BOMW 48

chapter 48

Perbin pulled away from me, startled. His wounded eyes lingered on my face. I was just as flustered. The moment he leaned toward me again, something rose violently from deep inside.

“Ugh—!”

A wave of nausea surged up my throat. Perbin placed a cautious hand on my back.

“Irwen, are you all right?”

“No, it’s not that—ugh!”

Every time his breath brushed against me, the queasiness grew. It felt like something was crawling up my chest, as if I’d swallowed something foul. Even his touch—gentle as it was—made my body flinch. His crisp scent filled my lungs, and I couldn’t stand it. I turned away, pressing my hand to my mouth and leaning against the railing.

“I’m sorry, Perbin. I swear, it isn’t intentional.”

He looked at me, as though struck. His eyes flickered, full of hurt.

“Was it… that disgusting to you?”

Ah. He had completely misunderstood. I wanted to explain, but the nausea made it hard to form words.

“That’s not it,” I managed.

“No, a husband and wife should be honest. If my kiss disgusted you, just say it. I can fix whatever it is.”

He muttered the words under his breath, clearly crestfallen. He now stood at a distance, as though I were some delicate noblewoman he’d offended. He sniffed subtly, checked his breath, touched his full lips several times, ruffled his normally neat platinum hair, then hesitated with his thumb brushing over his lips. He gave me a quick, apologetic glance.

“Maybe my lips were too rough… or maybe it was the wine I had with dinner. Perhaps that was what you found unpleasant.”

He was truly misunderstanding.

“It wasn’t you. Your lips aren’t rough at all. They’re always soft and warm,” I said earnestly.

Perbin’s moist green eyes met mine.

“Then why? You’ve never rejected my kiss before—why now?”

“No, really, it’s not that, I just—ah…”

The closer he came, the worse the nausea became. I covered my mouth again. He quickly stepped back, realizing his presence wasn’t helping. But the hurt in his eyes was unmistakable. He half-reached out, as if to comfort me, then stopped. His jaw tightened as if he were battling confusion. Seeing his slumped shoulders made my heart ache with guilt.

“You look unwell,” he murmured. “I’ll fetch some medicine. Wait here.”

He turned to go, then hesitated. For a brief moment, he looked into my face, worry softening his expression, and brushed my cheek gently.

“When you’re in pain, I feel it too.”

The tenderness in his voice made me want to embrace him. But even when I took a step forward, that sickening wave returned. “Ugh—” My body betrayed me again. His face twisted slightly, a flicker of bitterness, then he forced a small smile to reassure me.

“Wait here,” he repeated.

Watching him walk away, shoulders heavy, filled me with a deep unease. He must have been bewildered, but so was I. This had never happened before. Why did his scent alone make me so nauseous?

I wrapped his coat tighter around myself and leaned against the wooden railing. The instant he was gone, my stomach settled as if nothing had happened.

“How strange,” I murmured.

I looked out across the pond. Wildflowers bloomed between the bushes—such a peaceful scene. Then the bushes rustled. A tangle of dull blonde hair popped out.

A little girl—five years old at most—peeked at me. Her fine dress was smeared with grass stains. She straightened up and greeted me politely.

“Are you the Duchess of Carlisle?”

Meanwhile, inside the palace, Ibelin sat surrounded by men—young bachelors and married nobles alike. She was busy shuffling a deck of cards.

“Could you tell if I’ll be able to marry her this year?” one asked.

“Do I have a chance for a late-born son?” another inquired.

“I must pass the promotion exam this year!”

“Can you see if my wife has another man? I suspect something, but I have no proof.”

The questions poured in endlessly—about love, success, and betrayal. Everyone was desperate to hear Ibelin’s famed prophecies of the present and future.

Then a tall, broad-shouldered man with wavy golden hair entered, and the crowd melted away. Even Lord Dobre, who had been watching from afar, quickly stepped aside.

Ibelin’s eyes widened. She rose hastily.

“Your Majesty.”

“It’s fine, sit,” said the Emperor with a hearty laugh. “I hear you’re quite the fortune-teller.”

