Victoria hesitated, then spoke with quiet honesty:
"Because... I cannot help him unless I understand him."
Mrs. Gregory regarded her at length, as though weighing whether she deserved an answer.
Then she sighed and settled back in her chair.
"Very well," she said, her tone softer than Victoria had ever heard from her. "But what I'm about to tell you is not for idle gossip. This is the life of a man... who has suffered more than any soul should."
Victoria nodded silently.
Mrs. Gregory drew a deep breath, then began:
"He was four years old when he lost his mother."
She paused, as though the words themselves were heavy.
"A sudden illness. He was given no time to say goodbye. He was so young... he didn't understand why she no longer held him."
Victoria's lips tightened.
"Afterward, he had an older brother—Germaine. The firstborn heir. He was... the only person who made Lyomord feel safe after their mother's passing."
A sad smile crossed her face.
"Germaine was kind, strong, beloved. He took Lyomord to the stables, taught him to ride, read to him before bed. He was... everything to him."
She fell silent a moment, then continued in a lower voice:
"But when Lyomord was thirteen, Germaine died. During a hunting competition. The official investigation ruled it an attack by a wild animal..."
Victoria closed her eyes briefly.
"Three years later..." Mrs. Gregory continued, "he lost his father as well. Heart disease. Passed peacefully in his sleep."
She looked directly at Victoria.
"Lyomord was sixteen years old. Sixteen, and he became Duke of Ashford."
"And they fought him."
She said it sharply this time.
"Uncles, aunts, cousins—all of them. They said he was too young, too weak, unworthy."
She laughed bitterly.
"They tried to isolate him. Challenged his decisions before the council, questioned his loyalty, even spread rumors that grief had driven him mad."
Her fist clenched.
"But he didn't break. He worked day and night. Studied politics, economics, warfare. Proved himself in every field. And by his twentieth year..."
This time her smile held genuine pride.
"He became the King's closest advisor. The youngest and most powerful Duke in the kingdom."
"Then... that night came."
Her voice shifted—grew darker.
"A celebration at the royal palace. A military victory. Lyomord attended as the Duchy's representative."
She paused, then said with a slight tremor:
"He drank from the King's table. A single cup."
She looked at Victoria with eyes full of suppressed pain.
"It wasn't ordinary wine. It was... enchanted. A curse, or dark magic—no one knows exactly. But what we do know..."
She closed her eyes.
"He only drank a little. Had he finished the cup... he'd be dead now."
Victoria fell completely silent, her heart pounding.
"He woke the next day... violently ill, followed by blurred vision. Initially, it didn't affect him much. But weeks before your arrival, he lost his sight completely. Nothing but... darkness."
Mrs. Gregory quickly wiped the corner of her eye.
"The physicians tried everything. Sorcerers, priests, even healers from distant lands. Nothing worked. The curse... cannot be broken except by the sorcerer's death. And his identity remains unknown."
"Since that day..."
Mrs. Gregory looked at Victoria with piercing intensity.
"He's no longer that man. No longer the Duke who stood before kings without flinching. No longer the boy who fought his family to prove himself."
She fell silent, then said sadly:
"He became... afraid. Not of the darkness. But of being seen as weak. Of losing everything he'd built. Of becoming a burden."
She looked directly at Victoria with complete seriousness:
"That is the man you're trying to help, Miss Marsh. A man who lost everyone he loved. A man who fought everyone who doubted him. A man who built an empire... then lost the ability to see it."
Victoria remained silent for long moments.
Then she spoke quietly but firmly:
"And what did he do... before losing his sight? In his ordinary day?"
Mrs. Gregory looked at her with mild surprise, then smiled faintly.
"You want details?"
"Every detail."
Mrs. Gregory sighed, but began:
"He woke at dawn. Went to the stables, rode his horse for an hour. Then returned, bathed, breakfasted while reading reports. Afterward he'd go to his study—held meetings, signed documents, resolved disputes."
She paused, then added:
"He took lunch with guests or in his office. Afternoons, he trained in fencing or inspected the lands. And in the evening..."
She smiled with nostalgia.
"He'd sit in the library. Reading, or writing letters, sometimes sketching."
She looked at Victoria:
"He was a man... disciplined, strong, present. He lived each day with purpose."
Victoria stood slowly and said quietly:
"Thank you, ma'am."
Mrs. Gregory looked at her, then said in a rare gentle tone:
"Victoria..."
She turned.
"If you're trying to save him... remember something."
She paused...
