After He Killed My Kin, I Rejected Him

The duchess's private courtyard lay tucked away in the depths of the ancient castle. The dinner spread out on the silver-gilt platters, had gone stone-cold long ago, not a single wisp of warmth left clinging to the food. Solenne turned her head to Jasmine Bell, her personal maid standing by her side, and spoke in a voice so soft it was barely more than a breath, "Do you think... he'll come tonight?" Jasmine's face twisted with conflict. She hesitated for a long while, but in the end, all she could offer was a gentle, reassuring murmur, "Wait a little longer, my lady. The Duke will definitely come." Solenne's lashes fluttered down, and she said nothing more. The terms of their noble marriage contract were explicit: every fifteenth day of the month, Duke Brando was required to dine with her, his official wife. But ever since he'd brought Olivia, the soft-tempered commoner girl, into the castle half a year prior, he hadn't set foot in this courtyard once in two whole months. Her chest tightened with a mess of roiling emotions, and a dry, tickling itch crawled up her throat. She couldn't stifle a low, ragged cough, her thin shoulders shaking faintly. Then, the steady clack of boot heels sliced clean through the courtyard's dead silence. Solenne lifted her eyes. Brando was striding into the room, clad in a dark embroidered velvet formal coat, his posture tall and straight. The icy, arrogant aura of a highborn noble rolled off him in waves. She shot to her feet at once, curtsying deeply with perfect, respectful poise. "Your Grace." Brando stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze landing on her pale, haggard face. His brows furrowed faintly. "Are you sick?" The unexpected question made her heart skip a hard beat, and a silly, fleeting flicker of hope flared to life in her chest. But the next second, his ice-cold tone shattered that tiny fantasy to smithereens. "Olivia has a weak constitution; she can't handle any risk of illness. If you've caught something, stay far away from her. If you so much as make her unwell, I won't let you off easy." A thick, bitter wave washed over her entire body, weighing down on her lungs so hard she could barely breathe. She slowly closed her eyes, forcing back the stinging burn building behind her lids, and curtsied again. Her voice was completely flat, not a single tremor to be heard. "Your Grace, the royal physician examined me a few days ago. I have an incurable illness. I don't have long left to live." Brando's brows shot up. There wasn't a single trace of concern in his eyes, only unvarnished skepticism and icy indifference. Solenne kept her gaze fixed on the floor, her long lashes hiding the raw, humiliated glint in her eyes. Her voice came out rough and hoarse. "My grandfather stepped down from all official positions long ago and retired to our family's private estate. I only ask that, for the sake of the years we've known each other, you stop targeting my brother-in-law." She mustered every last ounce of strength to cling to her final shred of noble dignity, speaking of her desperate situation in a steady, even tone as she begged him humbly to spare the only family she had left. A sharp, cold huff of a scoff was the only answer she got. "You think spinning some lie about being on death's door will make me go easy on the Rivington family?" Solenne jolted violently, her entire body going ice-cold from head to toe in an instant. She lifted her head and stared straight at him, seeing every bit of the unmasked cruelty and loathing twisted across Brando's face with perfect clarity. "Get this through your head. If your grandfather hadn't thrown his noble weight around to force Olivia out of the city back then, I never would have married you. Everything you're suffering now is just the punishment the Rivington family deserves." All the grief and resentment she'd bottled up for years burst free at once, scalding tears surging wildly behind her lids. She and Brando had been betrothed since childhood, growing up side by side with a bond far deeper than most. But four years earlier, for the sake of the ordinary-born Olivia, he'd publicly petitioned the late king to break their engagement, caring nothing for her dignity or reputation. As the noble daughter of the House Rivington, a family with generations of meritorious service to the crown, she'd become the biggest laughingstock in the entire capital's aristocratic circle. Furious, the aged Lord Rivington had stepped in personally, forcing Olivia to leave the capital before petitioning the royal court to make Brando honor the betrothal and marry Solenne. No one had expected the late king to pass away suddenly the year after their wedding. Once Brando seized power, he'd launched an endless campaign of revenge, tightening the noose bit by bit to crush the already declining House Rivington. Watching Solenne bite back tears and put on a stubborn front only stoked the disgust burning in Brando's chest. "You carry the Dacre family name now. You are the Duchess of the Dacre household. Don't let me catch you running around begging favors for the Rivington family ever again. That pathetic look of yours makes me sick." With that, he didn't spare her a single second glance, turning on his heel and walking out without a single moment of hesitation. