Chapter 30: Marquisate de Montreuil
"It was a terrible tragedy..."
Mariya’s mother, the Marchioness de Montreuil, let out a sigh as she set her teacup back onto its saucer.
"My heart aches for every family that lost a child that day. No parent should ever have to bury their own son or daughter."
"Indeed, Mother."
Seated opposite her parents, Mariya gracefully lifted her own teacup before taking a small sip.
"I thank the Lord every day that Ilya returned safely." A faint smile touched her lips. "Compared to those families, I have been shown far more mercy than I deserve."
"...."
"...."
Neither of her parents responded to that remark, exchanging a glance before steering the conversation elsewhere, choosing not to dwell on it.
"This is an especially dangerous time for the Imperial Family."
Mariya’s father, the Marquis de Montreuil, slowly crossed his hands together.
"With the Crown Prince gone, the Emperor no longer has a male heir. The succession has become uncertain overnight, and uncertainty is something ambitious people are quick to exploit."
His wife nodded in agreement.
"The cadet branches of House Bismarck will undoubtedly begin weighing their chances, while every great noble house in the Empire will be watching the Imperial Palace more closely than ever before."
Mariya remained silent, gently swirling the tea in her cup.
"The Empire has not yet fallen into disorder," she said, "but everyone can already see where this is headed. All it takes is for one ambitious faction to make the first move, and the entire court will begin tearing itself apart."
The Marquis gave a slow nod.
Everyone in the room understood what the Crown Prince’s funeral truly meant. It was the beginning of a political struggle that countless nobles had already anticipated, where every influential house would be watching the others, carefully measuring loyalties, ambitions, and opportunities.
The Imperial Family would not be the only one affected.
The Grand Ducal Houses, along with the Empire’s oldest noble families, would inevitably begin strengthening their own positions while the question of succession remained unresolved.
In times such as these, even neutrality could become a political statement.
The Marchioness nodded.
"Marie," she said, "do not do anything reckless, and keep that husband of yours in check. The Imperial Court isn’t the only place drawing attention right now. More than a few eyes have already begun watching the Northern Grand Duchy."
Mariya met her mother’s gaze without the slightest hint of concern.
"You needn’t worry." She calmly placed her hands upon her lap before continuing, "I’ve already rejected every marriage proposal sent for Anastasiya over the past year. I have no intention of allowing some nameless opportunist to use my daughter as a stepping stone into the North."
"A wise decision," the Marquis said. "With the Empire entering uncertain times, every ambitious house will begin searching for an advantage wherever it can be found. If they cannot influence the Imperial succession directly, they’ll look elsewhere."
That was why the North had become a target.
Unlike the Imperial Family, whose succession was governed by the Imperial Succession Edict that granted precedence to the Emperor’s male descendants, the Grand Duchies were bound by their own founding charters.
So long as the reigning Grand Duke formally acknowledged an heir, neither birth order nor gender invalidated the succession, allowing daughters to inherit their domains with the same authority as sons.
Anastasiya’s position as heir to the Northern Grand Duchy was therefore beyond dispute.
Exactly because her claim was secure, countless noble houses viewed her hand in marriage as an opportunity worth pursuing.
Whoever married the future Grand Duchess would not inherit the North in his own name, but the influence that came with standing beside its ruler was enough to tempt even the most patient and calculating aristocrats.
"But that boy—"
"It’s Ilya, mother."
"...Ahem."
The Marchioness coughed, neither apologizing nor arguing the point.
"Yes... Ilya. Are you certain he harbors no ambition toward the Northern throne? Whatever the circumstances of his birth may be, he is still the Grand Duke’s son, and history has shown that blood alone has been enough to ignite succession disputes."
Mariya’s expression remained unchanged.
"I must admit, Mother, I’m rather offended that you would speak of my son in such a manner. As for your concern, I can assure you that Ilya has no such aspirations. If anything, he goes out of his way to avoid involving himself in matters of succession, and I sincerely doubt the thought of taking the North from Anastasiya has ever crossed his mind."
The Marquis nodded.
"Even so, ambition does not always begin with the person himself. Sometimes it begins with the people standing behind him. A single faction deciding that an illegitimate son is more convenient than the acknowledged heir has been enough to plunge noble houses into civil war before."
Mariya scoffed.
"That may be true," she said, "but those people would be disappointed. Ilya has never once shown the slightest interest in politics or inheritance."
A faint smile returned to her lips.
"If anything, he keeps as much distance from the Northern succession as he possibly can."
