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Celecia smelled the aura of death.

She sensed it vividly.

If she answered as she did back then to Vladmir, that answer seemed like asking “Grand Duke? Who’s that?”, she would die here and now.

It could be a decent death through a glass of poisoned wine, or maybe a public execution.

Today, she was no longer the innocent youth she was back then.

Annan was serious.

She knew it was impossible for the young new Grand Duke to forgive someone who had ...

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“Ghost bride, you have a glass of wine with me on your wedding night, does your husband really mind?”

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“Fuck, beasts, not even ghosts.”

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