The Fake Madam Disappeared

After Daphne’s continuous urging, Anna could no longer hold back.

“Well then, I'll be back soon. Just an hour, no, only thirty minutes…”

“Just come back before evening. And stay out of the Black Forest.”

The Black Forest.

It was the place where the Celestials, Demons, and humans fought their last Great War, and strange phenomena often occurred there.

The first Emperor had the power to control the forest, but as time passed, the Emperor’s power weakened while the Black Forest's ominous energy only grew stronger.

“Don’t worry! I’ll be back in no time!”

Unable to hide her excitement, Anna beamed brightly as she headed outside.

Daphne watched her billowing skirt before turning her gaze back to her book. But she couldn’t concentrate.

Daphne opened the page marked with a bookmark. Tucked inside was a folded note from Sergei.

If it was the Sergei she knew, he would lay a trap and wait for Daphne to come to him on her own. This was why she had stayed inside the tent without moving a single step.

The first day had passed quietly, so it would likely be today or tomorrow, precisely when Damian and Edmund would be taking their turns in the hunting competition.

“Ha…”

It was obvious they were aiming for this moment. They were clearly aiming for it on purpose.

Daphne let out a soft sigh, running a tense hand over her stiffened neck. Her fingers tingled from the anxiety. Just then, as she pressed her cold hands together, she heard someone approaching.

Daphne’s face hardened as she stared intently at the entrance. She had chosen a secluded spot deliberately, and no one was expected. At the moment she swallowed dryly, the entrance swung open.

“Oh, Madam. Here you are.”

Daphne blinked in surprise at the unexpected figure.

“...Marchioness Sovel?”

It was the Marchioness Sovel, a woman she’d only glimpsed in passing. The Marchioness strode confidently into the tent.

“Were you here alone, Madam?”

“...Yes, indeed.”“One of the ladies from our group suddenly couldn’t attend, and you were the first person who came to mind. Hmm…”

The Marchioness took a step back, looking Daphne up and down.

“Well, there’s no time to change clothes, so it can’t be helped. Come along now.”

“Wait a moment, Marchioness—”

Without delay, the Marchioness grabbed Daphne by the arm, pulling her along. Despite her protests, Daphne couldn’t shake off the woman who was twice her size. After a while, Daphne finally regained her freedom when the Marchioness halted.

“Oh, you brought her. Thank you, Marchioness.”

“It was nothing; after all, it was the Princess’s request.”

And there, standing before Daphne, was Elizabeth and her followers. They watched her like hyenas about to tear into their prey.

— — —

“So, what happened?”

“What else? Thankfully, before it caused any disturbance, the Princess and I arrived just in time.”

Daphne merely stared down at her teacup before slowly lifting her gaze.

The ladies, known for dominating high society to the extent that trends in the capital started with them, were dressed lavishly, chatting away. More accurately, they chatted while treating Daphne as if she were invisible.

Daphne felt time crawl agonizingly slowly as she lowered her gaze back to the teacup.

Seated at the head, Elizabeth observed Daphne, then gestured to a young lady beside her. Picking up on the cue, the young lady smiled at Daphne.

“Duchess, what do you think?”

Her dry eyes lifted.

They were discussing the latest scandal in society.

A young lady from a newly wealthy family, emboldened by her sudden rise due to a booming industry, had dared to covet a dress custom-made for Elizabeth.

The storyteller was Lady Grace, who was at the scene with Elizabeth. She is the youngest daughter of Baron Marcell and a close maid to Elizabeth, wielding power briefly borrowed from the Princess.

Grace asked again.

“What punishment do you think the Princess bestowed upon that young lady?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know.”“They cut off her hand.”

Elizabeth set her teacup down.

“She dared to touch what was mine.”

Her gaze drifted to Daphne’s hands.

What’s yours?

Daphne understood that Elizabeth’s words didn’t only refer to a dress.

“It’s only natural. She overstepped, coveting the Princess’s things. That punishment was lenient.”

“Indeed. If it were me, I’d have taken her eyes as well.”“Exactly. She deserved it for daring to reach above her station.”

Grace chimed in, saying Elizabeth had been too kind. Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively.

