Since the founding of the Empire, the House of Windmere had guided its treasury and diplomacy through trade, foreign relations, and emerging industries.
And the House of Brickwell had secured its standing through unmatched military power and unwavering loyalty.
Both families were among the Empire’s founding houses, possessing authority and prestige second only to the imperial family itself. Yet everyone knew one simple truth:
Windmere and Brickwell despised each other.
The feud between them had lasted for generations, as deep and endless as a canyon.
No matter how much water was drawn out, new streams continued to flow. Even when the earth was shoveled in to fill the divide, it only created larger cracks.
And naturally, the children of Windmere and Brickwell inherited that hatred faithfully.
Lucius of Windmere and Celia of Brickwell—born merely three days apart—were infamous enemies who looked ready to tear each other apart at any given moment. Even the rooster crowing at dawn would have known that much.
Their first meeting had taken place at the age of five during an imperial garden banquet.
Rather than exchanging greetings, the two children had grabbed each other by the hair and collar before rolling across the ground screaming insults.
The resentment born that day was beyond imagination.
A boy destined to become the Empire’s finest gentleman, and a girl expected to grow into an elegant, noble lady—yet even when they snarled at one another openly, people merely laughed and said:
“Well, they are Windmere and Brickwell.”
Still, every conflict eventually reaches its end.
One day, the two families agreed to put an end to their meaningless feud and finally joined hands.
The method they chose to extinguish the flames that had burned for two hundred years was painfully simple.
They married their children to each other.
It was an agreement, reconciliation, transaction, and compromise made without the slightest consideration for the wishes of the bride and groom themselves.
Late afternoon sunlight drifted softly through the windowframe, lazily spreading across the carpet.
Deep within the castle library—a place few people ever visited—Celia sat neatly with both feet together, turning the pages of a book with graceful hands.
The pages moved quietly beneath her thin gloves.
“My lady, my lady! Look at this!”
At the sound of someone calling her, Celia brushed the loose strands of hair behind her ear and slowly lifted her eyes.
That title—my lady—still felt unbearably unfamiliar no matter how often she heard it.
Her brows furrowed faintly before she glanced toward the damp newspaper Anne, her personal maid, thrust toward her. Wherever Anne had dug it up from, it already looked stained with age.
“They published another article!”
The peaceful afternoon Celia had been enjoying in the absence of the manor’s owner instantly crumbled apart.
Her sharp gaze fell upon the article.
A moment later, abandoning her book entirely, she snatched up the sticky newspaper instead.
Anne panicked beside her.
“I-I picked that up from the Grand Duchess’s trash bin…!”
But the words filling the page had already shut Celia’s ears completely.
“…Damn it.”
The curse that slipped from her lips was entirely unbefitting of a refined young lady.
As though she had expected this reaction, Anne squeezed her eyes shut.
Celia tightened her grip on the newspaper. Her slender arm rose high—
Smack!
—and the paper slammed violently against the wall.
“Who the hell keeps printing these ridiculous propaganda sheets?!”
The newspaper slid pitifully down the wall onto the floor.
Across the front page, enormous letters gleamed mockingly.
[ Secret Date of the Young Duke and Duchess of Windmere! ]
Below the headline, lines of tiny text crawled like ants, spinning absurd fantasies disguised as the private lives of the married couple who had supposedly overcome their families’ feud two and a half years ago.
According to the article, the two had enjoyed a romantic outing together, visited the most famous restaurant in the capital, and taken a moonlit stroll afterward.
Complete nonsense.
“M-My lady, please calm down! I’m sure this was arranged by either our Duke or the Duke of Windmere!”
Anne desperately clung to her mistress’s anger.
After fuming for a long while, Celia finally pressed a hand to her forehead and sank back into the wing chair.
This was hardly the first time something like this had happened.
And yet every single article still managed to enrage her perfectly.
“I-I’ll bring you some tea! Please rest for a moment!”
Reading the atmosphere quickly, Anne fled the room at once.
The moment she disappeared, silence settled over the library.
Leaning against the armrest, Celia let her long white hair spill over her shoulders. The fury lingering on her face slowly faded back into calm.
“Haa…”
She swallowed the countless words lingering on her tongue and let out a deep sigh.
It had already been two and a half years since Celia Brickwell became Celia Windmere.
Only two and a half years.
Yet somehow, an entire two and a half years.
People no longer placed bets on how soon the reconciliation between Windmere and Brickwell would collapse.
At first, everyone had laughed and said things like:
“They won’t even last a week.”
“No, no, they’ll keep up appearances for at least six months.”
