Pricilla shivered in the cold breeze and pondered for a moment whether to put on a cloak, but decided against it. A heavy overcoat would ruin the effect of her dress, and she needed to be as alluring as possible from the very start if she wanted to finish her task quickly.

Leaning on her father’s hand, she tried to disembark the small rowing boat as gracefully as possible - a task made more difficult by the constant onslaught of the tide and slippery pier. The damn wind tangled the free-falling locks, blowing hair in her eyes and turning her head into a bird’s nest.

‘Cursed Wildlands! You don’t even have a normal summer,’ she thought, forcing a dignified smile over her face and doing her best not to shiver.

At the end of the pier, the welcoming delegation awaited them in orderly rows, the red-gold banners of Limeria and the silver-blue standards of Norden flapping like seagull's wings under the gale’s onslaught. Gold, silver, and steel glimmered in the sun, adorning fine garments and war-belts, occasionally accompanied by the sparkling of precious sapphires, garnets, and emeralds. Despite being the beginning of summer, one could see various dresses and cloaks trimmed not with rabbit but with mink and fox fur.

As Pricilla evaluated and savored the riches that would soon be hers, her eyes caught a black stain amidst the colorful crowd. Her heart tightened. The Duke of Norden looked like a creature of nightmares. His attire was like dipped in pitch from the sleeves of his shirt to the tips of his riding boots. Dark-red patterns wriggled up the front of his doublet, making it look like rivers of blood dripped from his broad chest. A short, midnight cape hung over his left shoulder, the silver stag and wolf of the ducal crest looking life-like and ready to prance on anyone daring to come too close. One rough paw-like hand rested on the pommel of a large sword that hung from a simple, broad belt.

Swallowing dryly, Pricilla looked above the precious sable collar and a little squeal rolled off her lips.

‘Father of Light! I… I have to mingle with that!?’ She managed to stifle her thoughts before they escaped her mouth, but her eyes rounded as she held her breath.

The Beast of Norden stood before her without a mask or a veil to hide his hideous scars. Like patches of old bark, the burns crawled up his jaw and cheek to his brow and down his neck. A pair of soulless ice shards peered down at her with the unmistakable intention to ravage and slaughter. White teeth snarled at her as the monster duke parted his lips.

“I welcome the esteemed guests to Norden. May the Two Fathers and the Mother Above give you their blessings. I hope you had an uneventful journey.”

His deep, monotonous voice startled Pricilla. The well-spoken manner and polite tone he used were unbefitting to someone like him. After all, one was in the right to wonder whether a barbaric brute like him could even know court etiquette.

“My boy, Noah!” Her father stepped forward and nodded his head. “It has been such a long time-”

“Count Orten,” the Duke interrupted him and his gray eyes threw the whole arriving party a murderous glare, “since when is it allowed for someone lower than the Emperor or the Grand Duke to speak so informally to an imperial prince and a duke in his own right? Or is this a new mainland custom that I haven’t been informed of?”

“With all due respect,” her father puffed up his chest, but Pricilla saw a few beads of sweat appearing on his forehead, “you might be a duke of the empire before the law, Lord Norden, but you are my son by marriage before the Two Gods. Even if you have no respect for the precious daughter that I have brought up with so much care and love, my precious girl that was given to you despite the pain it inflicted on this poor father’s heart… Even then, a familial bond is still sacred and I am your elder.”

“And what brings you to the conclusion that I have no respect for my wife, Count?”

“Acting so rudely toward your family and not even bringing out the poor child to greet her father…” Count Orten paused for a second to dab away a nonexistent tear. “This is not the reunion I was hoping for.”

“It seems your eyes are just as bad as your manners, Count Orten.” A vicious grin split the Beast’s face. “The Duchess is still expecting your greetings, just like I am.”

Bowing slightly, the Duke offered his hand to the woman on his right.

Pricilla couldn’t stifle her gasp as she eyed the lady… standing shoulder to shoulder with the ruler of Norden! But custom required for the rest of the household to stand behind the master when welcoming guests! This was true for every noble from the lowliest burg-lord to the Emperor himself. That’s why Pricilla had taken the woman next to the Duke for one of the famed Barons of Norden. As her eyes studied the regal person holding the Duke’s hand, it was hard to believe that this was her good-for-nothing sister.

Clad in a gorgeous dress of light green and dark blue with gold and pearls creating an intricate floral pattern across the skirt and bodice, the woman looked like a woodland fairy. The part of the outer sleeves below her elbows was falling freely and reaching the ground, revealing the iridescent-white underdress that was cuffed at the wrists with thin golden bracelets. A sparkling belt of blue crystal circled the slender body just under the breasts. A large reddish brooch shaped like a bird with a blue gem in the middle nestled on the woman’s bosom. Her chestnut hair was arranged in the most intricate array of braids Pricilla had ever seen, even among the ladies of the Imperial Palace. Green, blue, and golden ribbons twisted between the dark strands, and the whole masterpiece was crowned by a translucent white veil that fluttered in the wind like spring mist over a blooming forest.

