Chapter 18
The surprise at his appearance lasted only for a moment. Right now, it was his demeanor that unsettled me more. He seemed calm and composed, as if he had lived at least thirty years longer than me.
I observed his expression from the corner of my eye.
The prince was quietly staring at the archbishop.
His dry gaze was as cold and barren as a desert winter.
Suddenly, I noticed something missing in his transparent eyes.
Vitality.
In that empty stare, there was a sense of lethargy, in stark contrast to his robust physique. He seemed like someone whose will to live had nearly vanished.
A sudden, icy wave of guilt pierced my chest.
When I had recommended the king consider a political marriage with Dvorca, I hadn’t thought deeply.
I only vaguely felt some pity for the defeated prince, forced into a marriage with a royal from an enemy nation. But it had never struck me with such sharp guilt.
Perhaps this marriage itself was an abyss of despair for him.
So much so that even amidst the gazes of three thousand people, he seemed numb.
…Could it be that, with just my trifling words, I had created another victim of a war already over?
My face flushed hot with the belated realization.
“The exchange of wedding gifts will take place.”
The archbishop announced.
The prince moved with precise, economical motions, retrieving a ring from a jewelry box and slipping it onto his ring finger.
His hands were large enough to wield a longsword single-handedly. As soon as the ring was in place, I instinctively slid my hands back, hoping the silk gloves would hide my trembling.
“The Grand Duke will give the Grand Duchess a vow kiss.”
As soon as the archbishop finished speaking, he closed the distance between us.
A soft touch.
His lips gently pressed against mine.
The sensation, delicate and light as a snowflake, brushed over me.
It was only a ritual, a formal act performed according to established protocol. No emotion, no meaning.
Yet no matter how I reminded myself of this, shivers ran across my skin like electricity. My eyes squeezed shut, and my toes curled inside my shoes.
He barely pressed, and yet a faint heat lingered on my lips, like a touch of fire.
I wet them with my tongue; they tasted faintly of astringent rouge.
It was my first kiss that wasn’t sweet.
When I looked up, his sculpted face remained unmoved.
The engagement was over. Next came the coronation.
The archbishop stepped back, and my grandfather, King Salesio, ascended the dais.
Unlike when he had accompanied me to the ceremony, he now wore a heavy golden crown, easily weighing ten kilograms. I worried about the old man’s neck.
He smiled with a merciful, benevolent expression—the face of a sovereign ruler graciously embracing the dynasty of a colony.
It made me feel sick.
But his focus was on the prince, not me. He looked at David with the fascination of someone observing an exotic animal for the first time. He probably had no idea the prince was this handsome.
“I hereby proclaim David Mihailo, son of Madilov III, as the sovereign of the Grand Duchy of Dvorca.”
His voice, imposing and low, filled the room.
The king handed the prince a long platinum scepter. I recalled it had belonged to King Madilov. Likely, it was another item taken from the Yorka palace.
The prince bowed his eyes and reverently accepted the scepter with both hands.
Next, attendants brought two gold boxes. The king opened the first. It contained my tiara, a birthday gift from him. The second held the male ceremonial crown—identical in design to mine, just larger.
Diamonds, probably looted from this palace as well, were set in meticulous detail.
“The ceremonial crowns shall be placed on each other by husband and wife. My beloved granddaughter Alisa, place yours on the Grand Duke first.”
The king commanded. The prince knelt gracefully, as if rehearsed.
Hoping my movement appeared just as natural, I took the crown with both hands and set it atop his head.
He rose, crown on head and scepter in hand, the image of a crowned sovereign complete. Calm and serene, he looked even more like a king than my grandfather on the dais.
Though the title of Grand Duke was hollow, without real power or lands.
Next, it was his turn to crown me. Clutching the hem of my dress, he knelt.
With careful hands, he placed the ceremonial crown upon my head.
Rising, I stood beside him.
Thunderous applause filled the room.
Now, the youngest prince had returned to the palace of a defeated nation, now a colonial governor’s residence.
Bearing the title “Sovereign of the Grand Duchy of Dvorca” and the stigma of being a hostage.
Crown Prince Daimon, colonial governor, had already assigned the Grand Duke’s residence.
It had once been the quarters of a concubine who had lived there with his mother during childhood.
Though he was my maternal uncle, the Crown Prince could be cruel. Even for a hostage, a nephew and now sovereign, he had placed me in the concubine’s quarters.
Of course, he occupied the main palace himself. Still, a proper secondary palace could have been offered.
