Far away from the main town.
A group of guards emerged from the dense foliage at the edge of the river with their armor gleaming in the sunlight as they led a body out, covered by burns and bites caused by the sea creatures.
The mass crowd that had gathered grew silent, watching intently as the guards brought the pale body closer. Instantly, the body was clad with a white fabric.
The leader of the group, Lord Nehemiah, the previous Count of the town, barked out orders, and the guards corralled the lifeless body to a spot several feet away from the river's edge.
The guards stood in a semicircle around the body, their expressions a mixture of sternness, pity, and disinterest. The sounds of the river flowed gently behind them as if mocking the body's predicament. As they waited, a few curious onlookers started advancing towards the scene, drawn by the intriguing sight of the disfigured facial countenance of the body.
The guards stood their ground, their eyes fixed on the body, their weapons raised and ready. The air was tense with anticipation, and the crowd held their breaths, waiting for what would happen next.
"Is she truly the lady of Villan?" one of the female commoners turned to her friend hoping for some confirmation or reassurance.
"Karma eventually got to her!" replied the other lady distastefully.
As Lord Nehemiah approached the body, he drew his sword and warned the peasants to keep their distance. An unbearable stench emanated from the corpse, indicating that it had been in the river for quite some time. The sight was gruesome, and it made clear that the body was that of Lady Coretta, who had been kidnapped from the judgment house only a few days before.
The riverbank was crowded with onlookers, and many peasants who had been searching for the Lady rushed over to see if she had been found. Lord Nehemiah ordered them to stay back, trying to hold back tears at the sight of his niece's lifeless body.
The news of Lady Coretta's death sent shockwaves through the small fishing village. For the few fishermen who had met her, the loss was especially painful. They remembered her as an angel in disguise, who visited their village and brought kindness and compassion to their daily lives.
They exchanged fearful glances and whispered prayers for the Lady's soul. They knew firsthand how much she had meant to her people, long before she became the Duchess of Oldenburg. They had seen her tend to the sick and poor, offering a helping hand whenever she could. Her beauty was only surpassed by her generosity and selflessness.
But now, all they could see was her lifeless body, stripped of all dignity and grace. The fishermen had never known fear before, but the sight of Lady Coretta's remains sent chills down their spines. They knew that they would never forget this day or the kindness that she had shown to them. And they prayed that her killer would be brought to justice so that her memory could be honored, and her soul could finally rest in peace.
As the news of Lady Coretta's death spread, emotions ran high in the crowd that had gathered along the riverbank. A trader, his face twisted with anger, stepped forward and shouted that she deserved it - that her life had been exchanged for another which was the innocent baby she murdered.
The hurt and despair that these words caused were palpable, and several people gasped in shock. But none were more outraged than a young farmer who had grown up under Lady Coretta's care.
Through tears of anger and disbelief, he shouted back at the trader, reminding him of the Duchess's unending kindness. "Do you forget that it is because of her that you have a roof over your head?" he demanded. "That we all have a roof over our heads?"
His mind went back to when his parents had died and left him an orphan. He thought he had lost everything, but Lady Coretta had come to his aid. She had shown him kindness and saved him from total ruin. The thought of her selfless acts being belittled by a stranger was almost too much to bear.
"So what? Does that justify the death of the duke's heir? Have you all lost your senses, or pretending to be dumb? She was only trying to play with our emotions. Do you think she cares for anyone here? Whoever threw her into the river isn't a murderer, we should be grateful to that person!!" He snapped.
The tense silence that hung over the crowd was shattered as a fight broke out between the angry trader and the young farmer who had defended Lady Coretta's honor.
Punches were thrown, and voices rose in a cacophony of curses and threats. Several onlookers and even the guards tried to break up the altercation, but it only seemed to fuel the trader's rage. He seemed intent on causing as much pain and chaos as possible, the embodiment of everything that Lady Coretta had fought against during her reign.
The young farmer was pushed to the ground, blood streaming from a cut on his forehead. The trader moved in for the final blow, but then something unexpected happened - a group of fishermen stepped in to stop him.
These were the same fishermen who had known Lady Coretta and had felt her kindness. They had been a mute audience until now, but they could not stand by and watch her memory be tarnished any further. They pulled the stranger away from the young farmer and shamed him for his words and deeds.
The trader, cowed by his anger, fled from the scene, muttering curses and threats under his breath. The fishermen turned their attention to the young farmer, helping him to his feet and tending to his wounds.
As the fight broke out, Lord Nehemiah watched from a distance, his eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of those who had known his late niece, Lady Coretta. He stood there, dormant and unmoving, waiting for the others to settle the altercation.
