TDOT~45

Chapter 45 

 Cut Them Some Slack, They’re Newlyweds

Daniel sleeping in the same bed with a woman—Dominic wouldn’t have believed it unless he’d seen it himself. The more he thought about it, the more absurd it seemed. Shaking his head like a madman, he let out a dry laugh.

That sly bastard. He always acted so proper, but he’s been doing everything behind our backs, hasn’t he? Though… does he even know what he’s doing?

He snorted at his own thought. He’d spent enough years among men obsessed with such things—Daniel couldn’t possibly be that clueless.

No… knowing him, maybe he is.

Dominic frowned. He and Daniel had both grown up in an environment where women only brought pain and disgust, so they naturally kept their distance. While other young men chased wine and women, Daniel and Dominic spent their time training, taming horses, or sharpening swords. Dominic still drank occasionally, but Daniel wouldn’t even join others for a drink. And if he ever did, it was only to sit alone late at night, brooding in silence.

After Lady Laura’s death, Daniel shut everyone out completely. He built walls around himself, letting no one in. He spoke so little that Dominic once thought his mouth might’ve sealed shut. Many times, he tried to force Daniel to open up—only to get kicked for it.

Back then, Daniel’s state was so serious that even Dominic’s father had worried. It took both of them a long time, and a lot of patience, to step inside the wall Daniel had built. Even after that, they watched him constantly, afraid he’d lose control again.

Women had always thrown themselves at Daniel whenever he visited Schendel Castle, yet he never even blinked at them. He was such a block of stone that Dominic once half‑jokingly wondered if Daniel had secretly castrated himself.

“Does that mean His Grace is busy with something important?” Stefan asked.

Dominic rubbed his chin, narrowing his eyes.
“Well… I’d say he’s very busy.”

Even now, Dominic could hardly believe it. Daniel, spending the night with a woman? And the duchess wasn’t the type to throw herself at him like all those other women had.

Ah, forget it. How should I know about the deep mysteries of married life?

Scratching his head, Dominic slumped into a chair in the corner of the office.

“Anyway, if you want to get anything done around here, don’t bother with the duke—go to the duchess. Nothing in this territory moves without her.”

“I wouldn’t dare trouble such a fragile lady,” Stefan replied stiffly.

Fragile? What nonsense. Aside from the rumors about a family curse and her unusual appearance, the duchess would probably outlive them all. Dominic himself would be dead if Daniel hadn’t saved him three years ago. People who always seem frail usually last the longest.

Dominic tapped his temple with a grin.
“Use your head, Baron. You must’ve seen the reports—this land survived three years without its lord. Who do you think managed that? The half‑dead Duke Richard? Or the uneducated mercenaries?”

At that, Stefan’s composed face faltered. Dominic smirked again, softer this time.
“You really have no sense, do you? That’s going to be a problem.”

Stefan didn’t argue. He’d often been called slow‑witted, too rigid, too much of a perfectionist. Even he didn’t understand why Count Chamberlain had recommended him to the Empress Dowager.

With a sigh, Stefan glanced at Dominic, who lounged in the chair with bad posture. Remembering yesterday’s documents, Stefan recalled a line about founding a new order of knights and holding an investiture ceremony. That meant Dominic, the ex‑mercenary, was now an official vassal knight of Duke Richard—one of the Twelve Great Houses. The thought reignited Stefan’s sense of duty. He imagined tying Dominic to a chair with strong rope to fix that slouching posture.

Unaware of Stefan’s stern thoughts, Dominic stretched his legs and clasped his hands lazily.
“So, Mr. Baron, planning to make a name for yourself?”

“Enough advice, Dominic. Just tell me where His Grace is. I’ve got work to do.”

Dominic’s mouth curled into a grin.
“In his bedroom.”

Stefan blinked. “Still?”

“Told you—our lord doesn’t do much. The real power here is the duchess.”

Stefan had heard the rumors that the duke wasn’t interested in his lands. Fine, that he could accept.

“Then… do you know where the duchess is?”

“She’s also in the bedroom.”

“The bedroom?” Stefan narrowed his eyes. “And how do you know that?”

“What are you imagining? She’s in the duke’s bedroom.”

Dominic clicked his tongue, amused by Stefan’s expression. Stefan cleared his throat and looked away. Sure, married couples sharing a room was normal—but at this hour? The morning sky was bright and clear.

“Still?” he asked again.

Dominic leaned back, arms crossed, and snorted.

“Come on. Cut them some slack—they’re newlyweds.”

Later, inside the bedroom

Frida couldn’t breathe or open her eyes. She wanted to tap Daniel’s shoulder and tell him to stop, but he was holding her wrist tightly against the bed. Their bodies were so close it felt like they had become one.

She thought of pushing him away, but her instincts warned her not to provoke him further. Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, his lips finally left hers—only to trail down to her neck.

Frida flinched and hurried to speak before she lost the chance.
Her first two attempts to stop him had failed; this was her last.

“It… it hurts, Daniel. You’re hurting me!”

Daniel froze, his mouth still near her ear.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked in a trembling, low voice.

“M‑my hand. Please, your grip…”

Only then did he realize he was still clutching her wrist. Letting go, he gently brushed her white hair back from her forehead. Her hair, as pale as snow, curled softly around his darker fingers. Though she looked like winter itself, she always felt warm to him—so warm that he wanted to hold her, to keep that warmth forever.

Desire, once unleashed, was like a wild horse running free. Daniel pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. Resting one arm beside her face, he spoke hoarsely.

“If you don’t want this, tell me now.”

He wasn’t sure he could stop even if she said no—his mind was already half gone. When had he started seeing this fragile woman differently? Maybe it was curiosity, maybe pity, or maybe the day she confessed so earnestly—

“Today’s Frida wants to confess to today’s Duke,”

—when she told him she liked him, his heart had actually raced for the first time in his life.

When he learned that Ricardo had told her about his past, he’d been angry and uneasy, afraid she would despise him. But instead—

“I don’t mean the duke did nothing wrong. It was the Empress Dowager who was truly at fault.”

Frida had defended him.

He’d tried to distance himself after that, yet his feelings only grew stronger. He wanted her—wanted her pure eyes to look at him with the same longing, wanted her white hair to cling to his skin, wanted to hold her as his wife.

“Tell me,” he murmured, “what about today? Am I your type today?”

Frida’s gaze didn’t waver. Her lips, already kissed and swollen, trembled slightly. The sight of her pale neck made Daniel lose control.

But before he could move, Frida wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Daniel… I want to be your real wife.”

Daniel grabbed her hair, biting her neck gently and leaving a clear mark.

“You’re already my wife—recognized by the Empire itself.”

Frida gripped his bare shoulder.
“Not just in name. I want to share everyday life with you—talk together, eat together, spend ordinary days together.”

Daniel almost laughed. That kind of innocent wish—he could easily grant that, and more.

“If there’s something else you want, tell me,” he whispered.

“I… I want to have something.”

“What is it?”

As his hand slid toward her skirt, Frida finally blurted it out.

“A child. I want to have your child, Daniel.”