The following day, envoys from the Royal Court arrived to bestow honors. Isolde was granted an estate of 500 households, along with five thousand thalers of gold. As per the edict, this amount was split evenly with the Marshal of Brackenfell—2,500 each.

The gold arrived that very day, its radiant glow dazzling to behold. Matilda’s envy burned as she stared, her hunger for it twisting her insides like a knot she couldn’t untangle.

After receiving such an honor, tradition required a visit to the Royal Court to offer formal thanks. The royal edict clearly stated both must appear. That evening, the Duke of Blackmoor summoned Isolde. “Prepare yourself,” he instructed her curtly. “We leave for the palace at dawn.”

Since being granted the hereditary title of Grand Duke, the Blackmoor estate had become a hub of activity. Visitors arrived in a steady stream, day and night. With the title secure, the Duke also began introducing his son, Harley, to noble society, ensuring the boy understood the responsibilities that lay ahead.

Later that night, after meeting with Marshal Brackenfell, the Duke sent Harlan to deliver a message to the Pearl Tower. Upon returning, Harlan reported with a faint frown, “Lady Isolde has no suitable clothes for the court. Even if we were to procure something now, there isn’t enough time.”

The Duke’s expression darkened. “No proper clothes? She’s been back for two years, and she receives new gowns every season—over a dozen of them! Are those not good enough? Does she expect to be cloaked in gold and jewels to appear before others? It’s disgraceful!”

He had reviewed the estate’s accounts himself. Matilda had requested three hundred thalers per quarter for Isolde’s wardrobe—more than his own expenses. When questioned, Matilda had argued that Isolde’s attire needed to reflect her status as the Duke’s daughter, especially now that she was of marriageable age. Though the Duke had thought it excessive, he let it pass. But now—no suitable clothes? It is utterly absurd.

Harlan added quietly, “Lady Isolde says appearing at court in such attire would dishonor you. She’s asked that you offer thanks on her behalf.”

The Duke’s face grew thunderous. “The royal edict specifically commands her presence. If she refuses to go, she dishonors the king himself.”

After a tense silence, his voice turned cold. “Very well. I’ll personally see to it that she has something suitable to wear.”

Without another word, he strode to Pearl Tower, Harlan trailing behind. Upon entering Isolde’s chambers, the Duke said nothing as he flung open her wardrobe. What he expected was a collection of lavish gowns. Instead, he froze. The large wardrobe held only a few nearly folded, plain dresses and some old quilts. In one compartment sat a couple of garish red and green garments—clothing so gaudy they reminded him of a stage…

He turned sharply, eyes narrowing. “Where are your clothes?”

Isolde’s voice was calm, yet edged with frost. “You’ve seen for yourself, Father.”

“You spend a few hundred every season on clothes,” he barked. “This is it? Where are the rest? Where have you hidden them?”

A faint, sardonic smile curved her lips. “Where, indeed?”

“Don’t you dare speak to me in that tone,” he snapped, his anger flaring anew. “I am still your father.”

Isolde curtsied, her voice level. “Yes, Father.”

The Duke’s fury faltered as he took in her expression—equal parts mockery and resignation. A wave of guilt struck him. He’d been deceived. And worse, he had let it happen. It meant he was a fool, a man of his position, outwitted by his own wife.

“Harlan,” he commanded, his voice harsh, “fetch two gowns from her sister’s wardrobe. Tomorrow, we’ll see the shopkeeper to have proper dresses made for her.”

Harlan inclined his head but made no move to leave. “Is there nothing you wish to say to Lady Isolde before I go, my lord?”

The Duke’s face stiffened, and he turned sharply. “No. Let’s go.” He stormed out of the room, fury trailing in his wake.

Once the Duke had left, Harlan turned back to Isolde with a quiet sigh. “My lady, the Duke feels guilty. He just doesn’t know how to say it. Don’t take it to heart.”

Isolde’s voice softened. “Harlan, a child does not truly resent their parents.”

Harlan nodded, his gaze kind. “You’re a good girl. I know.” With that, he departed, leaving the room in silence.

Catching up with the Duke, Harlan murmured thoughtfully, “Her spirit is just like her mother’s.”

The Duke of Blackmoor did not turn back, his voice cold and curt. “How is that the same?”

The Duke hesitated mid-step as Harlan spoke. “Do you not remember how Madam defied the Great Marshal when he forbade her marriage to you?”

The Duke stopped in his tracks. “You mean Prunella?”

“Who else could I mean, my lord?” Harlan replied calmly.

The Duke’s gaze fixed on him. “You’ve never cared for Matilda.”

Harlan’s expression flickered with something unreadable. “At the time, the Great Marshal called you nothing more than the son of a concubine, stubborn and blunt—unfit for greatness. He arranged a marriage for Madam, to the man who is now Marquis of Valianmere. But Madam told him that if he liked the Marquis so much, he could be tied up in the sedan and sent to marry him himself.”

A faint smile crossed the Duke’s lips. “Yes, she said that. That’s why my father-in-law has despised me ever since. On the third day of our marriage, he had me so drunk I woke up in the stables.”

“That’s why I said Lady Isolde takes after her,” Harlan continued softly, his eyes glimmering. “She carries on Madam’s spirit.”

The Duke’s smile slowly faded. Silence fell between them before he finally murmured, “But what lingers most in my heart is Prunella dying to bring her into this world.”

“My lady bore it willingly, my lord.”

Lord Garraway had once told him the same, but coming from Harlan—who had witnessed everything—it struck him far harder.

Without another word, the Duke turned and strode back to The Velvet Wing. The Velvet Wing had never belonged to the Blackwell family. It had always been his domain. With no other concubines, Matilda had shared it with him.

She had yet to retire when he returned. Seeing him, she set out the supper she had prepared.

“I’m not hungry. Take it away,” the Duke snapped, his irritation flaring. He didn’t want to confront her about Isolde’s garments yet, lest it ruin his mood for tomorrow’s court audience.

Matilda, knowing he had come from the Pearl Tower, assumed Isolde had provoked him. She offered a few soothing words before cautiously probing. “The palace’s reward arrived today—2,500 taels of gold. Do you wish it placed in the storeroom or sent to the guild for safekeeping, my lord?”

The Duke’s head jerked up. “What are you suggesting?”

Matilda smiled faintly. “Isolde isn’t married yet. Naturally, the household should manage the reward. When she marries, we’ll use it for her dowry. Isn’t that only right?”

The Duke’s anger surged. “You mean to take her gold for yourself?”

Matilda’s eyes widened. “Take it? How is it taking? She’s still unmarried; her wealth belongs to the household. The estate feeds and clothes her. Surely her money is the estate’s money?”