But now, they had accepted the peace between the two houses as reality.
Everyone except the two people trapped in the marriage itself.
“I wonder if Lucius saw this article too.”
If she had to suffer from this foul mood alone, it simply wasn’t fair.
That bastard absolutely needed to read this pile of delusional trash as well.
Before long, Anne returned pushing a tea tray into the library. While she skillfully prepared the tea, Celia managed to regain the composed dignity expected of a noblewoman.
“Come to think of it, someone from the charity hospital the Grand Duchess sponsors is visiting today. Would you like to meet them?”
Celia reopened the book that had fallen face-down earlier and elegantly crossed her legs once more.
“Why would I?”
At the cold reply, Anne smiled as though she had anticipated it.
“I thought so. I’ll tell the Grand Duchess you aren’t feeling well enough to come out.”
“Handle it however you like.”
Humming softly, Anne poured tea into the cup. Golden-black tea filled the finely painted porcelain decorated with blue iris patterns.
“Milk?”
“I already prepared it.”
Warm milk sat inside a small pitcher beside the cup. Instead of sugar, thin lemon slices rested neatly nearby—a preference unique to Celia within the entire household.
“Who cares about Windmere’s charity work anyway? Our lady doesn’t need to bother with such things.”
Celia gave no reply.
Silence itself was agreement enough.
The heavy book in her hands fluttered open again, though she quickly frowned.
Damn Windmere.
The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. The words on the page refused to register in her mind.
“My lady?”
“No. It’s nothing.”
The library remained quiet.
This was a study Lucius frequently used. Celia rarely visited specifically because she hated running into him.
Today, however, he had gone out to deal with trouble in the western mountains of the territory, allowing her to occupy the room in peace.
No one willingly approached a library currently occupied by a lady born into the House of Brickwell.
Outside, the sunset stretched long shadows across the towering bookshelves while steam curled softly from the tea she loved.
The gentle aroma drifting through the room soothed her irritation, if only slightly.
“My lady, perhaps not immediately… but in another year or two, how about requesting a separate estate and living apart from the young duke?”
Anne spoke carefully, her voice unusually resolute in the warm afternoon air.
“You can’t keep breathing the same air and eating at the same table forever with the eldest son of Windmere—someone who’s practically your mortal enemy. One day, you could move somewhere quiet that you truly like and start over there!”
A small laugh escaped Celia.
The moment she smiled, Anne brightened visibly.
I knew my lady would like this kind of conversation!
Watching Anne practically bounce across the room, Celia’s eyes softened faintly.
“A year or two from now, hm… perhaps we can discuss it again when the time comes.”
Unfortunately, Celia had no intention of fulfilling Anne’s expectations.
Because she had no intention of waiting that long.
She swallowed the rest of the thought silently.
Everyone claimed Celia and Lucius were managing married life far better than expected. They said the families had reconciled, and that the two had matured into proper gentlemen and ladies as they aged.
Without understanding a single thing about why the marriage had actually continued.
We’re getting divorced soon anyway. There’s no need for plans a year or two ahead.
After three years of marriage, they had agreed to divorce.
No one else in the world knew.
And it was also the very first promise upon which Celia and Lucius had ever truly agreed.
Two and a half years have already passed since the wedding… meaning only half a year remains.
Compared to an entire lifetime, six months was nothing more than a fleeting moment.
Humming quietly, Celia finally turned another page of her book.
Though not separate living… perhaps I should start thinking about what I’ll do after the divorce.
Lucius was a man who had built a disastrous relationship with her faithfully since the age of five.
A man who stood opposite her in every conceivable way.
The humiliation of suddenly being forced to marry him still occasionally kept her awake at night.
But that was all in the past now.
Recently, Celia lived each day counting down the remaining time with growing delight.
It’ll probably be winter by then. Since it’ll be cold… perhaps I should move south somewhere warm.
She wanted to sign the divorce papers as quickly as possible.
From their first meeting until now, Lucius had never once been useful to her.
Yet when the time came to sign those papers, she would absolutely need him there.
And so, until then, she could tolerate ridiculous articles like this.
She could tolerate occasionally crossing paths with Lucius inside the castle.
For the next six months… I think I could endure absolutely anything.
And then—
barely half a day later—
she was forced to take those words back.
That damned Lucius Elior Rowan Windmere.
“The young master has been injured!”
The man lay sprawled disgracefully upon a stretcher before her eyes.
Blood poured from Lucius’s crimson-stained body, dripping onto the floor like falling flower petals.
Six months until the divorce.
And suddenly, an unimaginable disaster descended upon her.