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Chapter 63
“An atelier? Sir Justin recommended an atelier?”
“Well, would you look at that—he finally made a suggestion with some taste.”
“Marsha—no, Head Maid.”
At Marsha’s blunt tongue, Gorten wiped away the nervous sweat on his forehead in her stead.
Mia, who had been serving tea, chuckled at the exchange.
“I think it would suit Lady Litritia as well. Why don’t you really consider it, my lady?”
“Me?”
“Yes. Since you enjoy looking outside, it would be best to choose a place with a large window.”
“Then how about placing your canvas right where the sunlight pours through that window?”
While propping a cushion behind her back, Marsha moved Litritia’s teacup closer to the bed where she sat reading a Braille book, casually chiming in on her lady’s future plans.
“Sir Justin was bragging on his way out, you know. He said our Lady Litritia makes dolls wonderfully.”
“Oh, that was just… I only made a few little adjustments.”
“Don’t be modest! Then it would be good to have a desk for a sewing machine along the wall by the window. And for flowers… yes, Mia can look after those.”
Marsha pointed at Mia, who was flapping a notepad above her head with her name already written on it.
“Pff… I didn’t even agree, and why is everyone being so specific?”
“We’re just imagining things. And while we’re at it, we can sneak ourselves into the picture as well, hehe.”
Before long, the people gathered in a circle around Litritia, each offering their own ideas with their heads pressed together. At this rate, they would start drafting blueprints right here and now.
“Mark, doesn’t it seem like Litritia has a talent for drawing people in?”
Kilian, who had been dealing with leftover work on one side, leaned back against his chair.
“At this rate, the servants might end up following her more than me.”
“Even so, their loyalty to you will never vanish, my lord.”
“You don’t deny it, though.”
Kilian twisted one corner of his mouth wryly. His hair, unpolished by wax, fell across his smooth forehead, and the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt with his loosely tied cravat gave him a mature, effortless charm.
He removed his glasses and laced his hands behind his head.
In front of him, the chatter about Litritia’s atelier still continued. He felt tempted to tease her a little.
“Litritia, will you spare me a spot too? I’d be satisfied with just a desk in some corner.”
“Huh? Why would you need a desk, Kilian?”
“No reason. Just thought watching you paint might keep my days from getting dull.”
“That’s… that’s such a silly reason. Absolutely not.”
So, a proper reason would earn permission, would it? How careless of her.
Kilian’s mischievous mood only grew.
“Everyone’s so eager—shall we really do it? If you wish it, I could set it up at once. If going outside feels too much, we could arrange it inside the Grand Duke’s castle instead.”
“What a marvelous idea, Your Highness!”
He had only said it to watch her fluster, but it was Gorten who lit up and answered.
There was apparently a perfectly suitable unused room, and Gorten looked ready to dash off at the slightest nod from her.
Even the normally staid Gorten was swept up in it, leaving Litritia struggling to calm everyone’s enthusiasm.
“How unfortunate. This Gorten is prepared to begin at once.”
“Indeed! This Marsha as well!”
“Please, both of you, stop it already…!”
The sight of Litritia mingling with the servants fit the warm atmosphere of the room perfectly.
She really has changed.
Kilian tapped his foot as he watched every little movement of hers.
Until recently, she had seemed like someone teetering on thin ice, but now she looked oddly at ease.
That faint distance she used to keep with the servants was gone. She even followed her treatments with genuine effort instead of treating them as formality.
Even the way she treated him had softened—something warmer, gentler had settled in.
Not that I mind. But why the sudden change?
Had she grown attached to this place over time?
“Litritia, do you like it here?”
He asked the question without context, and her eyes flew wide. Then they narrowed, curving into a bright crescent as she smiled.
“Yes! I love it.”
“…I see.”
Well, what’s good is good. There was no need to overthink it.
Her condition was steadily improving, and she no longer behaved like someone who could disappear at any moment. Things were moving exactly as he wanted.
He should simply enjoy this achievement with peace of mind. And yet… it unsettled him.
“Mark, if things are going smoothly and yet I feel uneasy, am I the strange one? Everything feels… too smooth.”
“You are not strange, my lord. Even in war, when the tides shift too easily in our favor, we are warned to suspect a trap.”
“True, I’ve heard that saying.”
Tap, tap. His ankle swung in steady rhythm beneath his trousers.
Though the scene before him looked like a page from a fairytale, his eyes narrowed.
His instincts told him—his life was not meant to sail this easily. And with that thought came a lingering, nagging doubt.
“Ah. So this is the source of my unease.”
Seated at the head of the council chamber, Kilian stared at his vassals, who looked far too pleased with themselves.
“Repeat that. What do you want me to do?”
“A wedding, my lord.”
“…Ha.”
The agenda of today’s meeting was none other than Kilian and Litritia’s wedding ceremony.
It had already been months since she had become Grand Duchess, yet no one had said anything until now. Clearly, this sudden push carried Justin’s influence.
Kilian glared at his uncle, who sat among them looking as proud as if he’d won a great victory.
Ever since he had attended a wedding as the officiant, Justin had been wandering about preaching the importance of the ceremony. And yet, he himself remained unmarried at his age.
Kilian pressed his fingers hard against his brow.
What had most offended Justin, however, was the fact that Kilian and Litritia had tied their bond through a simple, private vow. That alone had been unforgivable to him—and so, here they were.
“Uncle. Just what have you been telling my vassals?”
“Ahem. Nothing much. But as it turns out, they were thinking the same thing as I was.”
With feigned innocence, Justin was backed firmly by the vassals.
And truthfully, they weren’t wrong. Kilian was their one and only lord. None of them had ever intended to let his marriage end with a mere makeshift ceremony.
They had only been waiting for the right moment, since Kilian had been fiercely guarding Litritia from anyone who came too close. Justin had simply brought that moment forward.
One vassal, who had spent days devising a flawless budget proposal to ensure Kilian couldn’t reject it, spoke up eagerly, eyes gleaming.
“How about holding the ceremony in mid-next month? We’ve already invited an excellent tailor.”
“Thanks to the Grand Duchess, trade with Viscount Godwin has opened, and the flower market is thriving—we’ll be able to adorn the hall beautifully. My lord, may I ask what flowers the Grand Duchess favors?”
“The priest for the rites is also…”
“Oh! That shall be me.”
“You, Sir Justin?”
At the mention of an officiant, Justin’s hand shot up. Then, remembering his dignity, he stroked his beard and asked Kilian gravely:
“Will you entrust me with it? Having done it once before, I can perform it even better this time.”
“Indeed, if you were to officiate, it would carry greater meaning.”
“Precisely! You all agree, don’t you?”
Though Kilian had said nothing, the vassals nodded solemnly, already convinced among themselves.
“That’s enough. Why are we suddenly talking about weddings? You all know that my wife and I already exchanged vows.”
Seeing his reluctance, the vassals pouted and glanced at each other. Normally, they would have withdrawn by now. But not this time.
“That was only a formality! We cannot, in the name of northern pride, let our lord’s marriage end so half-heartedly!”
