BOMW 43

chapter 43

No matter how much I shook him, Ivelin did not open his eyes.
Doctor Dulpari clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“You can ask the Count about that once he wakes up, Madam. For now, what he needs most is rest.”

“You’re right. I got too worked up.”

I gently pulled the blanket up to Ivelin’s neck.
As I did, I saw a faint blush bloom on his pale cheeks, white as hydrangeas.

Dulpari let out a deep sigh and muttered quietly,

“So he still hasn’t let go of those feelings. If only that affection would turn toward the children instead…”

His words were strange and hard to grasp.
There was something in the way he looked at me—soft, distant, and vaguely suspicious.

“Doctor Dulpari? If you’re going to say something, please make it clear.”

“It’s nothing.”

He flatly denied it, pretending not to know anything.
Suspicious as he was, I couldn’t press him further—
my own heart was already pounding too wildly for reasons I couldn’t explain.

A wide dueling ground. Two tall men faced each other, swords drawn.
They said nothing, but the air between them was charged with murderous tension—
so much so that the servants waiting nearby shrank back in fear.

Clang! Clang! Clang!
Their swords met in blinding flashes, too fast for the eye to follow.

“As expected of Your Grace, the Duke.”

“I’ve gone easy on you.”

“Then how about this?”

The violet-haired man lunged swiftly, his blade flashing.
But the platinum-haired man dropped low in an instant, twisting his opponent’s sword out of his hand.

With a fluid motion, Pervin brought his blade to Ivelin’s throat.

“Finally—one hundred wins, zero losses.”

“That’s unfair. This is Your Grace’s estate—you’ve trained here since childhood—”

“Excuses. A win is a win. Now, raise your neck.”

Pervin’s sword pressed coldly against Ivelin’s neck, the blade gleaming under the fierce sunlight—

“Father, don’t fight!”

“Fighting is bad, Count!”

Two small boys—one with platinum hair, one with black—came running toward them.
The deadly tension between the men vanished in an instant.
The platinum-haired boy threw himself into Ivelin’s arms,
while the dark-haired boy clung to Pervin.

Ivelin sheathed his sword and soothed the boy softly.

“No, no, we’re not fighting, my dear.”

“Really? You’re not fighting?”

The dark-haired child asked as he grasped Pervin’s hand.
His adorable face—so much like Irwen’s—was filled with worry.

Pervin smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair.

“Would I ever raise my sword against dear Count Lune, my beloved child?”

“But you’re mean, Father. You always point your sword at Count Ivelin even though you know he’s weak.”

The platinum-haired child pouted in Ivelin’s arms.
His chubby cheeks puffed as he spoke—he looked exactly like Pervin when he was young.
Pervin felt a vein twitch in his forehead as he tried to hide his hurt.

“You’re the mean one. Even when I try to hug you, you always run to the Count instead.”

The dark-haired boy giggled.

“That’s because you’re mean to him, Daddy!”

Pervin groaned and hugged his son tighter.

“Do I look like the kind of man who torments people?”

“You always bully Mom—teasing her, bothering her!”

“What do you kids know about adult love…”

He tried to sound dignified, but his face flushed red.
Ivelin, hiding a strange smile, quickly changed the subject.

“All right, why don’t you two come to my house instead?
Some merchants from Verma brought a new batch of toys for children.
You can come play with your brother.”

“Toys? Really?!”

The platinum-haired boy’s eyes sparkled.
Pervin muttered under his breath, incredulous.

“Raising children is pointless. They like that man more than their own father…”

Then the child in Ivelin’s arms said decisively,

“Count, please put me down.”

“Hm?”

“My brother and I can’t go play without Father. We have to play together.”

“Didn’t you just say you wanted to see the new toys?”

The platinum-haired boy climbed down and grabbed Pervin’s leg awkwardly.

“Even if Daddy is Mom’s rival for love, Mom said we still have to play together.”

“Rival? You have to be a match to be a rival. Irwen’s only love is me.”

“That’s not true! She loves me and my brother the most!”

“Right! She said I’m her favorite!”

The dark-haired boy nodded proudly. Pervin chuckled and kissed his cheek.

“Irwen probably loves me the most.”

“No, me! I have the same dark hair as her!”

“No way! She said I’m just like Daddy when he was little!”

Just then, a voice called from afar—

“Kids! Dinner time! Why aren’t you coming in?”

