Chapter 2
The first time Merdi saw Clifton, she fell in love.
He was a perfect man, like a prince from a fairy tale, one she had read dozens of times as a child, had sprung to life before her. Hair like shining golden threads, a tall frame that towered a full head above her, broad shoulders accentuated by ornate epaulets. But what surprised Merdi most was his grace. It was hard to believe he was a soldier who had commanded on a blood-soaked battlefield; his every movement was impossibly elegant. Even in a crowd, he was the one who shone brightest.
Merdi couldn’t help but fall in love. Even though he was the architect of her peaceful kingdom’s downfall. On the day they first met, he had appeared like a figure from a dream, kneeling before her as if to erase the absurd reality of her situation.
“Your shoelace is untied.”
The memory was still vividly etched in her mind. Even if she hadn’t fallen for him at first sight, perhaps the young Merdi of that time had already sensed the future: that her beloved Belloc would one day be invaded and subjugated.
Thanks to its abundant resources, Belloc had enjoyed a prosperity that required little effort. But that prolonged peace, won without cost, had slowed its development, making it inevitable prey for the powerful nations expanding their territories. Merdi’s father, the king of Belloc, was a gentle and indecisive man, a disposition that only hastened their fate. The only silver lining was that the Elsmere Empire’s military might was so overwhelming that they conquered Belloc swiftly, leaving little time for mass casualties.
On top of that, Elsmere had been the first to propose a marriage alliance. The terms were excessively generous for a conquered nation. In exchange for marrying the emperor’s nephew, they offered to lower tax rates and expand the scope of Belloc’s self-governance. They also promised to build factories and develop transportation to help utilize the kingdom’s abundant resources. She knew it was all for the sake of the empire’s image, but it wasn’t an offer they could refuse.
Her father, King Sterling of Belloc, was naturally delighted.
“What do you think, Merdi?” he had asked.
It was not a question that offered a real choice, but Merdi had not minded. Her country stood to gain much from the alliance, and besides, it meant she would become the wife of that magnificent man. She had even been secretly excited. What kind of person is he? Is his character as splendid as his face and his aura?
With a fluttering heart, Merdi had traveled to the Elsmere Empire, where an engagement ceremony was held upon her arrival. The man she faced possessed a cooler air than the prince in her memory, but the smile on his lips was the same. Merdi decided that was enough. She knew she wasn’t a particularly welcome guest in the Greenfield Grand Ducal Estate.
She thought it would simply take time. She believed that, like a plant that eventually blooms if you water it and pull the weeds every day, he, too, would one day look at her with warmth in his eyes. That if she became a respectable lady worthy of him, a little warmth might enter those cool blue depths. In any case, the wedding was five years away. She was still young, and Clifton had a war to finish. As a result, she saw him only once or twice a year.
During that time, Merdi received bridal lessons. The person in charge of her education was the Grand Dame of Greenfield, Margaret.
“First, we must do something about that clumsy Imperial tongue,” she had declared.
Margaret was a harsh and exacting teacher. In Belloc, the castle walls were low, and she had grown up freely, with forests and fields for her playground and sheep and horses for her friends. Learning the empire’s rigid etiquette was an arduous task. Contrary to the excitement with which she had arrived, Merdi was faced with a brutal reality. Learning the Imperial language was overwhelming enough, but there was a mountain of other things to master.
Margaret always sighed at the prospective mistress of the house who fell so short of her high standards. The maids would secretly snicker at the clumsy future duchess. The nobles placed wagers on whether she would ever become a bride worthy of Clifton.
Merdi knew what they called her behind her back. Greenfield’s Wild Bird. She was an untamed thing that did not belong in this perfectly manicured garden.
Even as the year of the wedding approached, with the long war having finally ended in a truce, Merdi’s standing had not changed. Neither within Greenfield, nor outside it.
“Lastly, let us offer our thanks to God for the safe conclusion of the Palesword War…”
With the bishop’s final prayer, the people who filled the church began to rise one by one.
“Shall we head out as well?” a young lady prompted.
As the noblewomen who had been sitting in the front row began to stand, Merdi, who had been staring into space, followed suit. Outside, a warm breeze blew, causing the chiffon veils covering their faces to flutter.
