I raised my eyelids and habitually brushed my left eye with my hand, but as always, I felt nothing. Stretching and rising from bed, my soft silk pajamas slid off my shoulders.
Looking in the mirror, I saw my disheveled white hair, gaunt cheeks, my pale right eye, and my lightless left eye.
The day had begun. The world outside the window was still shrouded in darkness, but the small clock by my bedside showed it was noon.
When I rang the small silver bell beside the bed, a knock soon followed.
“Your Grace, I’ve brought tea,” said the maid as she entered, her face as stiff as ever. Her tone was polite, but devoid of emotion. Even the way she placed the teacup on the table was unbearably mechanical.
Here, the title “Your Grace” wasn’t a term of respect for me; it was just an acknowledgment of my position.
I picked up the steaming cup. The faint aroma of tea leaves tickled my nose, but even that felt distant. Sipping it yielded no flavor.
Due to an experiment long ago, my sense of taste had been ruined and never recovered. Most flavors had faded from my life.
Yet, becoming a duke, I made my first—and perhaps only—personal demand: a warm cup of tea to start each day.
It’s said that a fish adjusts its size to fit its bowl. Raised in the gilded cage of the ducal mansion, my desires amounted to no more than enjoying tea whenever I pleased.
Wealth and power held no meaning. The hope of happiness had long since been extinguished.
Gazing outside, the lavishly decorated gardens and grand stone buildings were just meaningless backdrops to me.
The only warmth in my monotonous life came from rare visits by the wise man who would occasionally converse with me, the knight commander who worried about me like her own child, and Fiora, who called me her “little sibling” and smiled.
But today, none of them were around, and I sank deeper into solitude.
I set down the empty teacup with a heavy sigh. I already knew today would be no different from yesterday.
Although many people lived in this grand mansion, there wasn’t a single soul I could truly open my heart to.
“Your Grace, it’s time for the royal council meeting,” said the butler, approaching with his signature greasy smile.
He bowed deeply, as always, but the crooked grin on his thin lips was impossible to hide. I met his gaze coldly, fully aware that his loyalty stemmed from financial incentives.
He had driven out those who treated me poorly within the mansion and spread exaggerated rumors praising me.
Meaningless, though it was.
To me, the butler was nothing more than an overpaid servant, while he regarded me as a source of wealth.
Such a peculiar relationship was the most reliable bond in this mansion.
Perhaps it was only natural, as most people appeared vile to me. It seemed human nature to pursue only visible value.
In that sense, the butler, who served me as long as he was paid, was the easiest person to deal with.
Leaning on my white cane, I followed his guidance toward the mansion’s grand entrance, passing by expensive paintings adorning the hallway.
Though the space boasted grandeur and artistic sophistication, it felt cold and unfamiliar to me.
Neither the ornate decorations nor the grand black carriage waiting at the entrance held any significance.
My steps toward the carriage were still heavy.
Before boarding, I held up three fingers to the butler trailing behind me—a silent signal permitting him to embezzle up to 30% of the duchy’s income this month.
His face brightened instantly, his joy unmistakable, like a dog groveling for scraps.
“Thank you for your wise and generous decision, Your Grace!”
I didn’t need to hear the rest of his sycophantic praise. Quietly, I climbed into the carriage, closing the door with a heavy thud that severed me from the world.
Inside, I exhaled deeply, the rhythmic sound of wheels turning filling the air.
Though I had left the mansion, I knew the palace would be no different.
Hypocrisy, power, and the unending monotony they brought were the same, whether in the mansion or the palace.
As I walked the palace’s towering marble halls, the clinking of my cane echoed against the silence.
When I reached the council room, I steeled myself, knowing the cold gazes and doubts awaiting me beyond its doors were nothing new.
Opening the grand doors, I entered a room heavy with tension. At the long table sat the king, with his stern expression, the first prince, the second princess—Fiora—and others. My seat, predictably, was beside Fiora.
“You’re here, kid,” Fiora greeted, her playful tone and familiar warmth easing the tightness in my chest, if only slightly.
Her mischievous grin and lighthearted demeanor provided the sole comfort in this suffocating room. But even her brightness couldn’t fill the void in my heart.