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Chapter 23
“Hhhngh…! Your Grace, ah, a little gentler…!”
Our foreheads pressed together, burning hot.
His nose, rubbing lightly against mine, crossed diagonally.
Our lips drew closer. Perhaps only the width of a fingertip remained before they would fully overlap.
Through my parted teeth, rough breaths escaped, tangling with his own in a dizzying haze.
“Ah—ugh, please…! Stop!”
A cry, half-groan, half-scream, burst from me.
The pain felt as if it were wringing my entire body, impossible to endure.
“What’s wrong?”
He lifted his forehead from mine, genuinely perplexed, as if he had no idea why I was reacting this way.
“My shoulders! Loosen your grip! Do you want to shatter my shoulder blades?”
Our second night together was proving no smoother than the first.
Only a few hours earlier at the ball, he had boldly proposed, “Let’s do it.”
Short, blunt, and brazen. His tone and his gaze had been provocative enough that it was impossible to simply ignore him.
The moment I returned from my bath and entered the bedchamber, he suddenly swept me up in his arms and pushed me down onto the bed.
Seeing the ceiling spin above me as I was laid down so abruptly left me blinking in shock.
Soon, his handsome face filled my vision. He gripped both my shoulders tightly and lowered his head. But the closer his lips drew to mine… the more fiercely his hands clamped down, as if my shoulders were his sworn enemy.
“…Ah.”
Only then did he finally release me, seemingly unaware of just how violently he had been squeezing.
“If this was meant as a display of strength, congratulations. You’re disgustingly strong.”
I shook my head in disbelief.
Good thing my shoulders had been hardened by training; if I had been a frailer woman, he really might have crushed my bones.
“My apologies, Duchess. I didn’t mean to.”
At least he seemed sincere in his apology.
Had it been intentional, it would have been no less than a challenge to a duel.
Still rubbing my tingling shoulders, I gave a feeble laugh.
“Your Grace, you handled things so easily on our wedding day. Why like this in bed?”
“…That was a formal ceremony.”
“Well, so is consummating the marriage. Do you have some sort of complaint against me…? No, actually, I suppose you must.”
Not just a complaint—perhaps even deep resentment.
Once again, I was reminded: my family had played a significant role in his country’s defeat. Life in exile on Pardon Island hadn’t been easy. And his forced marriage to me, against his will, was ultimately because of my family.
Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to grip my shoulders… but my throat.
“That’s not it.”
He denied it firmly.
“Then forgive me for being blunt, but… is this your first time?”
“…It’s our wedding night. Shouldn’t it be my first?”
His serious, deadpan reply made me laugh.
“Young as you are, I didn’t expect you to be so old-fashioned. If we’re talking morals, then I’m completely the wrong kind of person. Didn’t you date anyone back on Pardon Island?”
“No.”
Then what on earth had the women there been doing? If their eyesight worked, how could they possibly leave a man with his looks alone?
“I see.”
My fingers toyed idly with the soft bedspread.
It seemed he had forced himself, against all his instincts, to attempt intimacy with me. Like swallowing bitter medicine while crying. Of course, in this case, the “medicine” was me.
“If you allow it, I’d like to try kissing you again. Would you grant me that chance, Duchess?”
His tone was polite, his expression set like stone, yet I could see a kind of grim determination there. It wasn’t desire—it was duty.
He had already expressed his reluctance with his crushing grip. And now, again, he asked as if it were an obligation.
“Your Grace.”
“Yes.”
“Once you actually do it, you’ll see there’s nothing to it. Unless you attach all sorts of lofty meanings about love between men and women, it’s really not that complicated.”
“…”
“If you just approach it with one clear goal, it can be over swiftly and cleanly—in five minutes. No, even three. For men, even their first time isn’t especially painful thanks to their anatomy.”
He sighed quietly. In the lamplight, the tips of his ears looked faintly red.
“Do I seem afraid of sleeping with you?”
“Well, I can’t read your heart. I’m just saying—if it’s something you have to do anyway, you might as well relax.”
He nodded slowly, the fresh scent of soap lingering about him. Under the moonlight, his silver hair shimmered with a cool jade glow, sleek and soft-looking. Without thinking, I reached toward his ear.
His calm, night-sky eyes held mine. He showed no overt sign of rejection, so I brushed my fingertips lightly through his hair.
Our gazes locked at close range. After a long stillness, he finally lowered his eyelids.
The silence between us grew heavy. What lay beneath his heart just now? Self-loathing? Disgust for me?
Perhaps he had no desire to embrace me ever. Which, of course, was understandable.
If so, then negotiation was needed. Best to put it down in writing.
I rose from the bed and pulled a sheet of parchment from my bag on the chair—the unfinished contract from last night.
When I sat at the table, he also stood and seated himself opposite me.
“…Let’s put it in writing. A hundred days should be enough.”
“A hundred days?”
“To you, I’m just some stranger you met yesterday. Given everything, it may be difficult to share a bed. Still, let’s at least make an effort. Spend a hundred days with me, see what kind of person I am. If, after that, you decide you truly cannot be with me, then say so.”
In Levanteia’s noble society, one hundred days was traditionally considered the honeymoon period for newlyweds.
“You mean… you’ll give me time.”
“Exactly. After those hundred days, if you still can’t accept me, I’ll find another way to secure an heir—just as you said yesterday.”
I had no intention of forcing someone who didn’t want me.
As the Grand Duchess of Dvorka, I wanted to honor my duty to him—but if he refused, then so be it.
Still, one condition was necessary.
“Your Grace, for those hundred days…”
“Yes.”
“Let’s be faithful to each other. No seeing other women. And above all, no lies.”
Not that he seemed the lying type.
Throughout the banquet, he had been as silent as a clam. Better to stay mute than spin slick falsehoods.
