She could hear them whispering behind her.
"He was beautiful once. They say the fire stole half his face—and the rest, he buried in shadow."
"She's not a bride. She's a sacrifice."
"Even now, the Emperor dares not cross Archduke Wylt. Count Valenpor's son-in-law will elevate him greatly!"
A thin veil of enchanted silk was tapered to the face of the man seated beside her.
Archduke Elias Wylt. Once the greatest warrior in the Kingdom—now a reclusive noble who hadn't been seen in public for nearly a decade.
Ilya stared ahead at the priest. She didn't turn to look behind her as the faithful subject of Linia, Goddess of Marriage and Fertility, read solemnly from the Good Book. It was tradition, after all.
She stole a glance at the man beside her.
He was tall—well over six feet—with broad shoulders and a commanding form. A sword rested at his hip, and both hands clasped a cane in front of him, which he leaned on from time to time.
But his face remained covered.
Ilya frowned. She was supposed to be the one wearing the veil. Was he old? Was this even the Archduke? It was nearly unheard of for him to step beyond his northern territory. Maybe someone else had come in his stead?
She didn't know. No one had told her much of anything. No one ever did.
Ilya was the daughter of a count, but for all her life, she could count on one hand the number of times she'd actually been treated like one—and even then, only when it benefited the family name.
Count Lucien Valenpor. Her stepfather.
A man who seemed to loathe her from the day he married her mother. He'd sneer, blame her for things she hadn't done, discard her like she was something foul. Maybe it was because her mother had been widowed from the previous Count—Ilya's true father—and she was his only legitimate heir. Perhaps Lucien saw her as a threat to the future titles and lands meant for his children.
Whatever the reason, the nobility steered clear. No one dared anger Lucien Valenpor by offering Ilya a match. And if she were to make a mistake, they all knew Lucien would never take her back—or pay a single copper for her failures.
When things got bad—when the drink made Lucien's temper boil—his hands found her cheek. Once, they even drew blood.
Her younger siblings had tried to help, but they were too small to do much. So she learned to shield them. To take the blows herself.
Then, a few months ago, Lucien came home with a skip in his step.
He floated through the house like a man ready to dance, laughing, grabbing her mother by the waist and announcing "wonderful news" to the entire room.
"I have done it!" he exclaimed. "I've secured our future! We're to be bound to a ducal house forevermore!"
Her mother, ever the optimist, applauded him with bright eyes. The younger children laughed, clapping along—everyone except Ilya.
She had seen Lucien's eyes the moment he walked in.
They were fixed on her. Hungry. Greedy. She had always been a burden. But now? She was treasure. She was currency.
Her mother, resting a delicate hand on the Count's chest, smiled up at him.
"So? Who is it to be?"
Lucien's eyes sparkled.
"Ilya will be marrying come the end of summer… into the family of Archduke Wylt!"
The laughter faded.
Her mother's smile faltered. Her younger sister of sixteen and brother of nineteen gasped, whispering nervously.
Ilya blinked.
"I'm sorry... who?"
She hadn't been part of court gossip. Social circles were never something she was permitted to join.
Her mother, eyes tightening, quickly moved to smooth things over.
"Go upstairs, Ilya. I'll be up in a moment."
Ilya stood, casting a final glance around the room before walking out. As she reached the stairs, she paused.
Her mother's voice drifted up in an urgent whisper—too quiet to make out, but too sharp to miss the meaning. Lucien's response rang loud and clear.
"I know! It's wonderful—she'll finally prove useful after being stagnant for so long. This marriage elevates us above the other nobles. You should be grateful."
Her mother's voice cracked with panic.
"But he's deformed. He can't… we can't leave her to a man who's unable to—"
"Enough, Ness. I won't hear more of it. I've already agreed. He can perform his duties as a husband. That's all that matters. He's the richest and most powerful man in the Kingdom—some say even more than the royal family. His wealth and political reach will serve us well when—"
Ilya climbed the rest of the stairs in silence.
Deformed?
What did that mean? Was he old? Injured? Cursed?
Elias Wylt. Archduke of the Kingdom of Veltharion.
The name struck a chord—but what hit harder was the power it commanded.
If he was Archduke… then she would become a Grand Duchess.
Something in her bones told her that her life was about to change forever.
And she would make damn sure it wouldn't unfold the way her stepfather had planned—
—even if it meant marrying the man they all called a monster.