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped directly over her head. Every scrap of warmth drained from her body, bone-deep cold seeping into every last fiber of her being. The entire courtyard fell deathly silent. Even the evening wind seemed to hold its breath. A draft gusted through the room, and Solenne clamped a hand over her chest, doubling over in a violent fit of coughing. "My lady!" Jasmine rushed over to help her, but froze dead in her tracks the second she saw what was happening, her face draining of all color. The velvet handkerchief Solenne held to her mouth was splotched with streaks of bright, glaring crimson, the vivid stains stark and terrifying against the dark fabric. ***** Half a month later, the capital's annual Founder's Day festival kicked off as scheduled. Solenne returned to the long-absent Rivington family estate. This high-ranking noble manor, once bustling with guests and renowned across the kingdom, now stood desolate and quiet, a pale shadow of its former glory. Staring at the faded, chipped family crest, Solenne felt a sharp sting at the tip of her nose. Just then, a soft female voice drifted from behind her. "Solenne, why are you standing by the door? Come on in." "Sis." Solenne spun around at once, quickly hiding the grief and raw vulnerability in her eyes. Her parents had died when she was little, and her older sister, Marcella Rivington, had raised her all on her own. The two sisters had only ever had each other, and their bond ran far deeper than that of most ordinary siblings. Marcella wrapped her hand around Solenne's chilly wrist and gently led her inside the manor, her voice soft with concern as she asked, "Why have you gotten so thin? Are things not going well for you at the duke's castle?" Solenne's throat tightened. She forced a casual, carefree smile and waved off the question like it was nothing. "It's just been so stuffy lately, I haven't had much of an appetite, that's all." Marcella squeezed her hand tighter, her eyes brimming with heartache and helplessness, but she didn't call her out on the lie. Lord Rivington was over the moon to see both his granddaughters home. It was a rare chance for the three generations to be together, and they shared a warm, cozy dinner. Mid-meal, Solenne happened to catch a glimpse of several dark bruises of varying shades peeking out from under her sister's slender wrist, and her stomach dropped. A heavy, twisting unease settled in her chest. Once their grandfather had gone to bed, she pulled Marcella aside quietly, her voice low and urgent as she asked, "Sis, did brother-in-law hit you?" Marcella went quiet for a long moment. A flicker of bone-deep exhaustion crossed her soft, gentle features before she spoke slowly, "Don't worry. I'm pregnant now. He won't run wild like he used to. I'm fine." Solenne froze, her eyes wide with disbelief as they fixed on her sister's still-flat stomach, a hot, frantic worry flooding her veins. Marcella flipped her hand over to hold Solenne's tighter, her tone soft but unshakable. "Solenne, the only thing I want now is to stay here and make sure grandfather lives out his golden years in peace. If you ever get hurt at the castle and can't take it anymore, you come home anytime. I'll move heaven and earth to keep you safe, no matter what." "Sis..." Those gentle words shattered every last bit of Solenne's fake composure. Her eyes burned bright red, and she leaned her head lightly on her sister's shoulder just like she had when they were kids, clinging greedily to the only source of warmth she had left in the world. As evening fell, Solenne said goodbye to her family and headed back to the cold, lonely castle. When she passed the rose bushes in the castle's back garden, she stopped dead in her tracks. The scene playing out in front of her made her go rigid all over. Amid the sea of blooming roses, Brando stood tall and straight as he lifted a hand to tuck a pure white jasmine behind Olivia's ear, his movements achingly gentle. That soft, doting warmth was a privilege she had never gotten even a scrap of in four long years of marriage. Solenne stood rooted to the spot, dazed, for a long beat before she forced her feet to move toward the two of them. The second Brando noticed her approaching, the warm smile wiped clean off his face in an instant. A frosty glaze iced over his eyes, and his voice bit out, sharp enough to cut to the bone. "What do you want?" At that instant, it felt like her chest had been torn straight open. Icy wind howled through the raw, open gash in her heart, and the pain was so searing she could barely draw a breath. She stumbled back half a step, held his frigid stare steady, then slowly sank to her knees, pressing her forehead flat against the cold, unyielding marble underfoot. "I implore you, Your Grace, show mercy and spare my brother-in-law. I, Solenne Rivington - Dacre, will give you anything, do anything you demand." After a long, loaded silence, the man's cold, detached voice cut through the air, grinding every last scrap of her dignity into fine dust. "Is that right? Even if I make you give up your title and status entirely, to serve as Olivia's personal maid?"