His bright smile still had the power to make women’s hearts tremble, though a faint shadow lingered across his handsome face. For a moment, pity flashed through Ibelin’s clear eyes, but she quickly bowed her head—personal sentiment was forbidden before the ruler.

“What could I possibly divine for Your Majesty? Surely, no one knows his destiny better than he.”

“Quite right,” the Emperor said. “But that’s not why I came.”

He glanced around, lowered his voice, and leaned in.

“Tell me—can you see anything about the heir of the Duke of Carlisle? Specifically… whether one might be born this year.”

Ibelin froze, her face draining of color. She had sworn not to reveal personal feelings, but it was impossible not to react. The Emperor studied her, amused.

“So?” he prompted with a grin.

“I’m afraid I cannot see that far ahead,” she said carefully.

“No sign of a birth, then?” he asked, almost disappointed.

She quickly laid out her cards on the table. After studying them a moment, she frowned.

“I see something else—two figures, both jealous of the Duke, with the Duchess at the center.”

“Jealous of Perbin?” The Emperor burst into laughter. “Who would dare! Is there anyone who could challenge him in love?”

“They seem to be… beings not yet born,” she said softly.

The Emperor stopped laughing. His gaze sharpened. Ibelin lowered her eyes. A slow smile crept onto the Emperor’s face. There was, indeed, only one type of being who could openly challenge Perbin for affection—one yet unborn.

He clenched his fist. “Then it’s time to put plans into motion.”

Back by the pond, the little girl stepped forward. Her speech was confident, almost regal. I realized then—the fine silk gown, the jeweled shoes, the gleaming tiara nestled in her tousled blonde hair.

Of course. There were only two children who lived in the palace—two princesses who resided in the quiet western wing. The party’s noise hadn’t reached there; it had looked so dark and still. This must be one of them.

She stopped before me and lifted her chin with dignity.

“I am Celia, Second Princess of the Empire. You are the Duchess of Carlisle, aren’t you?”

Ah, I should have known from that golden hair—so like the Emperor’s. I steadied myself, gathered my skirt, and curtsied gracefully.

“Irwen Carlisle greets Your Highness.”

The princess circled me, inspecting me with sharp curiosity, as if I were a doll. She looked up into my face, her small feet pattering around me, utterly adorable. When she lifted her long skirt, I saw the soft curve of her ankles above her white socks. She was the picture of innocence—rosy cheeks, curls of gold, pale ivory skin flushed pink.

I smiled despite myself.

“Why are you smiling at me, Duchess?” she asked suspiciously.

“Your Highness is simply…”

I caught myself before saying adorable—that might wound a child’s pride. But my fond expression must have said enough. Celia’s gaze darted between us, comparing my dark hair to her own golden curls. She sighed dramatically, then muttered, half to herself:

“Lord Carlisle must’ve refused me because I’m too young.”

“…Pardon?”

“Duchess, you should know this—I intend to confess to Lord Carlisle when I’m grown up!”

I blinked. What on earth? The little girl puffed her cheeks proudly, her small chest lifting with confidence.

“I fell in love with him at first sight,” she declared. “A lady must never sheath her sword once drawn! When I become a fine lady, I’ll tell him I love him.”

Her tiny, determined voice was so earnest it was hard not to laugh. Seeing my calm face, she frowned indignantly.

“Why are you so calm, Duchess? You’ve just met your rival in love! I am your competition!”

A rival in love, she said. I couldn’t help but find her ridiculously cute. I crouched to her level, meeting her big brown eyes.

“But, Your Highness, Lord Carlisle is already married—to me. Surely you’re not planning to confess to a married man?”

“But Mr. Silver Tray said if the man’s married, that’s even better! He said my confession would bring color to his weary married life, and if we fall in love, it’ll be the most beautiful thing in the world!”

I bit back a sigh. Whoever this Mr. Silver Tray was, he was teaching the princess some very dangerous nonsense.

“Confessing your feelings is fine,” I said gently, “but it’s wrong to confess to someone who already belongs to another. Besides…” I leaned closer and whispered as though sharing a secret, “…Lord Carlisle is mine.”

