Chapter 1
In early summer, the soft patter of raindrops fell on the smooth gray stone tiles, light rain.
spreadin
mist that shrouded the entire Althoria in a haze of
At the street corner, Arabella Everhart stood on the steps, clutching a handkerchief, her cold eyes fixed on the distant, blurry street.
Her maid, Clarissa, hovered just behind her, eyes red–rimmed, her voice thick with unshed tears. “My lady, I refuse to believe Mr. Farrow would cast you aside and wed another. Please, don’t torment yourself with these vile rumors.”
Arabella tightened her grip on the handkerchief, her expression as cold as frost.
Three years ago, her father Alexander Everhart, a powerful military official, was courted by several princes hoping to marry her for political gain.
But when the late king grew suspicious of him, Alexander, desperate to protect her, had no choice but to marry her off to the impoverished heir of a noble family, Charles Farrow.
On their wedding day, Charles was suddenly summoned to the palace. That evening, he returned briefly, packed his things, and left for Ravenholt, claiming the court had assigned him a secret mission.
He disappeared without a trace after that. It wasn’t until a few days ago that news came saying Charles‘ mission in Ravenholt, the restive border city, was complete, and he would soon return to the capital, Althoria.
Normally, Charles’s return would be cause for celebration. But the night before, Arabella received an anonymous letter. The letter claimed that Charles had taken a beautiful woman as his companion, and the two were living in perfect harmony, with mutual affection.
“Whether it’s a rumor or not, today I’ll find out for sure,” Arabella said coolly.
No sooner had she spoken than several understated but luxurious carriages appeared, slowly making their way toward the East City gate.
A gust of wind lifted the delicate gauze curtains, revealing the faint outline of a beautiful face, pale as moonlight. Among the sound of raindrops, there seemed to be the faint cry of a baby.
At that moment, a noblewoman from Lakeside Tower, watching the scene unfold, suddenly exclaimed, “Look, Mr. Farrow really did bring a woman back with him.”
Another voice responded, “I think I even heard the cry of a child.”
“Heavens, Surely they haven’t… bypassed Mrs. Farrow and sired a son with another woman first?”
“If true, Arabella’s plight is wretched indeed. The sole daughter of the Marquis’s estate, raised in jeweled privilege, to be treated so vilely! The humiliation alone would crush her.”
Each word pierced Arabella’s ears like a sharp blade. She gripped her handkerchief tightly, a cold flash of fury in her eyes.
What Charles had done wasn’t just humiliating her, but also her maternal family–the entire Marquis’s estate.
Clarissa trembled with rage, crying as she protested, “My lady, this is too much! Had the late Lord Everhart still drawn breath, that worthless cur wouldn’t dare treat you with such contempt, even if he had a hundred lives to spare!”
Her words struck Arabella’s heart, and a mist clouded her eyes.
It was exactly as Alexander had feared. Charles dared to behave this way only because she no longer had anyone to back her. His actions exposed
the true nature of men.
She recalled Alexander’s worried gaze before he passed away and the way he had clung to her hand, whispering, “Arabella, who will protect you once I’m gone?”
The pain in her heart was unbearable. In a daze, she stumbled forward, losing her balance.
Instinctively, she reached out into the air, her fingers brushing against something soft.
The next moment, a strong hand steadied her elbow, preventing her fall.
A shadow fell over her, and when she looked up, she saw a pale blue umbrella, decorated with a delicate landscape.
“Careful, Miss. The rain makes the road slippery,” a deep, magnetic voice said, close to her ear.
Arabella turned her head in surprise and saw a young man standing quietly beside her, holding the umbrella.
The young man wore a moon–white brocade robe, subtly patterned with dark threads, his tall, slender frame radiating an air of quiet dignity, like
uched jewel. The plant motifs embroidered on the hem added a touch of elegance to his imposing presence.
When Arabella met his gaze, her breath caught in her chest.
She had encountered many of Althoria’s most distinguished sons and royal heirs, but none had ever made her feel such a powerful sense of pressure. Her instincts told her that this man was no ordinary figure.
“T–thank you,” she stammered, quickly pulling her hand away from where it had inadvertently rested on his arm. She took a couple of steps back, putting some distance between them.
Clarissa, seeing this, swiftly stepped between them, partially concealing Arabella’s face. “My lady, we should head back to the mansion.”
Arabella cast a sideways glance at the young man before turning her attention back to the carriages moving slowly down the street.
The rumors had been confirmed. She already had a plan for how to deal with what was coming, and staying out here any longer wasn’t wise.
After acknowledging Clarissa, she turned once more to thank the young man. Then, with her maid in tow, the two made their way toward the carriage waiting at the street corner, braving the rain.
The young man watched the delicate figure of Arabella as she walked away, her fragile back fading into the distance. He frowned slightly.
A moment later, he turned his gaze back to the carriages that were slowly drifting away, a cold, amused smile tugging at his lips.
He thought, Charles… a man who doesn’t know how fortunate he is. I have given him a chance, but Charles has chosen to throw it away.
The rain grew heavier. James Wyndham, the commander of the Royal Vanguard, stepped forward silently, standing with respect at the young man’s side.
He said, “Your Majesty, Charles is quite shrewd. He would make a good fit for logistical work in the army. But now, with all these rumors about him abandoning his wife and remarrying, it could harm his reputation…”
Tristan Moreau shot him a cold, piercing glance.
To James, who had been his childhood companion and was now his most trusted aide, there was no need for concealment. Tristan said, “James, I’ve taken an interest in his wife.”
His words fell like a thunderclap. James froze, eyes wide with shock.