“Mom!”

The children dashed toward Irwen.
Pervin was quicker, pulling her into his arms before they reached her.

But something felt… off.
He had embraced Irwen countless times before—he knew her body’s shape perfectly.
And yet today, she somehow felt heavier… larger.

Irwen smiled knowingly, reading his expression.

“What’s wrong? Am I too heavy for you now? Do you dislike a big, strong wife?”

“No, that’s not it.”

“So you’ll hate me if I get fat, won’t you?”

“Please don’t say that word, Irwen.”

Pervin wrapped his arms tightly around her.
When she tried to pull away, he pressed his lips against her neck.

“Even in dreams, don’t say things like that. You don’t know how much I love you.”

“Hah!”

Pervin jolted awake from the dream.
He had fallen asleep on his desk, buried under piles of paperwork.
He wiped a trail of drool from his face—then froze at the voice beside him.

“Your Grace… could you please let me go? And, um… remove your lips?”

“Sir Dobre?”

Pervin blinked rapidly, trying to focus.
What he saw nearly made his heart stop.

Sir Dobre—shirt disheveled, cheeks crimson—was sitting in his lap, wide-eyed and panicking.
It seemed that in his sleep, Pervin had mistaken the man for Irwen and hugged him tight.

Keeping his composure with great effort, he gently released him.

“My apologies.”

“You must be very tired lately, Your Grace. You were thrashing about in your sleep.”

“I suppose so… but how did you end up in my arms?”

Dobre hesitated, then confessed awkwardly.

“Well, it’s just… you smelled nice. Like lilies of the valley. I got closer without thinking, and then you suddenly hugged me.”

“What scent?”

“The same one that comes from the Duchess. It’s amazing—it even lingers on you. Do married couples share fragrances too?”

Pervin blinked and sniffed his own sleeve.
Indeed, Irwen’s faint scent clung to his clothes.
His lips curved upward despite himself—until he noticed Dobre’s flustered stare.

He coughed and turned sharply away, ears burning.

“You’re oddly interested in another man’s scent, aren’t you? Get back to work.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The room fell into silence again, filled only with the scratching of quills.
Yet Pervin could feel Dobre’s glances every few seconds.

Finally, he sighed.

“What is it? Do I have something on my face?”

“No, sir. I was just curious—what kind of dream were you having to move so much in your sleep? Swordfighting again?”

The dream flashed vividly before Pervin’s eyes.
Unable to focus on work anyway, he set down his pen.

“There were two children.”

“Two? Sounds like an auspicious dream!”

Pervin nodded slightly, remembering the two boys who resembled both him and Irwen.

Dobre’s face lit up with excitement.

“That might be a conception dream, Your Grace! I know about these things—having lots of sisters helps.”

Pervin’s eyes narrowed.
He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but his heart pounded wildly in his chest.

Before he could collect his thoughts, the door burst open.

“A message for the Duke!”

“For me?”

Pervin paled.
He read the letter—and bolted out of the office at once.
The paper fluttered to the floor in his wake, bearing the words:

‘The Count of Lune is fluttering his eyes at the Madam.
Please return immediately.’

In the cozy guest room, the fire crackled softly.
Dulpari had prescribed a tonic, saying there was no real medicine for this kind of illness, and left.

Ivelin had awakened in the meantime and apologized to me for his rudeness.
He insisted he should leave at once, but I stopped him.
As the mistress of the house, it would be improper to send away a diplomat who had collapsed in our estate—
and besides, he was a man who knew my past. I wanted to learn something—anything.

We sat across from each other, Ivelin looking at me with gentle eyes.
As I searched for words, I could feel his gaze tickling me, soft and strange.

When I finally looked at him, our eyes met—and I quickly looked away.
He smiled faintly and spoke in a low voice.

“Is there something you wish to say…?”

“No, not really.”

I set down my empty cup of hot chocolate.
I had to gather my courage—
to still my pounding heart, to speak my truth,
to free him from whatever feelings he might still harbor.

But when I finally looked up, my mouth betrayed me and asked something entirely different.

“Count Lune… what was I to you?”

Ivelin blinked rapidly, startled.
For the first time, his calm lake-blue eyes trembled.
He bit his lip until it flushed red, carefully choosing his words.

“My lady… from the day we first met until now, you have always been someone I must serve.
It was the first vow I ever made—and one I swore to keep myself.”

