Chapter 1

“I believe you sent for me, Your Grace?” Vito Chaplin said, bowing low.

The imposing figure of the proud duke acknowledged him with a slight nod. “Thank you for coming, Count Chaplin. Have a seat over there.”

Count Chaplin was Count Palatine of the Hascatore Empire and a man with decades of experience with the nobility. He had a wide breadth of knowledge in many areas, and his reach was far and deep. Those who called on him for assistance usually had serious issues to resolve, and this situation looked to be one of those—the duke’s deep, sharp eyes looked visibly dark and troubled.

“Your countenance appears dark. Is there something that worries you?” Chaplin inquired politely, his own eyes carefully probing.

“My frustrating son is causing me trouble,” said the duke with a sigh, and the count couldn’t help a wry little smile—this was, by far, the most unexpected issue he’d expected to hear from the duke.

The duke was one of the few true power brokers in the empire and so was an object of intense focus and envy. And his son?

Count Ryan Floyd Calabria, the youngest knight commander in Hascatore history.

Gifted in the military arts and boasting a fierce intellect, he had been given the high-ranking position despite his youth. He was an acknowledged genius, famed throughout as one who had been blessed by the gods. He was also the sole heir of the Calabria duchy as well as the Floyd duchy through his mother’s line. In time, he would become the greatest duke in the empire.

Cultured, learned, possessed of astonishing beauty, and boasting the finest bloodline, he was certainly the most accomplished man to be found throughout the continent.

Isn’t this ironic? Count Chaplin was suspicious. Most parents slyly boasted of their children under the guise of being worried about them, but the duke’s expression was genuinely grave.

“He has already reached twenty years of age. How can it be that he has not shown even a single ounce of interest in a woman? What am I to do?”

Count Chaplin finally understood.

Countless young maidens had swooned over Ryan for years, but he had yet to look even one of them in the eye. Over time, they had begun to call him “Stellaria.” Even Chaplin couldn’t help laughing the first time he’d heard it, as the stellaria was a mythical flower that was said to only grow on the face of the cliff that was closest to the stars.

A beautiful flower, high on a cliff that no one could ever reach—it was the perfect epithet for a man as curt and aloof as Ryan.

“If he were delirious or had some sort of troubling condition, I would understand. However, he walks around as perfectly fine as can be and has not had even a single female acquaintance. There’s even rumors these days that he’s... that he’s... interested in men.”

The duke clucked his tongue in irritation.

Word had indeed traveled through society, but it was mostly spurred by rejected, vindictive ladies and jealous lords. No one truly took the rumors seriously, so the duke was just using it as another venting point.

“I don’t think that is the point of concern,” reasoned the count. “He simply has not yet met a good match—that’s all.”

“I think it’s time to start considering some young ladies in our circles.”

The clever Chaplin quickly understood what the duke was implying. “Is there a lady who you have in mind?”

“Well...” the duke said slowly, lifting one brow. “I don’t think there’s a need for me to say it out loud.”

Chaplin smiled. There was only one woman who was worthy of someone like Ryan Calabria, and that was the imperial princess—Aileen Hascatore.

“Isn’t that likely to happen anyway without you interceding?” inquired the count.

It was, after all, a well-known fact that Princess Aileen was in love with Ryan.

“They cannot be the ones to bring up the matter,” said the duke. “We must be the ones who approach with a proposal.”

Ryan, the sole heir of two great duchies, was already positioned as a mild threat to the authority of the Crown. The emperor, who prized his dignity above all, would hardly allow the princess to lower herself to propose first.

“It’s a match we cannot let slip, but the boy refuses to bend. He says he has no interest in marriage.”

“Won’t the count’s mind change once he makes his acquaintance with the princess?”

“I believe so,” said the duke gruffly. “The princess is highly intelligent and cultured, as well as beautiful.” He shook his head then, looking irritated. “But the boy refuses to meet with her, even in private.”

The duke sighed again.

“How can I make that obstinate boy bend his will and propose to the princess?”

The entirety of the duke’s dilemma was clear to Chaplin now, and after a moment’s thought, he gave his sincere advice. “I would like to assist you, Your Grace, but unfortunately, I am rather unfamiliar with these sorts of matters.”

Chaplin was a lifelong bachelor well into his forties.

“Is there someone you can recommend?”

Having anticipated this request, Chaplin responded smoothly, “They say that those who look for advice in politics would speak to Viscount Wellington, for economic matters to Count Johnson, and for lifting household curses, Priestess Mihaille.”

The duke looked puzzled, as if wondering why the count was speaking of other matters.

“There are several experts you can consult on your matter, Your Grace, but they will all advise you differently, according to their own tastes. I believe that the best person to consult on relationships between men and women would be the baroness, Lady Eleanor.”

“Lady Eleanor?”

There was a hint of reluctance in the duke’s voice rather than surprise, which told Chaplin that even the austere duke had heard of the baroness’s name.

“Will Ryan really bend his ear to that gossipmonger? I thought she was seen more as a... free-spirited puppeteer within society.”

“It depends on how capably she can manage him. Isn’t it right to take a small risk in order to avoid a larger one?”

The duke was silent for a long while. “Yes... You’re right.”

He didn’t sound pleased, but for the irascible duke, it was quite a positive statement.

“I shall retrieve her calling card and send it along to your butler,” Chaplin said.

