoining bathroom, and a private drawing room—was decorated in a style so opulent it felt more suited to royalty than nobility.
“And these, Madam, are the letters that have arrived for you.” Another maid presented a silver tray piled high with white envelopes.
“My goodness, are all of these for me?”
Mrs.
Deborah regarded Arlen’s bright smile with an impassive expression.
“Now that you are the mistress of Crawford, you will find many people seeking your acquaintance.”
Arlen savored the unfamiliar title, a shy warmth blooming on her cheeks.
‘I really am his wife.’ The memory of the previous night sent a flush of heat through her, but the feeling was pleasant, a welcome confirmation of her new reality.
Her face lit up as she read the names on the envelopes—invitations from the ladies of the most renowned families in the kingdom.
“Do I… have to attend them all?”
“The master has advised that you do.
As a newlywed, your social activities are of great importance.
Maintaining amicable relationships, particularly with families connected to the Crawford Company, is the duty of the lady of the house.”
It was clear her life was about to become very, very busy.
The Stoneburn royal ship, “the Elizabeth”, cut cleanly through the churning, white-foamed sea.
A young woman’s verdant eyes, reflecting the undulating blue waves, widened slightly.
“Princess, the sun is quite strong.
Perhaps you should return to your cabin.”
“No, the breeze is lovely.
It’s quite bearable.”
Anxious that the sun might touch their mistress’s noble skin, ladies-in-waiting hurried to shield Princess Blethen’s face with parasols.
Her return from a state visit with Crown Prince Viden had been delayed by a bout of illness, and she was now en route home, her health finally restored.
Leaning against a deck bench, Blethen gazed out at the vast sea, her expression coquettish.
The endless blue reminded her of someone, and her eyes took on a dreamy glint.
The delay meant she had more time to choose a perfect gift for Liam, and a slow smile spread across her lips.
Just then, the hushed whispers of her ladies-in-waiting broke her concentration.
Blethen, sipping lemon water, raised a delicate eyebrow.
“What is it?”
“N-nothing, Princess…”
Turning to identify the source of the disturbance, Blethen’s brow furrowed.
The startled maids hesitated, but knowing the princess’s infamous impatience, one of them reluctantly proffered the newspaper she was holding.
“All this fuss over a mere weekly…” Blethen’s voice trailed off as her eyes scanned the week-old paper.
‘DUKE LIAM CRAWFORD’S LOVER’
‘TRYST OF THE CENTURY BECOMES WEDDING OF THE CENTURY’
“Wh-what is this?” Her voice trembled as the world seemed to tilt and darken around her.
No one dared to answer.
Finally, her secretary, Yvonne, stepped forward.
“Last week, Duke Crawford was married.”
At the calm statement, the ribbon on Blethen’s white glove began to quiver violently.
The newspaper crumpled in her fist.
“Do you think I’m blind?
That’s not what I asked!” she shrieked, striking Yvonne across the face with the wadded paper.
It fell to the deck with a soft thud.
The other maids gasped in horror.
Yvonne, however, merely smoothed her hair, her expression placid.
Blethen’s face was a mask of crimson fury.
“Who is she?” she hissed, her trembling fingers digging into her skirts as if to tear them.
Every woman in Edel knew Liam Crawford was off-limits.
‘Who is the bitch who dared?’
“Miss Arlen Sermont.”
“Who did you say…?” This time, a different kind of fire blazed in Blethen’s eyes.
Chapter 5: The Vixen of Spring Flowers