Amidst the chaos, he was heartened to see a group of fishermen step forward to stop the fight and defend Lady Coretta's memory. This small act of kindness moved him deeply, and he could feel tears streaming down his face.
"It seems she hasn't lost her touch," he whispered to himself, secretly hiding his tears from the gathered crowd. For a moment, he felt comforted knowing that there were still those who remembered his niece's kindness and were willing to defend it, even in a moment of violence and chaos.
Despite his sorrow and heartache, Lord Nehemiah felt a sense of pride as he watched the fishermen restore order. He knew that Lady Coretta would have been proud too, to see her people coming together to defend the values that had been so important to her.
With a heavy heart, Lord Nehemiah turned and walked away, his thoughts on the niece he had loved so deeply and lost so tragically. But at that moment, he knew that her spirit would live on through those she had touched and that her kindness had not been forgotten.
---
Two long weeks passed before the officials announced the news of Lady Coretta's passing to the neighboring kingdoms. Her name was soon erased from the records of history, and it was as if she had never existed.
The day after her corpse was approved, Lady Coretta's burial was conducted in haste, with only a handful of mourners in attendance. Among them was her father, Count Philip, and his wife. Her devoted nanny, Miss Rosetta, who was heartbroken by the loss of her charge, also attended but tragically passed away a week later from a broken heart. Duchess Lucille and a few workers who had been loyal to Lady Coretta until the end.
However, conspicuous in his absence was the Duke, Lady Coretta's estranged ex-husband. He had sent his new official advisor, Tyrion Rowand, to represent him at the burial. The duke's coldness and lack of presence added insult to injury for those who had been close to Lady Coretta and knew how much she had suffered and sacrificed for affection.
As the mourners gathered around Lady Coretta's grave, the absence of the duke and the indifference of the officials only added to the sense of sadness and isolation that engulfed the small gathering. They had lost someone who had meant so much to them, and it seemed like no one else in the world cared. But they knew that Lady Coretta's memory would live on through their love and devotion and that her legacy, though unrecognized by the world, would never be forgotten in their hearts.
Meanwhile, as the mourners gathered at the cemetery to bid farewell to Lady Coretta, a young woman with her face hidden under a red cloak appeared at the entrance. Curious, she ventured inside, but before she could take another step, her wrist was seized by a pair of hands.
"Henrietta! What are you doing here? Are you insane? Do you know what would happen?" It was the royal advisor, Tyrion Rowand. He looked at the woman with annoyance.
"I just wanted to..." Henrietta began, her gray eyes piercing through the hooded cloak, but was quickly interrupted.
"You shouldn't be here. What if the duke...?" Before Tyrion could finish his sentence, they heard a voice, and their eyes darted towards the entrance of the cemetery.
"Mr. Rowand, is anything the matter?" It was none other than the duke himself, Mr. Loughty. His face was haggard, and he looked like he hadn't slept in days. Tyrion quickly covered Henrietta with the cloak and bowed deeply, apologizing for the disturbance.
For a moment, Duke Ansel's eyes dilated in surprise when he heard the voice of the woman, but he beat himself for thinking about such ridiculous thoughts.
Ansel didn't pay much attention to the two and walked past them to join the ceremonies. Henrietta looked after him with a hint of sadness but quickly turned back to Tyrion.
"Who was that?" she asked curiously, peeking out again from inside the hood.
"Nobody that matters to you," Tyrion replied, frowning and trying to change the subject.
Henrietta wasn't deterred. "Whose burial was that? A royal member? It must have been someone important. Tell me, Tyrion."
Tyrion sighed, exasperated with his sister's curiosity. He hissed. "Goodness! Can't you stay put for a minute?" and scolded.
"Whatever," Henrietta cried out, her voice laced with frustration at her brother's attitude. She turned to leave but stopped abruptly, feeling a sudden surge of emotions that she couldn't explain.
Tears cascaded down her cheeks, leaving wet trails on the front of her cloak. She stood there, sobbing softly as the weight of her emotions overcame her.
---
NOTE: THIS IS A SLOW-BURN ROMANCE, SO PLEASE BE PATIENT WITH THE CHARACTERS.
YOU MUST BE WANDERING ABOUT KUSHIM. HIS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT HASN'T FULLY GROWN. HE IS STILL EIGHTEEN YEARS OF AGE AND UIMMATURE. IN THE UPCOMING CHAPTERS, HE IS GOING TO BE A REAL MAN.
LET'S GO.