"That’s reassuring," the Marquis said. "What about your husband? Are the two of you still not on speaking terms?"
Mariya lowered her eyes to the tea in her cup.
"...Does it matter? Whether we speak or remain silent, nothing really changes. Valentin has always been the sort of man who says only what needs to be said, and I stopped expecting anything more from him a long time ago."
Silence fell over the table.
The Marquis and his wife exchanged a brief glance before her mother spoke again, this time far more cautiously.
"...Marie."
She reached across the table and gently placed a hand over her daughter’s.
"Does he still... treat you the same way?"
Mariya’s expression remained composed.
"...He still hits me from time to time," she answered so simply as though discussing nothing more significant than the weather. "I’ve simply grown accustomed to enduring it. Compared to the burdens he carries in the North, I suppose this is hardly worth making a fuss over."
Her mother’s fingers tightened over hers.
A flash of pain crossed her face, while the Marquis slowly closed his eyes before letting out a weary sigh.
Neither of them spoke in anger, for what anger could they afford to direct toward the Northern Grand Duke?
He was one of the Empire’s most powerful rulers, once the dignified Sword of the Empire, a celebrated champion, and one of the Emperor’s closest friends. Whatever resentment they harbored would remain nothing more than resentment.
"...You’ve endured enough."
Mariya only offered a small smile.
"You’re our daughter before you’re the Grand Duchess of the North."
Mariya merely smiled.
"Perhaps." She gently withdrew her hand before lifting her teacup once more. "But this marriage was my choice as much as it was anyone else’s. Though... it saddens me to see the man I once loved become someone so unlike the person he used to be."
She paused there.
A faint smile slowly returned to her lips, and with it, a warmth that had been entirely absent from the rest of the conversation.
Whatever thought had crossed her mind, she chose to keep quiet, yet it was enough to make the exhaustion in her eyes gradually disappear, replaced by a certain tenderness she reserved for no one else.
"...Well."
She let out a small, inaudible laugh.
"Not everything that came from this marriage was something to regret."
No sooner had the words left her lips than a knock echoed from beyond the drawing room.
A servant stepped inside before respectfully lowering his head.
"My Lord, My Lady, Lady Marie. Young Lord Ilya has arrived."
Mariya’s expression brightened immediately.
"Please, show him in."
"At once, My Lady."
The servant stepped aside as Ilya entered the room, closing the door behind him before offering a respectful bow toward the three nobles gathered inside.
His gaze naturally settled upon Mariya, who had already risen from her seat and headed toward him.
"Ilya."
She extended a hand toward him with a warm smile.
Without a word, Ilya stepped forward and gently took her hand, lowering his head just enough to place a respectful kiss upon the back of it before releasing it once more.
"I’m here, Mother."
Mariya’s smile deepened ever so slightly as her free hand rose to smooth a few loose strands of his hair back into place.
Only after satisfying herself that everything about him was in order did she finally look up again, seemingly remembering that the two elderly nobles were still present.
"Come."
Mariya gently beckoned him closer before gesturing toward the empty chair beside her.
"Sit with us. The chef has prepared a proper luncheon today, and I would hate to see all that beautiful food go to waste. There’s potage Saint-Germain, coq au vin, duck confit, and a fresh brioche that arrived from the bakery only this morning. I’m sure you’ll find something to your liking."
Ilya gave a small nod before taking the seat beside her.
"Thank you, Mother."
Mariya’s smile softened once again as she reached for the serving utensils before anyone else had the chance, already preparing to fill Ilya’s plate herself as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"...."
"...."
The sight drew a knowing glance from her parents, who merely exchanged smiles before allowing the familiar routine to continue uninterrupted.
Neither of them chose to comment on Mariya’s behavior, for it had long since become familiar to them.
The Marquis was the first to speak.
"It has been some time, Young Lord Ilya."
The Marchioness inclined her head gracefully.
"We are relieved to see you returned safely." A courteous smile graced her lips. "The events at the Academy have weighed heavily upon many households. It is fortunate that fate chose to spare you..."
Ilya respectfully lowered his head toward the elderly couple.
"My Lord. My Lady. Thank you for your concern. I have recovered well enough and apologize if my circumstances caused any needless worry."
The Marquis gave a slow nod in acknowledgment.
"There is no need to apologize. Surviving such an ordeal is reason enough to be grateful. The rest can be spoken of another day."
Only then did Mariya gently place a hand upon Ilya’s shoulder.
"Enough of such gloomy matters," she said with a warm smile. "He’s only just arrived. Let him eat first before you begin questioning him."
"...Yes."
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