“Thank you for granting me this time.”
“Shall we rest now? We both drained ourselves dealing with people all day.”
“You sleep first. I’ll follow soon.”
“All right, then.”
I climbed back into bed, pulled up the covers, and let my eyes drift shut.
“Don’t stay up too late, Your Grace.”
“And may you sleep peacefully.”
The chamber we occupied was a guest room in Princess Liselotte’s Lavender Palace.
He had asked me to add a clause requesting to stay outside the harem. True to his wish, the princess had allowed us to use this room again.
Pink lace canopy spilling from the ceiling over the bed. Pale cream furnishings that looked sweet enough to melt on the tongue. Tapestries embroidered with hydrangeas, dainty ornaments everywhere.
A room far more suited to a dozen young girls than a bridal chamber.
Through half-lidded eyes, I glanced at him.
He sat by the window, gazing out into the night. Slowly, his hand lifted, fingers stretching toward the dark as though to grasp something unseen—or hoping someone would take hold of him.
“…Mel.”
Mel? A person’s name, perhaps?
It sounded like he was calling someone.
From the side, his profile looked both tormented and lonely.
“Mel…”
A single syllable. I didn’t know its meaning, but one thing was clear.
The determination I had glimpsed in him earlier—it was directed at this “Mel.”
Who—or what—was Mel?
A person, or a thing? If a person, man or woman?
Curiosity pricked at me, sharp and unwelcome.
I wanted to dig deeper… and yet, at the same time, I didn’t.
On the third day, at last, the wedding rites with the Grand Duke reached their end.
After breakfast in the Lavender Palace, I changed into an ivory-tinted dress for the day’s outing.
The moment I stepped outside, a roar of cheers spilled over the palace walls.
The sheer size of the crowd gathered around the Yorca royal palace was undeniable.
I closed my eyes for a moment, listening to the tenor of the noise. Fortunately, it seemed more like cheers than jeers.
Today marked the festival celebrating both his coronation and our marriage.
Just as the people of Dvorka desired, the dynasty had been restored. Even if the power was nominal, a trueborn son of Madilov now sat as their ruler.
The governor’s office was even distributing meat pies—one per person—to those who had come.
Most of the masses had likely come simply to escape hunger for the day.
…But the reason I had to appear was for the final step of the ceremonial marriage.
A parade through the capital, Yorca, with the Grand Duke.
Riding an open carriage through throngs of people, waving in all directions.
Before the tightly shut palace gates, the carriage awaited.
Royal guards of Levanteia, stationed nearby, saluted me. They would provide our escort during the parade.
Davitte, the Grand Duke, stood already by the carriage door.
He bowed his head slightly. I returned the gesture with a shallow curtsy.
He extended his hand, and I took it as I climbed into the carriage.
A captain, clearly in charge of the parade’s security, approached.
“Your Grace, Your Highness. If you are ready, we’ll open the gates.”
“Yes.”
I answered first, and the Grand Duke gave a nod.
The order was given, and soldiers hauled on the heavy chains. Slowly, the massive doors creaked open. But the problem was…
The Grand Duke’s face remained expressionless, just as it had from the very first moment I met him.
Beautiful as it was, that face would not do for a parade.
“Your Grace, you’ll need to smile now.”
“…How should I smile?”
“As you normally would.”
“I’ve never done it before.”
“…What?”
“I don’t know how. I don’t know how to smile.”
Wait a moment.
Of course—this must be his very first parade.
Every year, during the founding festival, royal princes and princesses were required to participate in parades. The Dvorka royals had a similar tradition.
I had already suspected he had lived quietly hidden away in the harem, scarcely ever seen by the public.
When I had asked if he’d been confined, he hadn’t answered. But if I were Queen Elizabeta, I wouldn’t have let him appear either. With looks far surpassing her own sons, he would have stolen every gaze.
“…So, Your Grace, you’ve never even seen a parade?”
“No. Must I laugh aloud as well?”
His gaze fixed on me, utterly serious, urging me to explain quickly.
I nearly laughed again. To think my first conversation with my husband would be about “how to smile before a crowd.”
What an unexpectedly amusing man. Who laughs aloud in a parade?
He had memorized every detail of the wedding ceremony, but clearly no one had taught him that parades required smiling.
“No need to make a sound. Just with your face. Narrow your eyes slightly, lift the corners of your lips.”
“Like this?”
An awkward smile spread across his face.
It was clear he almost never smiled. Most royals were well-trained in fake smiles, their muscles conditioned for it—but not him.
“Mm, show a little teeth. Part your lips, like this.”
I demonstrated.
He studied my diplomatic smile carefully, then adjusted his own, parting his lips and drawing up his mouth smoothly. His straight teeth showed, making his expression look far more natural.
The sight of his lips curving so perfectly caught my eyes. Dimples appeared faintly in his cheeks.
Smiling brightly, he suddenly looked like an innocent boy.
“…Yes, just like that. Keep smiling and wave to the people.”
“Thank you.”
His earlier words came back to me: that he hated both the harem and the palace.
How had this man, still carrying a trace of boyishness, come to despise this place so deeply? Deeply enough to suffer sudden, violent outbursts?
I wanted to know.
“Your Grace, you once said you hated this palace.”
“…That’s true.”
After a long silence, he admitted it plainly.
“In that case… for these hundred days.”
“Yes.”
“Would you leave the palace with me? To live together elsewhere?”
“Where?”
“Blansk.”
At least for the hundred days, I wanted us to escape this suffocating palace and go to my territory.
It was my little proposal for rebellion.
He seemed genuinely startled.
He stared at me. His expression remained unchanged, but under the blazing sunlight, the pupils that had been narrowed like pinholes suddenly widened.