Her eyes widened, glistening with tears. Tiny fists clenched. For a moment, she said nothing—and then, through trembling lips, came a furious shout:

“If you love him that much, why did you refuse his kiss?!”

What—she saw that too? I forced a smile.

“I didn’t mean to refuse. My body simply reacted badly for a moment.”

“But you mustn’t reject his affection! Do you know how heartbroken he must’ve been? He’s the most handsome man in the Empire—every woman adores him! How dare you turn him away?”

Her little eyes brimmed over, and she began to cry in earnest. I quickly handed her my handkerchief. She snatched it, dabbing at her eyes and nose until it was soaked.

“Thank you,” she mumbled between sniffles.

Just then, a voice called from afar:

“Celia! Where are you?”

“My one and only twin is calling,” Celia said matter-of-factly.

A girl limped toward us, her gait uneven.

“Why did you sneak out, Celia? Mother told us to stay inside with the nurse!”

“The nurse went to see Mr. Silver Tray,” Celia replied airily.

“Oh, that woman—Rosamund!”

I’d heard of her—Rosamund, the former lady-in-waiting to the Empress, now serving as governess to the princesses thanks to Duke Sibellom’s recommendation. But this “Mr. Silver Tray” again… I had to ask.

“Who is this Mr. Silver Tray, Your Highness?”

“Uncle Sibellom, of course! It’s a secret name only Alix and I use—so you mustn’t tell anyone, all right?”

Her imagination was extraordinary. I nodded solemnly.

The limping girl reached us, looking exasperated. “What’s this about ‘Mr. Silver Tray,’ Celia? He’s our uncle, not a fairy-tale character! And even if the nurse left, you can’t just wander off—oh, Duchess Carlisle, forgive us.”

“Your Highness,” I greeted her.

She looked identical to Celia, except for her eyes—one blue, one brown. The First Princess, Alix. Her heterochromia gave her a mysterious beauty, though her limp made even standing on the bridge difficult.

“Your Highness, perhaps we should go down,” I suggested. “It’s quite high up here.”

“Our discussion isn’t over yet, Duchess,” Celia protested.

Before I could respond, Alix sighed heavily below us.

“You caused trouble again, didn’t you, Celia? I told you not to bother the Duchess! How many times must I say your first love is over? And even the books say first loves never work out!”

“I’m not bothering her! I’m just upset she rejected Lord Carlisle’s precious kiss!”

Celia’s cheeks flushed. Alix gave an incredulous look, far more mature than her twin.

“I’m sorry, Duchess,” Alix said gently. “My sister’s jealous because she likes Lord Carlisle so much.”

“Jealous?!” Celia exploded. “I am not jealous! Duchess, let’s settle this once and for all. If you don’t truly love him, then hand him over! Divorce him right now!”

A five-year-old demanding my divorce. Wonderful. I took a slow breath.

“I doubt Lord Carlisle would let me go, Your Highness. He never leaves my side.”

“What—what did you say? But Mr. Silver Tray said he was going to divorce you!”

Celia staggered back in shock.

“Father even said Lord Carlisle cherishes the Duchess deeply,” Alix reminded her. “Come on, Celia, let’s go back. Father promised to visit us tonight if we behaved. Be a good girl, all right?”

“No! I don’t believe it! Mr. Silver Tray said he’s getting divorced!”

Good grief. That uncle of theirs was spreading more gossip than sense.

Celia kept backing up—too far. Her tiny form leaned against the railing. My breath caught. The gaps between the rails were wide enough for her to slip through—

And then she did.

SPLASH!

“Celia!”

Alix’s face went pale. She hobbled desperately toward the edge. I didn’t think—I just threw off Perbin’s coat and dove into the pond.

There was no time to shout, no time to call for help—only the ripple of bubbles rising from the center. I plunged in.

Meanwhile, away from the noise of the ballroom, Perbin was striding briskly down a quiet corridor of the imperial palace, heading to fetch medicine for Irwen.

Then suddenly, a chill pricked at the back of his neck. He stopped, frowning.

“…Irwen?”

An instinct deep inside him screamed.