The war with Xerenon was mentioned in the novel as a turning point for Asher.
"It was when he started being cold and lost most of his emotions." she recalled, "was… the reason his mission got botched because of… me?"
The war with Xerenon happens in the early chapters of the novel Golden Flower. As Xerenon was at the west border of Rothchester, Asher was the first one to face them.
When the conflict between the Duke's army and the enemy kingdom of Xerenon reaches its climax, tension runs high and the stakes grow ever higher. With the enemy closing in on a vulnerable town, the Duke's forces scramble to evacuate the inhabitants before it's too late.
But as the evacuation efforts are underway, a sudden and unexpected twist throws everything into chaos. An unknown artifact, hidden within the town, suddenly activates with a burst of dark energy, unleashing a wave of madness upon the unsuspecting villagers.
The once peaceful townsfolk are transformed into frenzied attackers, their eyes glazed over with dark, malevolent energy. They turn on the knights and soldiers who had come to rescue them, lashing out with a savage ferocity that belies their former selves.
It soon becomes clear that this is no ordinary outbreak of violence. Black magic, wielded by the dark mages of Xerenon, is at play here. The town had been prepared as part of a sinister ritual, unbeknownst to the Duke and his forces, and now they find themselves trapped in a deadly trap laid by their enemies.
With time running out and no hope of reversing the effects of the dark magic, the Duke is faced with a grim decision. He knows that if the madness spreads to his own knights, the consequences could be catastrophic. Their blessed armors, imbued with powerful enchantments, are not immune to the corrupting influence of the miasma.
Reluctantly, the Duke gives the order to slaughter the villagers, knowing that it is the only way to prevent the madness from spreading further. It is a heart-wrenching decision, but one that he makes with the lives of his men and the safety of the kingdom weighing heavily on his mind.
As the last of the villagers fell beneath the blade of Duke Rothchester, a somber silence descends upon the town. The air is thick with the stench of death and despair, a grim reminder of the horrors of war and the sacrifices that must be made in the name of victory.
The introduction of the second male lead was very dark. But Gabriella had just rolled her eyes at it when reading fictional books, never giving much thought to its relevance in her reality. But now that she found herself smack dab in the middle of it, she couldn't help but notice everything.
"Based on the novel, the trigger was caused by a teal-colored pendant that was owned by the Duke," Gabriella muttered to herself, and suddenly blurted out, "Teal!" and shot a disdainful glance at the gaudy necklace that accompanied the king's letter. "Who knew being a color connoisseur would come in handy?" she mused, a hint of sarcasm lacing her words.
"Great, just what I needed—a magical accessory of doom," Gabriella grumbled, making a mental note to steer clear of anything even remotely resembling teal in the future.
As she pondered the source of the Duke's pendant, Gabriella's mind raced with a flurry of questions and concerns. How had he come into possession of such a cursed trinket? And more importantly, how could she prevent it from falling into Asher's hands?
With a sigh, Gabriella resigned herself to the fact that she had yet another item to add to her ever-growing list of things to worry about. "Note to self: Keep an eye out for Asher's mysterious jewelry and snatch it at all costs," she muttered, making a mental note.
But amidst all the chaos and uncertainty, one thing became abundantly clear: if she wanted to have any hope of surviving this fantasy nightmare, she needed to keep Asher from transforming into the brooding, emotionless husk of a man she'd read about in the novel.
"Alright, Operation 'Save Asher from Becoming a Walking Cliché' it is," Gabriella declared, a determined glint in her eye. "Step one: Keep him in the wonders of a happy married life. Step two: Make sure he never lays eyes on that cursed pendant. And step three: Pray to the fantasy gods that I don't screw this up royally."
...…
Gabriella's day unfolded with unusual tranquility, a temporary reprieve from the chaos that seemed to swirl around her like a tempest in a teapot. But just as she was settling into the calm, the impending storm of dinner preparations loomed on the horizon, threatening to disrupt her peace.
