Royal Capital, Duke Kerrac's Manor.
"Miss, please eat something. You've been eating so little lately," The maid pleaded, looking at Catherine, who was leaning listlessly against the headboard of her bed.
"Take it away. I have no appetite," Catherine said coldly, waving her hand dismissively. Her gaze was fixed on the lute hanging on the wall, her thoughts drifting to a distant place.
"Miss, if you keep this up, you'll collapse from hunger again," The maid sobbed, her eyes welling with tears. "If that happens, the Master will be furious."
"Hmph! Let him be furious," Catherine muttered, her face pale, a bitter smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. "To him, I am nothing but a commodity. As long as I don't break, he doesn't care about anything else."
The maid froze, too terrified to respond. Speaking such truths about the Duke was a death sentence if the wrong ears heard it.
"Leave us."
A deep, authoritative voice boomed from behind the maid, making her jump. She turned quickly to see a man in his sixties, standing about 1.9 meters tall with a thick, grizzled white beard and a face etched with stern majesty.
"Master," The maid murmured, bowing low before scurrying out of the room.
This was Duke Kerrac, one of the three Great Dukes of the Siacan Kingdom and Catherine's father.
"Catherine, you're neglecting your meals again," Kerrac said, sitting in a chair and casting a cold glance at the untouched dinner on the table.
"I have no appetite," Catherine replied, her eyes flashing a look of cold indifference toward her father. "If you're here to say what you always say, Father, don't bother. I will not agree."
"Catherine, you are being insolent!" A young man, roughly twenty-three years old, stepped out from the shadows. This was Tove, Kerrac's eldest son—the same man who had once shot down Catherine's messenger pigeons.
"And what does that have to do with you?" Catherine snapped, refusing to even look at him.
"You—!" Tove's face reddened with rage. As the future Duke, he couldn't stand being disrespected so blatantly by his sister.
"That's enough. Tove, leave us," Kerrac commanded. Tove shut his mouth, though his eyes burned with resentment, and he stormed out of the room.
Catherine's lips curled into a faint smile. These last few months had taught her exactly what Dahlia had meant when she spoke about the fate of noble daughters.
"Catherine, you must understand," Kerrac began in a softer, more persuasive tone. "Marrying Prince Lucia is the best possible choice for you. It is of immense benefit to our family."
Catherine remained silent. She had heard variations of this speech every few days for months.
"Lucia's ascension to the throne is now inevitable. The Second and Fourth Princes have fled to their fiefs. No one is left to challenge him. If you marry him, you will be Queen," Kerrac said, his voice rising with excitement. The family's position would be unshakable; his future generation of their bloodline would even sit on the throne itself.
Catherine's heart sank. A flash of sorrow crossed her eyes. She truly was just a piece of cargo. All the love shown to her growing up had been a facade—merely the careful cultivation of a high-value asset so she could be sold for the highest possible price.
Kerrac's brow furrowed as he watched her expressionless face. His tone turned sharp. "I am asking you a question!"
"I want to rest." Catherine pulled the quilt over her head, cutting him off.
"Hmph! Your tantrums won't save you this time. You will marry him whether you want to or not!" Kerrac snorted, standing up and sweeping out of the room. He hadn't publicly supported the First Prince initially, and Catherine was his way of making amends and securing the family's future. Why else would he have spent so much gold on expensive lutes and wasteful artistic education?
Catherine wept silently under the covers. She had lost track of how many tears she had shed during her months of imprisonment. She was forced daily by old matrons to study court etiquette and the behavioral standards of a "Mother of the Nation." If it weren't for a tiny, flickering flame of hope in her heart, she might have given up long ago.
Scritch... scratch...
A faint sound of sand being scraped against stone made her skin crawl. Catherine shivered and pulled back the quilt. In the dim corner of the room, a silhouette stood perfectly still. Catherine's eyes widened, and she was about to scream when the figure stepped into the light.
When she saw that familiar face, the dam broke.
"Mmph..." Catherine bit her lip, her hands flying to her mouth to stifle her sobs so the maids outside wouldn't burst in.
"This is a letter for you from Lucy," Jones said, her eyes softening with a rare trace of pity. She moved soundlessly to the bedside and handed over the letter. With her other hand, she held out a small, ornate box. "And this... is from Lucas."
Snatch!
Catherine lunged forward, grabbing the small box first before taking the letter. Jones's eye twitched at the speed of the girl's reaction.
"I will return tomorrow," Jones whispered. Her body seemed to dissolve back into the shadows as she exited the Duke's manor as stealthily as she had entered.
Catherine stared at the corner of the room, her pale cheeks flushing with a hint of color. She looked down at the box and the letter, and for the first time in months, she felt the strength to keep living.
Thump, thump, thump...
Footsteps approached. Catherine frantically shoved the letter and the box under her quilt. The door opened, and a maid entered with a fresh bowl of rice porridge.
"Miss, please, just a little bit of food..." The maid began her habitual plea, but she stopped halfway, staring at her mistress in shock.
"Bring it here," Catherine said calmly.
"Y-yes! Right away!" The maid's face lit up with joy as she hurried forward with the bowl.
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