Then, same as he’d entered, Chaplin bowed low to the duke and briskly walked out of the study.

* * *

“...so that’s how their bond, forged by love, will fly on wings forever.”

Lady Salante concluded her recitation to a smattering of applause in the hall.

“What a lovely romance!”

“You truly are a well of stories, Lady Salante. They never cease to flow!”

Lady Salante glowingly accepted praise from her admirers as she strode across the hall, all the way up to coming face-to-face with another young woman.

Slender, with a porcelain complexion, light blue eyes, and lustrous brown hair that suited her face well, the beautiful young woman, around twenty years of age, was scribbling something with a long, feathered quill.

“It’s your turn, baroness,” said Lady Salante, her voice ringing arrogantly.

Lady Eleanor slowly lifted her pretty blue eyes to gaze at the woman.

“What are you writing so fervently?” sneered Lady Salante.

Instead of replying, Lady Eleanor pulled her three sheets of paper closer, looking over them intently. Lady Salante’s chin tilted even higher.

“Perhaps you’ve been listening to my story and taking parts to add to your own? Why, if that’s the case, then I— Kyaaah!”

Lady Salante screamed when a teacup shattered on the floor—it had been perched precariously on the table between her and Lady Eleanor. Her skirts were now damp, splattered with tea.

“How could you?” she shrieked. “Do you know how much this dress costs?”

In response to Lady Salante’s screeching, a servant rushed over and bowed apologetically.

“Apologies, my lady,” the servant said nervously. “I shall clean this up right now.”

If one had keen eyes, one would have spied Lady Eleanor’s skirts subtly shifting as the table had been abruptly kicked. However, no one in the hall had seen it. Lady Salante felt baleful eyes on her for creating a commotion, so she huffed in irritation and swept away. That was when Lady Eleanor stood up, her slender figure gracefully lifting from her seat.

“Oh, dear. The carpet has shards of the teacup all over now. Let me help.” She crouched next to the servant, and all the young lords near them suddenly swarmed in.

“The shards are much too sharp and dangerous.”

“I shall pick them up. Please have a seat, baroness.”

Their attitude had shifted entirely from when they’d been watching as cold spectators just moments ago.

“You are all such kind gentlemen,” said Eleanor, an exquisite smile on her face. She walked onto the empty stage, then waited until all the mess had been cleared. Finally, when the servant had retreated and everyone turned to her with an expectant face, she said quietly, “My apologies, but my recitation is only meant for the intimacy of ladies. Gentlemen, we shall see you again at supper.”

The men were both reluctant to leave yet easily accorded Eleanor her wishes, and the eyes of the gathered women sparkled eagerly. Lady Eleanor was famed for the sensuous nature of her stories. How scandalous could this one be if the gentlemen were bade to leave?

Eleanor looked around, drawing all attention to her, before lifting her hand. “Before I begin my recitation, I shall reveal the contents of my writing that Lady Salante was so eager to see.”

She let each sheet of paper flutter to the floor as she read: When you break a teacup by accident, and the only one who approaches be a servant with a kerchief, then you have no right to lecture the public on romance.

Loud laughter rang throughout the room at the drop of the final sheet of paper, and Lady Salante’s face flamed red.

“You! Of course it was you! It was a trap!” she shouted.

The laughing audience, however, seemed as if they hardly cared.

“Sometimes it is best to deliver the simplest message.”

The baroness had another elegant smile on her face, and Lady Salante ended up pressing her lips together in fury and exiting the hall.

“Now, to all my ladies present, I shall recite a tale that can truly be called a romance!”

Lady Eleanor’s voice rang with rich emotion and the audience shifted even closer, every one of them spellbound. Their eyes were filled with nothing but abject admiration.

* * *

“That was a spectacular finale, as usual.”

Leaving to thunderous applause behind her, Lady Eleanor stepped out of the hall to be greeted by her assistant, Miss Graham. Not one of the piles of books that her assistant had been surrounded with remained.

“Over there,” said Graham, “only flies buzzed.”

She motioned with her chin to the other corner, where piles and piles of Lady Salante’s novel, Forever Love, remained untouched.

“There’s a limit on what you can achieve with poor imitations,” said Eleanor in a composed tone.

She’d started drawing serious attention as a writer when crops of imitators had appeared, eager to duplicate her style. Although some of them did manage to achieve reasonable fame, not one of them sustained their success for long—after all, in the tight confines of high society, it was only a matter of time before they ran into the real thing.

“I can’t allow her to grow further. This is my livelihood.”

With the event now over, the two women returned to their current living quarters. They were staying at the marquis’ estate and, upon arrival, scaled the handsome staircase to the second floor.

The marchioness, who was a great fan of Eleanor’s work and served as her benefactress, had provided Eleanor with a room in the mansion. As expected of the marchioness, it was lavishly appointed and full of every luxury.

“I would like to rest for a minute,” declared Eleanor. “Can you see if any letters came?”

“Yes, Your Ladyship.”

Eleanor unbraided her hair and took off her cumbersome corset. She laid it on the bench by her bed, when suddenly she heard a shriek from the other room.

“Baroness!”

Graham rushed back into the room, nearly in convulsions.

“What is it?”

She held out an envelope with a shaking hand, which was stamped with the seal of the most famous family in the empire.

“It’s from the Duke of Calabria...”

A light gleamed momentarily in Eleanor’s usually indifferent eyes.