That afternoon, Victoria was in a small room attached to the Duke's wing—a room previously used for sorting correspondence and documents.
Now, it was nearly abandoned.
But today, a servant arrived—a thin young man with an expressionless face—carrying a small wooden box filled with letters.
He set it on the table saying, "Don't slack in your work," then departed.
Victoria looked at the young man, then at the box. "I won't."
She sighed, then sat in the chair and slowly opened the box.
There were six envelopes, some official with wax seals, others simpler.
She didn't hesitate.
She opened the first.
First Letter: From the Council of Dukes
A formal, dry letter asking about Ashford Duchy's position on an upcoming meeting regarding new taxes.
She closed it.
"I'll respond later."
Second Letter: From a wine merchant
Asking about an order unpaid for two months.
She set it aside.
"Needs financial settlement. I'll speak with Gregory."
Third Letter: From a neighboring Duke
An invitation to a hunting party.
She closed it quickly.
"Not important now."
Fourth Letter...
She stopped.
The envelope was different.
Smooth paper in a pale cream color, sealed with golden wax shaped like a lily—the royal family's emblem.
And there was... a faint perfume.
She raised the envelope to her nose.
The scent of jasmine and roses.
She turned it over, noticing something else—small dried flowers attached to the envelope's edge with a delicate silk ribbon.
She swallowed.
She opened the envelope carefully.
She withdrew the paper—written in elegant, flowing script, each letter seemingly drawn with care.
"To my dearest Leo,
I don't know how many times I've written to you, nor why you don't answer.
Are you angry with me? Did I say something that upset you?
Or are you... simply unwilling to reply?
My heart aches, Leo. I haven't heard your voice in weeks. Even your letters... have stopped.
I know you're busy. I know the Duchy demands much from you. But... don't you miss me even a little?
I shall visit you this week. I can no longer wait.
My worry for you has exceeded all bounds.
Wait for me.
Julia."
Victoria gasped, dropping the paper on the table as though it had burned her.
Julia de Valera.
The Princess.
Lyomord's fiancée.
She covered her face with her hands, her mind spinning.
"Visit him? This week?!"
She looked at the letter again.
"My worry for you has exceeded all bounds."
The words were tender, intimate, filled with longing.
But Victoria felt no warmth.
She felt panic.
"How do I prevent her from coming?!"
If the Princess came and saw Lyomord in this state—isolated, broken, refusing even to leave his room—
She'd know the truth.
And if she knew...
Everyone would know.
She set the letter aside, her hand trembling slightly, then took a deep breath.
"Think, Victoria. Think."
She flipped through the remaining letters quickly, trying to distract herself, but—
A knock at the door.
She raised her head.
The cook entered—a massive man with an unreadable face—carrying a single envelope.
A black envelope.
No seal. No decoration.
Just... dark black paper.
He placed it on the table before her without a word, then turned and left.
Victoria looked at the envelope.
Something inside her screamed: "Don't open it."
But she opened it.
The Black Letter
The paper inside was simple, written in sharp, direct script:
"Time is running out.
Send the agreed amount by week's end.
The Duke is collapsing. The Duchy is weak. This is the perfect time.
Don't delay.
—The Cardinal."
She dropped the paper on the table as though poisoned.
Her heart began pounding violently.
The Cardinal.
The agreed amount.
"This is the perfect time."
She closed her eyes, feeling a wave of nausea.
Everything was becoming clear.
The servants—nearly all of them—weren't loyal to Lyomord.
They were spies.
Sent from the Cardinal—the secret organization Victoria herself was part of. That's why they all cooperated with her.
The organization that sent her here.
To plunder the Duchy.
She opened her eyes slowly, looking at the black letter.
Then at Julia's letter.
Then at the remaining accumulated correspondence.
"I'm... surrounded."
She whispered to herself.
"Surrounded by spies. Surrounded by traitors."
And the only two she might trust—Rebecca and Mrs. Gregory—were far from real power.
She placed her hand on her forehead, trying to think.
"If I send the money... I'll be exposed."
"If I don't send it... they'll know I betrayed them."
Then a worse thought:
"And if the Princess comes... everything collapses."
She took a deep breath, then looked at Julia's letter again.
"When will you reply... my worry for you has exceeded all bounds..."
She closed her eyes and said in a whispered, resolute voice:
"I must make him respond."
"I must make him... return."
She stood, gathering the letters except the black letter—she burned it in the nearby hearth, watching it turn to ash.
Then she picked up Julia's letter, holding it carefully.