“The weather is so lovely. It truly feels as if spring is upon us,” chirped Vivian, the daughter of Count Melvitch, her eyes on a sparrow flying by.
“It is,” the daughter of Viscount Lister agreed. “It would be a shame to let such a day pass by. A cup of tea somewhere nearby would be lovely…”
At the subtle suggestion, the other young ladies nodded in agreement.
“Tea time is a must on a day like this.”
“A wonderful idea!”
The only one who remained silent was Merdi.
“What do you say, Miss Merdi?” Vivian finally asked, unable to wait any longer. A smile as thin as her chiffon veil played on her lips, but Merdi knew the eyes hidden behind it were sharp and predatory.
If we’re going anyway, why bother asking?
Although Vivian had made a show of asking for her opinion, having tea after the Sunday service was a routine so ingrained it required no discussion. Every Sunday, the young ladies of the capital would attend the church prayer meeting, offer prayers for the soldiers at war and the less fortunate, and then gather for tea. This was a ritual that had not been missed once in the five years Merdi had been in the empire.
Merdi secretly rolled her eyes behind her veil. This weekly gathering was one of the things she despised most. The topics of conversation were painfully predictable. They would either elegantly slander a young lady who wasn’t present or wait with bated breath for someone to bring up a juicy piece of gossip.
And today, the main course of their conversation would undoubtedly be her.
The news of Clifton inheriting the grand ducal title was the talk of the town. It was inevitable that the questions would be directed at Merdi, his fiancée. They would ask tedious questions, like where the wedding would be held and which boutique the jewelry would be sourced from. Though the entire affair was utterly predictable, Merdi had no right to refuse.
“Yes, let’s do that,” she replied.
At her nod, Vivian beamed.
“Wonderful. If everyone is amenable, let’s go to my townhouse.”
Vivian Melvitch’s townhouse boasted a large sunroom, the pride of the count’s family. Merdi, who was fond of flowers and trees, didn’t mind visiting the grand room itself, as it was filled with lush plants. On a beautiful day like today, the rainbows cast by sunlight pouring through the glass and the fragrant scent of blossoms could soothe her troubled heart.
As black tea and desserts were served, the young ladies began with the formalities, mentioning the truce and clapping lightly in gratitude for the soldiers’ hardships. Merdi followed their lead, her mind elsewhere.
…My feet hurt.
She must have chosen the wrong shoes today. She had no idea why shoes with such ridiculously high heels were in fashion. If she were invited to a ball, she would have to dance in these dreadful things, and the thought already filled her with dread. Just walking had scraped the skin from her heels; she could only imagine the agony of dancing.
And the suffocating corset was another matter entirely. Blouses and skirts were becoming fashionable all over the world, so why did the Elsmere nobility still insist on these stuffy corsets and one-piece dresses? She now regularly had trouble breathing on days she ate too much. Merdi let out a small, secret sigh.
“More importantly…” Vivian began, finishing the boring preamble and moving on to the main topic everyone had been waiting for. “Miss Merdi was absent from the prayer meeting last weekend.”
At that, the daughter of Viscount Lister’s eyes lit up.
“Oh, Miss Vivian, you mustn’t tease. Last week was Grand Duke Greenfield’s succession ceremony. It’s only natural that Miss Merdi, as his fiancée, couldn’t possibly miss it.”
“Oh my, I had completely forgotten,” Vivian said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
Even after five years, Merdi had not grown accustomed to the infuriatingly indirect way the empire’s nobles spoke. Instead of simply saying she was curious about the succession ceremony, Vivian had to start with insincere condolences for the soldiers and feign ignorance.
Merdi frowned down at the crimson tea in her cup, wondering how she should describe that strange, surreal day. She had been on edge all morning, but not because the Crown Prince was attending, or because she would be facing Clifton after so long. It wasn’t even because she was worried about how much Margaret would lecture her if she made a mistake.
It was because she had to tell Clifton her decision, one she had agonized over for a very long time.
How long had she wrestled with this? Her body tensed whenever she saw him, so the words she had so carefully prepared did not come out smoothly. But perhaps that was for the best. It had allowed her to state her point with a clean, stark clarity.
“I wish to annul our engagement, Your Grace.”
His reaction had been completely unexpected. Recalling the moment, Merdi drew a sharp breath, a familiar tightness constricting her chest like corset strings.