“Enough, Grace. I do find it unpleasant when I think about it, but it wasn’t entirely bad. It served as a lesson, after all. A warning to anyone who dares to covet what’s mine…” Daphne and Elizabeth’s gazes met in mid-air, “...to those who covet it.”

Daphne lowered her gaze and lifted her teacup. When Daphne didn’t give the reaction Elizabeth wanted, the mood became awkwardly quiet. Sensing Elizabeth’s displeasure, Grace gave a subtle signal to the lady next to Daphne.

“Oh my!”

In a split second, Daphne’s teacup spilled. She grasped her arm, stinging from the hot tea that splashed just below her still-healing wound. The young lady who had deliberately bumped into her widened her eyes innocently.

“Duchess, you should be more careful. You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

“...No.”

Daphne released her grip on her arm. The tea wasn’t scalding, but still warm enough to have caused a mild burn. She found herself wishing time would speed up.

“Madame Aslang is expecting a child.”

“Has it been less than a year since she married?”“Yes, they seem to have a wonderful relationship. I’m also increasingly thinking about children these days.”

One of the ladies, married earlier than most, sighed deeply.

“It’s been nearly two years of marriage, but I still haven’t had a child…”

“Madam.”

A young lady beside her interrupted, feigning concern, and the woman quickly turned to Daphne, covering her mouth.

When Daphne showed no reaction to their taunts, they shifted topics to a recurring subject in high society: the silence about the Winter Duke and Duchess’s lack of children.

“Oh, I apologize! I spoke out of turn. I didn’t mean to mention that in front of you, Duchess, with you having been married for over five years…”

“There’s no need for such apologies. I’m sure she understands. After all, if things weren't going well between a couple... it’s only natural, isn’t it?”

Daphne’s gaze remained lowered. She looked down at her tea-soaked front and her arm, which still stung. The cooling burn made her shiver as the wind blew.

“Isn’t that right, Duchess?”

Elizabeth blinked her large eyes, scrutinizing Daphne. Her stomach churned. Swallowing, Daphne forced her lips to move.

“Yes.”

A satisfied smile formed on Elizabeth’s face.

“You are so considerate, Duchess. Generously allowing the Princess to take your husband as her partner.”

Grace smoothly changed the subject. The moment she mentioned a recent buzz in high society, everyone seized the opportunity to discuss it. Daphne, too, recalled the lavish ball a few days ago.

The lovely Princess and the Empire’s handsome hero. No one could deny they made a perfect pair. Not even Daphne.

“When the Princess and the Duke entered together, they were radiant. It was as if... as if they had found their true match.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Daphne had just risen from her seat. The sudden appearance of someone unexpected startled everyone, including Daphne.

“Damian.”

Damian, who had apparently just returned from the hunting tournament without even changing, approached with a stern expression. His gaze, which had settled on Grace, suggested he’d overheard some of their conversation.

The usually gentle smile on his lips had grown cold, resembling Edmund’s expression. Attempting to mediate the tense situation, Elizabeth spoke up.

“Young Lord, this is a matter among ladies.”

Damian’s sharp gaze shifted to Elizabeth.

‘How impudent.’

Elizabeth thought, while maintaining her smile. In any case, once she married the Duke and bore a son, Damian would be a mere obstacle to her child’s future.

“...My mother seems unwell, so we’ll be taking our leave.”

Damian promptly grabbed Daphne’s arm, leading her away. Unable to resist his firm grip and brisk pace, Daphne had no choice but to follow.

“Wait…”

But where he’d grabbed her arm happened to be right over her tea burn. Before she could say more, Damian abruptly stopped and turned to her.

“Why did you just sit there listening?”

“...”

“Or is it that you really don’t care if my father meets other women?”

“…Yes.”

With a sigh, Damian released Daphne’s hand.

Damian suddenly recalled the paper he’d found in Edmund’s office. It looked like a part of a contract, and what it implied was clear.

He was about to force his stiff lips to ask the question—was her relationship with his father nothing more than a contract?

“Young Lord?”

But someone’s sudden appearance caused Damian’s lips, which were on the verge of moving, to still.

T/N: This is how high society normally is: encouraging another woman to take someone else’s husband in front of the legal wife in a roundabout way, and making it look like stealing someone else’s husband was alright just because they don’t like the current legal wife. 🤷