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Chapter – 06
“How much whiskey is left?”
“More than half.”
“Give it to me.”
His hand slipped away.
The warm darkness vanished, replaced by cold light stabbing into her eyes.
She needed warmth — but until the alcohol hit her system, she didn’t think she’d have the strength to even move a finger.
She took the bottle he handed her and, without hesitation, poured the amber liquid straight into her mouth.
There was no savoring flavor, no fiery burn — it went down like water.
“The whiskey here must be different from what I know.”
“That’s possible.”
“Isn’t this supposed to be strong liquor?”
“It is.”
She scrunched up her face, then drained what was left in the bottle in one go.
“It’s not strong at all. Don’t tell me this is water?”
He took the bottle from her, his tongue brushing the mouth of it — the very spot her lips had touched. After tasting it, he shook his head.
“Unless my tongue’s broken, this is definitely whiskey.”
“Then why can’t I calm down, after drinking something that strong?”
He gently pulled the bottle from her hands, moving with deliberate slowness — careful not to provoke her.
He extended his arm again, steady and patient.
“Come here.”
When she reached out, her view suddenly rose — he had lifted her. But she didn’t startle. Instead, she wrapped her arms naturally around his neck.
That’s what she had always done in the dream.
“You’re going to put me on the bed, right?”
“Yes.”
Though she wasn’t particularly small, he carried her with ease, one arm beneath her as he walked toward the bed.
When something bad happened in her real life — and she became agitated even in the dream — he would always calm her this way.
He laid her gently down on the bed — far too wide for one person — and brushed her forehead. Once, then again.
With every stroke of his dry hand, the tension drained a little from her body.
The tightness she hadn’t even noticed herself holding began to ache — in her neck, her shoulders.
Pain.
A dull, unmistakable pain she could never feel in dreams.
Her eyes flew open.
His face hovered above hers, looking down.
“My shoulders hurt.”
“Because you’re finally relaxing.”
“I said they hurt.”
Her expression twisted as she repeated it.
She reached up and caught his hand — the one that had been stroking her forehead.
It was… warm.
His hand was warm.
There was real, living warmth.
And she froze.
She hadn’t noticed before — too swept up in the chaos to realize — but in the dream, no matter how much she touched him, no matter how close they were, he was never warm.
To be exact — she couldn’t feel anything at all.
No cold, no heat.
No pain, no tickle.
Nothing.
Because it had been a dream.
All of it — every moment with him — had only ever been a dream.
But now… the hand she was holding was warm, and her head and shoulders hurt—
The realization struck, and she shoved him away, startled.
She knew this wasn’t a dream. She knew.
But knowing and accepting are two entirely different things.
Her blue eyes shook wildly, like reeds caught in a storm.
Then her whole body began to tremble.
She tried to speak, but only ragged gasps came out.
The surreal, almost detached calm she’d been clinging to shattered — the reality of it all thrust straight into her face.
Yes.
The world had flipped over.
Sky and earth had traded places.
Without warning.
Without preparation.
The world she’d only ever heard about through his words in dreams — the world that was never real to her — now existed right before her eyes.
Maybe… if her own world had been destroyed, if she’d been left alone in it, she could have done something.
If it had been her world — she wouldn’t have felt so endlessly lost, flailing in empty air like this.
Acilie couldn’t breathe.
The situation she’d pushed aside came crashing over her like a tidal wave, choking her.
Her hands and feet, though resting on the bed, trembled uncontrollably — as if her whole body were falling into a bottomless pit.
A gaping black maw, endlessly wide, endlessly deep — she was falling and falling, never reaching the end—
“Acilie!”
He seized her shoulders.
Her face was pale as snow, drenched in cold sweat.
“Acilie. Look at me. Look.”
His face cut into her blurred vision — his voice, steady and commanding, reached her through the fog.
A powerful force pulled her back.
“Hh—haaah… haaah… haaah!”
The grip on her shoulders and chin was firm — almost painful — and only then did she finally exhale the breath she’d been holding.
Tears mixed with sweat and fell in heavy drops from her chin.
Looking straight into her trembling eyes, he spoke.
“Look at me. Don’t think about anything else. Just look at me.”
His face filled her vision.
Her blue eyes — so empty a moment ago — followed his command and focused only on him.