"I'll go to him."
"Or... shall I flee? Impossible. Last time I fled from a Cardinal, I was crucified for three days."
"But..."
She sat before the mirror, looking at her reflection for a long time, as though seeing a strange face she didn't truly know.
"Think, Victoria... what's different this time?"
She'd served many nobles.
Entered estates grander than this one, left them laden with secrets and gold.
Lied, manipulated, stolen, worn countless faces—all at the Cardinal's command, all without hesitation.
And yet...
Why now did she feel this weight in her chest?
She rested her palms on the table's edge, leaning closer to the mirror.
"The Duchy is on the verge of collapse... that's what you've always waited for, isn't it?
Weakness, chaos, a broken ruler... the perfect opportunity."
But her reflection didn't look convinced.
She remembered the faces of nobles she'd plundered before—cold, arrogant, seeing people as mere tools.
She remembered how she'd laughed after each mission, how she'd left without looking back.
But here...
She closed her eyes briefly, and Lyomord's face appeared before her—not the Duke, but the man.
His weary voice.
His sarcasm hiding fear.
That heavy silence filling the room when he surrendered to despair.
"Leo Ashford isn't just a Duke. He's the wealthiest of the kingdom's rich, and his wealth alone grants him influence exceeding all I've dealt with before. His close friend, Daniel Devon, comes from one of the most powerful families—army, influence, limitless decisions... and his fiancée is a princess." She whispered to herself.
Her jaw trembled slightly.
"And the problem isn't just that he's blind...
The problem is that any small mistake from me now could be discovered, and it won't be mere financial loss or submission to punishment, but a direct threat to my safety, perhaps my life.
Her awareness of this, her feeling of weakness before absolute power, and unprecedented responsibility, made her heart pound forcefully. Here no one protects her but her mind, her intelligence, and all the skills and experience she possesses. Failure isn't an option."
She fell silent.
Then laughed a short laugh, without mirth.
"How ironic...
I who've spent my entire life fleeing from being a victim,
now stand powerless before a man who's chosen to be his own victim."
(Continued in garden scene...)
Late afternoon, Victoria stepped into the garden seeking solitude.
She needed air, space to think away from walls that seemed to close in.
But fate had other plans.
Duke Daniel Devon.
He stood near the rose beds, speaking with the elderly gardener.
A simple gardener, hands stained with earth, head bowed respectfully.
Something inside her trembled.
This wasn't a casual encounter.
A Duke of such rank doesn't stand conversing with a laborer without reason.
She withdrew slowly behind a dense cypress tree, held her breath, and tilted her head to listen.
Daniel said in a light, almost friendly tone:
"Tell me... have you noticed anything strange about Miss Victoria's behavior?"
She froze.
She felt as though the ground slipped from beneath her feet.
Me?
Daniel continued, as though asking about weather:
"I mean... have you seen her wandering in places that aren't her concern?
Does she ask many questions?
Or show interest... greater than she should?"
Her heartbeat accelerated until she feared it audible.
The gardener paused a moment, then answered in an honest voice, free of caution:
"No, sir. Quite the opposite, actually."
She held her breath.
"Miss Victoria is polite, cooperative, performs her work faithfully.
She's quiet... closer to virtuous, if I may say.
It's clear she comes from the Church."
Then he hesitated and added with some boldness:
"But... may I ask, sir, why this question?"
A brief silence followed.
Then Daniel laughed.
A light laugh, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Nothing important," he said, waving his hand dismissively.
"Mere curiosity."
He paused a moment, then added in an artificially playful tone:
"I was just wondering... does she still act like a nun?
Or has she begun adapting to life here?"
The gardener laughed respectfully, unaware of what lay beneath the words.
But Victoria...
She stood behind the tree, body rigid, mind working frantically.
So... he's watching me.
She hadn't made a mistake.
Hadn't been exposed.
And yet... his questions persist.
She retreated slowly, step by step, until shadows swallowed her.
This time, the danger wasn't hypothetical.
Duke Daniel had begun to suspect.
She returned to the estate faster than she should have.
Victoria turned to withdraw quietly, step by step, as she'd come...
But the ground betrayed her.
Her shoe's edge caught on a dry branch hidden beneath leaves, snapping with a soft sound...
Except to her it sounded like a scream.
Blood froze in her veins.
The gardener said, confused:
"What was that?"
Daniel turned immediately, movement sharp, looking toward the trees.
"Did you hear something?"
She didn't wait.
She turned and ran.