Anyway, I was to spend my first night in the concubine’s quarters.
I bathed in rose water and let my long hair flow down to my waist. Wearing a thin muslin dress with a silk gown over it, I approached him.
I also brought a small bag containing parchment, a quill, and my seal ring.
‘Better draft the marriage contract properly to avoid trouble later.’
As the family head, I had been thoroughly taught: for every important matter, contracts must be drawn up. Especially for marriage, agreements must be clear to prevent disputes.
Accompanied by my lady-in-waiting Katarina, I arrived at the concubine’s building.
The gate was wide open.
I paused, taking in the place. The building was small and charming compared to other palaces, but the walls were incongruously high. Barbed wire atop the walls glinted coldly under the moonlight.
“Katarina, is this really the concubine’s quarters? The walls look like a prison.”
“Indeed. The building is small and pretty, but why are the walls so high?”
Ah, now I remembered. Madilov had locked Nadia here.
Perhaps to prevent her from escaping, he had fortified it like a fortress.
Madilov was utterly insane, enough to try to drive even the woman he loved to madness.
I wondered what kind of person David, born under such parents, might be.
Frankly, I didn’t have a good feeling.
Following Katarina, I entered the building.
Knock knock knock.
She tapped on the bedroom door.
“Your Grace, is the Grand Duke in? The Grand Duchess has arrived.”
Her voice cracked; she had been attending me all day from wedding preparations until now. Once I entered, her duties for the day would be over.
“…Enter.”
A deep, low voice came from the door crack.
After a quick word of thanks to Katarina, I opened the door.
The Grand Duke sat at a table in the center of the room, as straight and elegant as a swan, just as I had seen him at the ceremony.
By the dim light of the oil lamp, he watched me approach with an indifferent gaze.
In the absence of sunlight, his eyes appeared a deep, dark violet, almost like the night sky.
Beautiful, yet with a faintly decadent aura.
I raised the corners of my lips slightly as I approached the table. It felt right to smile, since this was our first private meeting.
“To think we are only now properly introduced. I am Alisa Lasantia.”
I lightly bowed, holding my dress with both hands.
The Grand Duke observed my greeting, then rose, pressing his clenched fist to his chest and kneeling.
“I am David Mihailo.”
…Huh?
Why kneel like a knight? As equals joined by marriage, such formality seemed unnecessary.
Well, he might have simply been used to life as a knight on Fardon Isle; a temporary lapse.
I ignored it and sat opposite him.
I placed the parchment, quill, and ink on the table, ready to draft the contract first.
Meeting his gaze again, it seemed he had something he wanted to say.
“Speak freely. I understand Dvorca; you may speak in your native language.”
His Adam’s apple moved heavily at my words.
Silver eyelashes drooped, then lifted again with a faint sigh.
“…Will you claim me?”
He asked in a languid voice.
I blinked, unsure what he meant, staring at his face.
His dark eyes quivered slightly. Broad shoulders tensed as if carrying a boulder.
He appeared to dislike that the thin silk gown, likely provided for ceremonial purposes, barely covered him. The cord at his waist was tightly tied, as if to prevent anyone from loosening it.
I couldn’t help but laugh quietly at the fortress-like caution.
“Why are you laughing?”
He furrowed his brow.
Feeling guilty, I quickly composed myself. But soon a soft laugh escaped again.
“It’s just a little funny. Did you think I’d pounce on you like some wild beast?”
“…Not at all.”
“It’s just the phrasing. In marriage, no one claims the other. We act by mutual agreement.”
He said nothing, merely fastening the front of his gown with a stiff expression. He seemed self-conscious that his chest was visible.
Though I had no thoughts about it, it drew my gaze all the same.
His chest muscles looked firm; the Fardon Isle lord had trained him well in the knightly arts. He looked like someone trained at a military academy.
“Anyway, let’s begin with the contract.”
“What contract?”
The Grand Duke looked at the parchment with a puzzled expression. He seemed to have never written one before.
Of course—he had no fief of his own. He may have never needed a contract in his life.
“The marriage contract. Simply put, it’s a formal agreement to set boundaries—what each of us must uphold as a couple. Things we should not break while living as husband and wife.”
These contracts were often used as evidence in divorce proceedings.
I swallowed the part about that; it wasn’t appropriate before the first night.
“…Boundaries…”
He muttered softly.
A heavy silence filled the dark room.
After a long pause, he spoke:
“Do not treat me as a prize. I am, after all, your husband.