That vivid shade of blue — like the clearest summer sky — drove away the black void that had been swallowing her whole.
Her arms, flailing in the dark, found his hands.
He caught her — pulled her up from that invisible abyss.
Her slender, trembling arms wrapped around his neck.
His strong arms drew her tight against him, pressing her trembling body into his chest.
“Shhh. Shh. Slowly now. Breathe slowly.”
His voice was soft in her ear.
She opened her mouth, and barely managed to form a sound.
“A…sil…”
“Acilie.”
His low murmur vibrated through her entire body.
“Acilie. Acilie. Acilie. Acilie.”
He kept whispering her name, over and over.
The tension in her arms began to melt away.
Resting her cheek on his shoulder, she let out a long, shuddering sigh.
Her warm breath touched his bare skin, then faded.
Her damp cheek left his shoulder wet, but he didn’t move — didn’t even flinch.
He only tightened his embrace slightly.
As her tears slowed, he stopped whispering too.
Only the uneven rhythm of her breathing filled the quiet room.
Time passed — enough for the last tear clinging to her lashes to slide down her cheek.
Then she stirred faintly in his arms.
“Acilie?”
When his arm around her waist loosened, she raised one trembling hand and rubbed at her tear-stained eyes.
It tickled — so she rubbed harder, but he caught her hand, stopping her.
He brushed back her bright red hair, which had stuck wetly to her cheek.
The tickle faded, but she still wanted to wipe her eyes — so she wriggled her fingers inside his grasp.
“If you rub any harder, you’ll bleed.”
His tone was certain, almost scolding.
She blinked rapidly, her voice rough and cracked like dry paper.
“B… bleed? From what?”
Just from rubbing her eyes?
It made no sense.
Her thoughts were sluggish — too dazed to catch up.
She tilted her head, again and again, puzzled.
His gaze swept from her reddened eyes to the cheek he’d held — down to her shoulder.
“Your skin’s delicate.”
Delicate?
What kind of comment is that…?
Her mind refused to work.
And before she could ask, he spoke again.
“It’ll probably bruise. I’m sorry — if I’d known your skin was that fragile, I would’ve held you more gently.”
“No.”
Her answer came fast, with a weak but clear voice.
She shook her head.
Her vision swam from the tears, but she forced her eyes to focus.
“You caught me.”
They say falling things have no wings.
But he — he had reached out and become her wings.
He had caught her.
Pulled her out of that endless, lightless pit.
Or maybe she was still falling.
But even so…
Because he caught her, it was enough.
“I’m okay now.”
Okay.
I’ll be okay.
She repeated it to herself.
Something impossible had happened — something she couldn’t accept — but she had to.
Because the situation right before her left her no choice.
So she would be okay.
She had to be.
Her hands clenched so tightly the veins on the back of them bulged blue.
He watched her quietly, then opened his mouth — but no words came out.
The woman he had only ever met in dreams.
Only in dreams — always to part when the night ended.
And now, she was real.
Dream had become reality — for both of them.
But unlike him, she had crossed worlds.
How, or why, he didn’t know — only that this was his world, not hers.
The way she’d appeared in his room — disoriented, terrified — it was obvious she hadn’t come by choice.
Why?
“Why…? I don’t… know…”
The fear that had flared in her eyes when they met now mingled with anxiety, confusion, despair — then dulled into exhaustion.
“You caught me…”
Those scraped-out words — her truth — what could he possibly say in response?
She said he caught her — and not just because he’d grabbed her shoulders or her chin.
It wasn’t hard to understand her meaning.
Their conversations had always been like that — layered, half-spoken.
Her world had collapsed.
Her footing was gone.
She’d been falling endlessly — directionless, weightless.
He couldn’t begin to imagine the terror, the confusion, the despair she must be feeling.
“I’ll… I’ll be fine. I’m okay…”
She kept repeating it, trying to steady her breathing.
But he couldn’t bring himself to say the same words.
You’ll be fine.
It’ll be okay.
He couldn’t say either of them.
Because she wasn’t fine.
And he didn’t know if she ever would be.
He could lie, of course.
He was a Grand Duke — infamous, cunning, practiced at political deceit.
He could fill the silence with hollow reassurance, something to buy time, something meaningless — easier than sipping cold soup.
But…