She burst through the shrubbery, tearing the edges of her dress on branches, didn't think about right or wrong direction—just get away from the estate, away from eyes.
Her breath came in gasps, heart nearly bursting from her chest.
No... no, no...
She heard no footsteps behind her, but fear needed no proof.
She continued running until she entered the garden's depths, where trees grew denser, shadows deeper, paths unused.
She finally stopped behind a massive tree trunk, pressed her back against it, and covered her mouth to muffle her breathing.
Calm down, Victoria...
She told herself in a trembling internal voice:
"Calm down... just passing suspicion. Nothing more."
She squeezed her eyes shut.
"You haven't done anything wrong. Haven't done anything."
She breathed deeply, once, then twice, trying to regain control.
"Everyone sees me as a good girl... a nun... an obedient maid."
She whispered, as though reminding herself of her role.
She opened her eyes, looking at her trembling hands.
"And that... is one reason I'm still alive."
She straightened slowly, fixed her dress as best she could, and wiped dirt from her palms.
But something had changed.
Danger was no longer a distant idea.
No longer a possibility.
Duke Daniel had looked in her direction.
And now...
She had to act as though she'd never been there at all.
Victoria returned to the estate after approximately half an hour.
She'd rearranged her dress as much as possible, hidden her trembling, set her features to that calm she'd perfected throughout her life.
At the main entrance, she saw Rebecca standing with obvious worry, and the moment her eyes fell on Victoria, she breathed with relief...
But the relief didn't last.
Daniel Devon stood beside her.
He smiled a calm, calculated smile and said: "Miss Marsh... or Victoria, correct? We were looking for you."
Rebecca stepped forward quickly: "Victoria! Yes, Duke Devon was asking about you."
Victoria answered with a forced pleasant smile: "I apologize, I was strolling in the garden a bit... sitting with my lord is somewhat tiring."
Daniel looked at her, then said with politeness not devoid of command: "Miss, would you permit me to speak with you privately?"
Rebecca faltered, then nodded: "Yes, sir... pardon me."
Rebecca withdrew, and the two remained.
Daniel gestured toward the corridor leading to the garden: "Come, Miss Marsh, no need to stand here. What do you say we walk to the fountain?"
Victoria smiled politely: "Yes, sir, if that's what you wish."
They walked quietly.
The sound of their footsteps mingled with rustling trees and distant water.
Daniel said lightly: "Beautiful weather today... a shame Leo can't come out and see this beauty."
Victoria answered in a low voice carrying feigned sadness: "Yes, sir. I'll do my best to help him."
The conversation continued in this manner, general words, soft, until they'd moved completely away from the estate entrance.
Then Daniel stopped suddenly.
He turned toward her and asked with sudden coldness: "Did you hear my conversation with the gardener?"
Nothing changed in Victoria's features.
She answered with complete calm: "I don't even know if you spoke with anyone, sir."
He smiled... a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Then said: "Then how do you explain the torn edges of your dress and its being filled with mud and dirt, miss?"
His voice was polite, but the artificial smile made the question closer to a blade.
Victoria breathed deeply, then added with a small pleasant smile: "Oh, this? I was gathering willow leaves, sir. They're medically useful. I noticed willow trees in the garden, so I asked my lord Duke, and he agreed."
She raised the edge of her dress slightly, showing herbs she'd carefully gathered inside a torn fabric piece.
Daniel said nothing for a moment.
Then he laughed. A light, short laugh.
"It's fine... it's fine." He said it as though calming the situation.
"I was asking out of curiosity only. I heard a strange sound, and you were the only maid outside the estate."
Then he turned toward the corridor: "Now... let's return inside."
She answered immediately: "Yes, sir."
She walked beside him, features steady, steps regular.
But inside... she knew this wasn't a casual conversation.
Daniel stopped in place, his eyes following Victoria as she bowed respectfully and excused herself to precede him, then proceeded with measured steps as though nothing had happened.
He kept watching her back until the estate's corridors swallowed her, and only then did the smile fade from his face.
"That girl..." he said to himself.
Cleverer than I expected.
Her answers weren't hasty, nor defensive. Every word calculated, every movement studied. No visible fear, no excessive boldness. A rare combination... and dangerous.
Daniel moved his jaw slowly, like one reassessing a painting he'd thought he understood.
"Edward would benefit greatly from someone like her beside him..."
The thought didn't come idly.
But his eyes narrowed slightly, and his internal tone chilled:
"If she remains."
Then he turned his back, thinking: For now... let's see how long she can endure.