So I Was the Persecuted Grand Duchess Destined to Die? Chapter 23

Chapter 23

— — —

Who was that man?
And that power… what even was it?

Xavier replayed the moment those bright yellow eyes narrowed into vertical slits.

It had been grotesque—yet strangely, he hadn’t felt fear.

Not fear.

Something closer to being overwhelmed.

A sensation so absolute it felt natural to entrust everything to him.
Something disturbingly close to submission.

And that was precisely why it was dangerous.

Because it didn’t feel dangerous.

Xavier was a wary man.

His entire life had been shaped by suspicion—by reading others carefully, by never letting his guard down.

Renée Blanche claimed she had nothing to do with that man… yet her reaction at the festival had been unmistakable. She’d frozen. Hesitated.

Still—like Katarina Hugo insisted—it hadn’t looked like a relationship bound by affection.

Nothing about it made sense.

Xavier retraced the memory again.

That day at the festival—he truly had been bewitched.

He met that bizarre man, was swept along by the atmosphere, pretended to be part of a happily married couple…

And then—absurdly—he actually released lanterns with her.

As if they were.

Even after returning to the Grand Ducal Castle, Xavier had remained dazed for a long while.

Almost… intoxicated.

He couldn’t identify the cause.

But that night—

He slept.

Deeply.

[Hah… This should keep you comfortable for a while. Temporary, though.]

For someone like Xavier—who could count “good sleep” on one hand—that alone was shocking.

And for several days after the festival…

everything was unnervingly peaceful.

So peaceful he’d almost dared to think—

Is it finally over?
Is this damned frenzy finally gone?

Then—

“Where… am I?”

Of course.

The dream shattered violently.

The next morning, after believing he’d slept soundly, Xavier opened his eyes in dense underbrush.

His bare feet were torn and scratched raw. Branches had cut his skin as if he’d wandered for hours—aimlessly, without awareness.

[I’ll come for you soon. Hold on until then.]

A man who offered hope—only to tear it away entirely.

Xavier had one guess as to his identity.

But he wasn’t certain.

Not yet.

That man had vanished after spouting nonsense.

He’d claimed he would return…

But as the frenzy surged back—worse, like backlash—Xavier grew desperate.

And the one person tied to all of this—

Renée Blanche.

Again, it was her.

Xavier went to find her immediately.

But the answer he received stopped him cold.

“Your Grace, my apologies. The Duchess is suffering from a severe cold. Her fever is quite high.”

The maid blocked him outside the cottage, forcing him to turn back.

Xavier remembered Renée by the river that night—shivering, trembling violently.

Even after he’d draped his cloak over her shoulders, she’d still fallen ill.

The cloak had dragged along the ground because of their height difference, becoming filthy…

Is she… really that fragile?

And then he remembered what he’d seen from the last room of the West Tower.

Renée bouncing awkwardly every morning, insisting she was “training her stamina.”

Was that why?

Seeing her living conditions with his own eyes—

something about it felt wrong.

The cottage was small. Old. Worn down.

And yet she lived there smiling, as if it was enough.

“….”

It looked foolish.

And he hated that stubborn indifference.

And yet—

a thought crept in against his will.

Should I offer her a room in the main residence?

Was it guilt?

Pity?

It was ridiculous.

To pity a woman of House Blanche.

And besides—if he offered it—

Renée would undoubtedly say:

No thanks. Why would I?

Without hesitation.

After actually dealing with her, Xavier had a vague understanding of what kind of person she was.

But that didn’t mean he could overturn his evaluation of her so easily.

His chest felt heavy, as if he were walking through thick fog—unable to see even one step ahead.

Then—

Knock, knock.

“Your Grace, it’s Karl.”

“Come in.”

Karl entered with perfect composure.

“There is word that the Duchess is currently in the main library. She seems to believe she came without anyone noticing… so I’ve instructed the staff to stay away and pretend ignorance.”

“…….”

Xavier listened in silence.

Then he set his pen down and stood.

The documents before him were smeared with ink—proof of how unfocused he’d been.

“Shall I bring tea?” Karl asked smoothly.

Already anticipating an impromptu meeting.

But Xavier shook his head.

“No. Instead—until I leave, ensure not even an ant wanders near the library.”

His boots echoed through the corridor as he walked.

His mind held only one woman.

Why am I even going there?

The thought felt like self-reproach—

yet by the time he noticed, he was already standing before the library doors.

Xavier grasped the bronze handle and turned it.

They’d oiled it.

After the grand cleaning, the doors opened without a sound.

And then—

he saw her.

“…….”

A tomb of old books, where even time seemed frozen.

And in the center—

Renée Blanche.

She was so absorbed she didn’t notice him at all.

Pages turned softly—flip, flip.

Sunlight filtered through stained glass, scattering color across her face.

The light drifted slowly—so slowly—down her silver hair.

It looked like moonlight spun into threads, cascading down her back.

She was hunched forward; annoyed, she brushed the strands behind her ear.

And her face was revealed fully.

“……!”

The report was true.

She had been sick.

She looked thinner than before.

Yet her beauty remained untouched.

Long lashes.

And behind them—those vivid red eyes, radiant enough to seize anyone’s attention.

In Rembrandt aristocratic society, there was an old superstition:

A bastard child with red eyes brings misfortune to the family.

Looking into Renée Blanche’s eyes, anyone could understand what “misfortune” meant.

She enchanted people.

Like a flawless ruby.

Like a freshly bloomed rose.

Once caught by those eyes, escaping wasn’t easy.

Was that why House Blanche had hidden her so tightly?

Even so—

nothing justified how they’d treated her.

Renée was far too small. Far too thin.

Her pale skin looked like marble—smooth and cold.

But Xavier had felt her warmth before.

That night.

The small hand he’d grabbed without thinking.

Barely half the size of his.

That same hand now turned pages restlessly.

Remembering that warmth, Xavier flinched.

Then—

Renée lifted her head.

Their eyes met.

“Ah.”

A small sound escaped her lips.

Xavier remained silent.

And thought—

What… are you?

What kind of existence—

to shake me like this?

…What is this?

My cheek felt oddly itchy, so I looked up—

and froze.

The Grand Duke.

Standing at the door like a wall carved from stone.

And I swear our eyes just met.

Please tell me I imagined that. Please.

I squinted and tried to refocus.

Nope.

That face. That build.

There was only one person in this entire castle.

Ugh. He’s going to scold me again for using the library without permission.

From experience, for a man with such a broad chest, he had the pettiest personality imaginable.

If something didn’t suit him, he’d pick at it endlessly.

So avoiding him was always best.

You don’t avoid poop because it’s scary—you avoid it because it’s dirty.

I cursed internally and jumped to my feet.

I needed to strike first—before he did.

“I—I’m sorry! I heard nobody uses this place, but I should’ve asked. I’m sorry for using it without permission. I’ll leave right now.”

My heart was pounding so hard I had to press it down—

when the Grand Duke stopped me with a single, unexpected line.