"Greetings, Your Majesty." The Marchioness of Moonshadow offered a graceful curtsy to the Queen of Noctvaris. As she lowered her head, strands of her ebony-black hair fell forward, framing her pale face.
Primrose knew her as the noblewoman who murdered the Marquess. But long before that crime, Raven was already known for her eccentric and strange personality.
She always wore dark colors, whether it was her dress or accessories.
Sometimes she chose deep shades of gray, but most of the time, she wore black, as if cursing herself to live like a widow long before she ever became one.
"Lady Raven." A sweet smile bloomed on Primrose’s lips. "It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you."
Raven lifted her gaze. Her cold, dark gray eyes locked onto Primrose’s, sending a faint shiver down the queen’s spine.
"I should be the one saying that." The Marchioness’s voice was cool and emotionless, but it didn’t frighten Primrose. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty."
People used to call her the embodiment of evil, a woman sent from hell to wreak havoc on the world.
Even before the scandal of her husband’s death, Raven Fenmarch had already become the center of endless rumors.
They said she bought slaves—humans and beastkin alike—from both legal and illegal markets.
There were whispers that she used them for dark experiments, trying to create an elixir of youth.
Some even claimed she bathed in the blood of beautiful young women to keep her skin flawless and glowing.
Primrose had to admit the Marchioness was indeed as beautiful as the rumors said. But the idea of her bathing in blood? That felt like a cruel story made to dehumanize her.
Still, because of all these vile rumors, the moment Raven killed her husband, people wasted no time in branding her a monster, a demon, a dark witch.
The gossip spread like wildfire. For months, her name dominated the headlines. Some claimed she murdered her husband to seize his wealth. Others said she wanted to run away with her secret lover.
The worse the stories got, the more they sold.
And, of course, many unscrupulous publishers joined in, creating false stories just to keep the frenzy alive.
But among all that noise, Primrose once stumbled upon a different kind of article, one buried in a lesser-known newspaper with a journalist’s name she didn’t recognize.
She only got to read it because the palace librarian had a habit of buying newspapers from everywhere, giving her the chance to read them all when she was bored.
In the public story section, a man claimed to have once been a slave in a small kingdom.
His master used to beat him so badly, he thought he would die.
But then, one day, a woman dressed in black came out of nowhere. She threw gold coins at his master’s feet and told her guards to take the boy with them.
He had been terrified, thinking she’d just bought him to continue the abuse. But instead, she gave him a warm bed, clean clothes, and food that actually filled his stomach.
The same Marchioness who was accused of buying slaves to torture and kill them had only wanted to give them freedom that they couldn’t achieve by themselves.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t the kind of woman who liked talking about her personal life, so she let her name be tainted by countless rumors.
At this moment, Primrose finally realized something, Raven and Edmund had something in common.
Both of them were too lazy to defend themselves, letting people hate them for the images others had created.
Why would they be fine with being hated and misunderstood?
Did they secretly like being hate or what?!
"I thought I’d be the last person to arrive," the Marchioness said as she sat down across from Primrose after Marielle politely pulled out her chair. "But ... it seems I was wrong."
Primrose let out an awkward chuckle. Deep down, she felt a little disappointed.
Edmund had gone through so much trouble to give her a wedding ring and make her happy. If Raven was the only one who showed up, then Primrose couldn’t show off her beautiful wedding ring to others.
The problem was, Raven wasn’t the kind of woman who liked to gossip.
She hadn’t said anything about Primrose’s outfit or her jewelry. In fact, she hadn’t even looked at her properly since she walked in.
"I think the other ladies are too busy to attend my tea party," Primrose said with a soft smile. "But ... I’m glad you were able to come."
[If only she knew the truth ... I only decided to come an hour ago.]
[I don’t know about the other ladies, but Fanny mentioned that many beasts still don’t accept the new queen.]
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