‘N-no way… No way this is that tramp!’

Pricilla had to bite her lips to prevent herself from screaming. That scrawny bitch now looked like a queen! That lowly mut was taking her place!

“L-Lorelei?!” her father was just as surprised, glaring at the noble lady before them.

“Greetings, Count Orten, Young Lady Orten.” As the woman spoke, the wind carried her clear and calm voice, reaching everyone on the pier. “Norden welcomes the esteemed envois. May your stay be pleasant and fulfilling.”

Her formal greeting made Pricilla frown. It sounded almost like this lowlife was truly seeing herself as the Duchess of Norden. She was about to open her mouth when her father cleared his throat.

“Daughter, why the cold welcome? We were so anxious, not hearing from you for months, not receiving a single letter… The filial piety-”

“Count Orten,” the duke stepped fort, towering over Pricilla and her father, “it isn’t advisable to reprimand my Duchess, not in private and even less in public. So, if you value your neck, shut up.”

The last words were accompanied by a snarl that made Pricilla’s blood freeze. If looks could kill, she and her father would be now drowning in their own blood. Blinking profusely, she looked to the side, avoiding the Duke’s eyes, only to meet the gazes of the crowd. She was met by an ice wall of rigid faces and condemning glares. Like one uniform being, the vassals of Norden followed the tone and manners of their lords, the air of hostility hanging heavily between the arrivals and the hosts.

“It’s late, Orten.” The Duke snapped and turned his back on them, returning to Lorelei’s side. “My Duchess is getting tired. If it were up to me, I’d let you stand here as long as it takes until you state your greetings properly. However, I don’t want to strain my wife unnecessarily. I give you two choices. Complete the protocol or you’ll be going to Ildemar on foot.”

A vein popped on the Count’s forehead and he balled his fists. Still, he wasn’t foolish enough to test his host’s patience any longer. The metal notes in the Duke’s voice were an unmistakable sign of his sincerity. Bowing deeply, he hissed through gritted teeth:

“Count Fidelius Orten greets the Duke and Duchess of Norden. May the Two Fathers bless you and your home. I’ll be in your care.”

The side glance he gave Pricilla prompted her to mumble her own greeting and make a low curtsy. Internally, she was boiling and screaming. She could lower herself before the Duke if it would let her be on his good side. But before that low-born wench? She wanted to cry and vomit. How dared that lowlife stand there and watch her with such glee? Well, the little vixen should endure her power while she still got it. No matter how good the dirty harlot was in bed, Pricilla was confident in her charms. She had conquered one imperial prince already, a haughty beast would hardly be difficult to tame.

With the official welcome finally over, the Duke gave a sign for everyone to board the carriages waiting next to the pier. Angry and pouting, Pricilla pulled down the curtains, unwilling to sour her mood further with the sights of that backwater settlement the northerners called a capital. The even rattle of the wheels and the rather comfortable coach calmed down her nerves. She secretly rubbed her belly, ignoring the slew of slurs her father was vomiting at the ducal couple.

When the clatter of hoofs on stone announced their arrival at Castle Ildemar, Pricilla was already composed enough to initiate her plan. The carriages stopped in the large, sunny courtyard and several groups of servants flew to welcome them and help the passengers. As she was about to step down from the coach, Pricilla saw in the corner of her eyes the Duke who was standing at the open door of his carriage and gallantly assisting the Duchess disembark. In a stroke of luck, the two wagons were close to each other and the ducal couple had to pass their guests to reach the castle entrance.

Carefully observing her target, Pricilla waited until the Duke was right next to her and artistically slipped down the last step of the carriage. Tumbling in a whirlwind of pink silk, she plunged directly at him. Guided by reflex, the Duke let go of his wife and grabbed the falling body.

Pricilla shuddered as his arms wrapped around her but forced herself to act. Her hands grabbed the Duke’s doublet, her bosom pressing against him.

“Oh, Lords! My ankle!” she gasped and put her whole weight on the man’s chest.

Suddenly, the Duke’s arms let loose and he jerked back. Unable to retain her grip, Pricilla plopped on the ground, blinking around like a newly-hatched chick.

“This one had an accident,” the Duke stated coldly and, wrapping his arms around the Duchess’ waist, continued walking towards the castle. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he added:

“Someone better fetch her up and bring her to her quarters.”

Without saying anything more, he walked away, leaving gawking Pricilla behind.