"Madam, the Duke wishes to dine with you," Lydia announced, her tone betraying a hint of begrudging respect. Gabriella couldn't help but notice the simmering anger lurking behind Lydia's facade of civility, but she brushed it off with practiced nonchalance.
"Alright," Gabriella masked her reluctance beneath a veneer of politeness. However, as the entourage of servants trailed behind her like eager puppies, Gabriella couldn't shake the feeling of suffocation that threatened to overwhelm her.
"I'll handle my bath myself, thank you," she declared firmly, her words tinged with a hint of exasperation. The thought of being surrounded by a gaggle of maids armed with scrub brushes and soap filled her with a sense of dread, and she was determined to spare herself the ordeal.
Though Gabriella had allowed her maids to bathe her on her wedding day, she quickly realized that the experience was not one she cared to repeat. The invasive scrutiny and rough handling left her feeling more raw than refreshed, and she resolved to reclaim a semblance of privacy wherever she could find it.
Yet, when it came time to don her evening attire, Gabriella found herself faced with yet another obstacle in the form of Lydia's sly manipulation.
"Oh dear, madam, it seems your dress has mysteriously shrunk," Lydia remarked, her tone laced with false concern but her eyes glinting with mischief. Gabriella couldn't help but roll her eyes at the transparent attempt to undermine her confidence, knowing full well that the dress had been tampered with to embarrass her.
Before she could say anything, Lydia interjected with a condescending suggestion. "Don't worry, madam, a corset should do the trick," she offered, her words dripping with saccharine sweetness. "It's not a big deal that you quickly gained weight."
Gabriella's brow couldn't help but twitch at Lydia's seemingly innocent comment. Though she doesn't have any insecurities about her weight, the original Gabriella was very sensitive when it comes to beauty and all her maids know that. Lydia's barbed words were a low blow, a deliberate attempt to exploit her vulnerabilities for the sake of petty amusement.
However, just as tensions threatened to boil over, Gabriella found herself unexpectedly coming to the defense of a young maid who dared to talk to Lydia.
"Excuse me," Amelie, a young maid from Rothchester, piped up, "We do have spare dresses available if the Duchess would prefer..."
However, Lydia interjected with a dismissive scoff, her eyes narrowing with disdain as she turned her gaze upon the young maid.
"Oh, spare dresses, you say?" Lydia's tone dripped with derision, her lips curling into a contemptuous sneer. "How quaint. And pray tell, where did you procure these spare dresses, dear Amelie? From the rag bin, perhaps?"
The room fell silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife as Lydia's words hung in the air like a noxious cloud. Amelie's cheeks flushed crimson as her pride as a servant of Rothchester was challenged.
Gabriella, however, stepped forward to confront the older maid, her demeanor radiating a quiet strength that belied her gentle nature.
"Lydia, that's enough," Gabriella's voice was firm but measured, her words carrying the weight of authority as she addressed the haughty maid. "Amelie was merely offering a solution to our predicament. There's no need for such hostility."
Though Lydia bristled at being reprimanded, she begrudgingly held her tongue in the face of Gabriella's unwavering resolve. As the tension in the room began to dissipate, Gabriella turned her attention back to Amelie, offering her a reassuring smile of gratitude.
"Thank you for your concern," Gabriella addressed the young maid with a warm smile, her voice carrying the weight of genuine appreciation. "I trust my maids implicitly, and I have every confidence in their ability to choose a dress befitting of the occasion. Besides, Lydia said a corset will help so it's fine. But I promise, next time, I'll try to wear a dress of the Empire."
Her words seemed to cast a spell over the young maid, who nodded in wide-eyed awe as if Gabriella were some benevolent deity descended from the heavens. Gabriella couldn't help but marvel at the power of her own charisma, realizing that she had inadvertently solidified her reputation as a benevolent, harmless Duchess without lifting a finger.
As Lydia sputtered in disbelief, Gabriella couldn't suppress a smug grin. With each passing moment, she was one step closer to relishing the opportunity to outmaneuver her adversaries with grace and guile.