“Can’t you let go of that vow now, Count?
You may have been my tutor once, but I belong to the Carlisle Duchy now.
You don’t need to burden yourself worrying about me.”

My words were cold—perhaps too cold.
But Ivelin only smiled softly.

“It’s all right, my lady. The joy I feel far outweighs the hardship.”

The sunlight touched his translucent skin, his dewy lips, and those clear blue eyes gazing at me so tenderly.
He was beautiful—like a flower blooming slowly under the morning dew.

I looked away, flustered, and called out suddenly,

“Mrs. Tilly!”

“Yes, Madam!”

The stout middle-aged woman appeared instantly, apron bulging with something inside it and dusted with flour.
From the kitchen, a cook’s faint voice protested,

“Mrs. Tilly! How could you take the rolling pin? I’m preparing dessert for Madam!”

“Dessert can wait! We have to protect Madam from that violet-haired— I mean, from any danger!”

“Do you think we men can’t protect her?”

“You and Alfred are both too easily charmed by that Count!”

Their whispered argument carried through the door.
I sighed and waved her in.

“Mrs. Tilly, come here, please. I’m sorry, Count—my servants are just… overprotective.”

“I understand. They’ve always been like that.”

But Ivelin’s face changed the moment she entered.
The warmth melted away, replaced by a cold, expressionless mask.

Mrs. Tilly gave him a wary look before turning to me.

“Would you like more hot chocolate, Madam?”

“Yes, please.”

She shot Ivelin one last glance before leaving.
He smiled faintly.

“She still hates me, doesn’t she? Some things never change.”

“Have you been here before?”

“Of course. The wedding banquet was held here.”

Then, a noise outside—hooves.
Through the window stood a majestic black stallion, stamping impatiently.
Pervin’s horse.

Why is he here? He should be at the palace…

I didn’t realize he had come because of Ivelin.

The door burst open. Marianne rushed in carrying Ivelin’s coat and whispered quickly,

“The Duke is here, Madam. He received word that the Count collapsed in our estate.”

The moment I heard it, I hurried out.
If I didn’t stop him, I had a feeling something terrible would happen.

Left alone in the room, Marianne and Ivelin exchanged glances.
Ivelin looked bitter; Marianne muttered under her breath,

“The Madam just saved your life, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“You already know, Count. Our master’s possessiveness toward the Madam is… terrifying.”

“Do you think I’d be swayed by such beastly desire?”

“That’s harsh, Count. At least our master shows what he feels on the outside—
unlike someone who hides it all inside.”

I rushed down the grand staircase from the second floor.
Halfway up, I saw Pervin ascending—his face pale as snow.

“Pervin.”

He stopped dead in his tracks.
His sharp green eyes glistened, red-rimmed and trembling.

Was he… crying?
Alarmed, I lifted my skirts and hurried to him.

“Are you hurt? Or… have you been crying?”

“No, it’s not that… it’s just…”

As I stepped closer, he bit his lip hard.
His clenched fists trembled.
He took a step back, pressing against the wall—as if to hide.

I wrapped my arms around his waist, trapping him there.
His darkened eyes met mine, shaking even harder.

Then suddenly, he pulled me close and pressed his trembling lips to my neck.

“I’m sorry, Irwen. I didn’t doubt you—I doubted him.”

I knew “him” meant Count Lune.
I patted his trembling back gently.

“We were briefly acquainted before marriage, but not enough for you to worry.”

“I know… I do…”

He raised his face and pressed his forehead to mine—burning hot.

“I hate myself for this—being so small-minded and jealous.
I want to be calm and generous before you, but every time, this is all I can show you…”

A tear slid down his cheek—
like dew on a flower caught in a spring rain.

Pervin, always so strong, confident, and proud—
seeing him like this for the first time moved something deep in me.

Before I knew it, my fingers brushed his lips.

“Pervin, look at me.”

He did, eyes wet, lashes glistening. Another tear fell.

“Crying isn’t shameful.
And feeling that way isn’t shameful either.”

“I just… hate showing you this weak side of me.”

“It’s okay to cry,” I whispered. “I’ll cover it with my lips.”

As he blinked his wet green eyes, I rose on tiptoe and kissed him.

His lips, damp with tears, were hot—
and the kiss tasted sweet, and just a little salty.