Prologue

The Reception Room of the Ducal Residence of Revière, nestled in the heart of Vierre, the capital of the Sarte Empire.

The butler's careful hands poured tea with as much deliberation as the room's atmosphere. Light from the crystal chandelier spilled over the steadily rising tea, illuminating the space's opulence. The Revière Duchy's reputation as the finest in the Sarte Empire was no exaggeration—after all, this was the family reputed to surpass even the imperial treasury.

Though dismissed as the indulgence of the curious, such rumors were facts no one could deny.

In truth, the House of Revière has been the Empire’s preeminent noble lineage since its founding. The Ducal family's power, wealth, and integrity, meticulously cultivated through generations, were unparalleled, and their influence saturated every corner of the Empire.

Yet, above all else, one figure reigned supreme in fame...

“Enough.”

This man—Karze Revière.

With a single, precise wave of his hand, he dismissed the butler.

His jet-black hair, streaked with deep blue, framed sharp crimson eyes that pierced the air with an imposing presence. His pale, almost ethereal complexion only heightened the aura of the Empire’s highest-ranking aristocrat. His sculpted nose and razor-sharp jawline seemed almost too flawless to belong to any mortal.

It was no wonder legends claimed that the Sarte Goddess’s first blessing had graced the Revière family. Even the black quill pen in his hand appeared sanctified in his grasp.

“Here.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The butler accepted the document handed to him and skimmed through it briefly. As always, the Duke’s handwriting was immaculate, though the nature of the document made it hard to maintain a neutral expression.

Suppressing a sigh of resignation, the butler swiftly moved to the opposite side of the table.

“My lady, you should review this as well.”

The butler glanced at the woman seated opposite him, her chestnut hair glimmering under the chandelier's light. Her emerald eyes trembled pitifully, and her pale cheeks flushed a deep red.

Understandable, the elderly butler thought, lowering his gaze in sympathy.

At the tender age of twenty, she was too young to face such circumstances with composure. Even sitting across from the Duke might have been too overwhelming for her.

“Here, my lady.”

“Ah... Thank you.”

It wasn’t just the butler who felt a pang of pity. A maid approached the young lady, offering her a handkerchief. Her delicate touch on the young woman’s translucent skin reflected a warmth that went beyond a mere servant-lady relationship.

'She seems kind-hearted,' thought the butler, finding solace in this observation. Yet, the more admirable she appeared, the heavier his heart grew. After all, no woman in the Empire would willingly sign a "marriage contract" of this kind.

“Ahem.”

Still, there was no time for delay. Conscious of his master’s presence, the butler cleared his throat.

“As you are aware, this document outlines the terms of your upcoming marriage. It is a preliminary agreement, overseen by the Archbishop himself. Once you sign, the contract will be binding under the authority of Goddess Sarte.”

“I... I see.”

Her voice trembled faintly. The maid gave her a reassuring squeeze on the arm, coaxing a faint smile onto her lips. The butler steeled himself against her fragile demeanor.

‘Will she truly be alright?’

After all, her intended husband was none other than the Duke of Revière—renowned as the Empire's most eligible bachelor and the subject of endless gossip in high society.

Ironically, his fame wasn’t solely due to his wealth, title, or striking appearance.

It was because of what wasn’t known.

That was the crux of his mystique.

The heir to one of the Empire’s most storied houses, Karze Revière, had grown up under the shadow of secrecy. From a young age, he had accompanied his parents to public events but was soon sent to study in Velcrea Kingdom’s Academy of Scholars at his father’s insistence on rigorous education. He graduated early as valedictorian and stayed on for further research, returning only briefly upon the tragic loss of his parents in an accident.

Now, at twenty-one, he had been back in the Empire for merely a few months.

In essence, he was an enigma wrapped in luxury.

Rumors abounded—about his tutors, his studies, even his tailor—but personal sightings of the Duke were exceedingly rare. This air of mystery only amplified his allure.

Some speculated he avoided people. Others claimed he was still mourning his parents’ deaths.

Whatever the truth, all eyes in the Empire were now on his next move. Families with eligible daughters would no doubt swarm his estate, hoping for an audience.

Perhaps, if it weren’t for that rumor...

The butler stifled a sigh.

“Let me reiterate: once you sign this document, you will formally become the Duchess of Revière for one year, starting on the Empire’s Founding Day.”

“Yes... I understand.”

Her head dipped slightly in acknowledgment, her soft brown hair gliding like silk. The butler, seeking to hasten the ordeal, continued briskly.

“As compensation, you will receive an advance payment of 100,000 rubles, followed by a monthly allowance of 10,000 rubles. Upon successful completion of the contract, a sum of 1,000,000 rubles will be awarded.”

"..."

The staggering amount was enough to alter the fortunes of any noble family. Yet the young lady merely nodded, her expression subdued.

“My lady?”

“Ah, yes. I... understand.”

Her quiet compliance brought some relief to the butler. Still, he couldn't ignore the contract’s ominous reputation.

"I do not believe anything would be much of a concern for you, my lady. All we ask—"

"I am aware. To remain silent as if I were dead."

"..."

"Faithfully."

The bulter felt a tinge of relief as her gentle voice restated the words accordingly. Her calm reaction indicated her willingness and acceptance of the matter.

“The final clause remains,” he added. “This contract will terminate precisely—”

“How much longer must we wait?”

“My lord,” the butler stammered, startled by the Duke’s abrupt interjection.

Karze Revière, his scarlet eyes unwavering, leaned forward. He bypassed the butler entirely, directing his intense gaze at the lady seated across from him.

“Do you have any further questions about our arrangement?”

His voice was smooth yet commanding, his piercing stare as hypnotic as it was unnerving.

For a moment, her gaze wavered, landing on a faint scar at the corner of his left eyebrow—a flaw so subtle it seemed almost deliberate.

Caught staring, she flinched as he smirked knowingly.

“N-no, nothing further.”

“Good.”

The Duke’s curt nod left no room for hesitation. She gripped the quill tightly and, after a pause, signed her name with trembling hands:

Iris Ferzen.

As the ink dried, golden light radiated from the edges of the document. Startled, Iris shrank back, while the Duke rose gracefully from his seat.

“Then, I’ll take my leave.”

With a swirl of his silver cape, he strode out, every movement steeped in authority. The heavy door clicked shut, leaving Iris to exhale shakily.

The butler, caught between admiration and unease, murmured apologetically.

“His Grace is not usually like this. He must be preoccupied with pressing matters.”

“I... understand,” she replied faintly.

Her reassurance felt genuine, yet the butler couldn’t shake his concern. The "first Duchess of Revière" seemed far too composed.

'After all,' he thought, recalling the rumors, 'no woman could possibly welcome a marriage cursed to end in tragedy.'

The first woman to marry the renowned Duke of Revière shall die within a year from a terrible curse.

He hesitated, then forced a smile.

“Please, think of this year as a period of rest. Such terrible rumors are baseless.”

"Butler."

Iris bit her lips at the butler's desperate attempts to reassure her. She returned his smile, her emerald eyes warm.

“Do not worry about me.”

Because I started those rumors.

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