Chapter 16
Death Can’t Sleep
***
In just two clashes, Jeffrey of Sutherland found himself cornered.
Her strike to the joint in his leather armor drew a groan as he doubled over.
Nanael Welch cried out.
“Sir Jeffrey!”
Amarion offered no respite, jabbing the sword’s pommel into his hand. His grip slackened.
“Argh!”
The clatter of his blade hitting the ground drowned in the ladies’ screams.
Amarion pressed forward relentlessly, her sword slashing wildly. The knight stumbled, crashing to the grass in bewilderment.
She leveled her blade at his throat.
“Do you yield?”
“…Yes.”
“Your name?”
She demanded the victor’s due, as knightly custom decreed.
“Jeffrey of Sutherland. I serve Duke Welch.”
“I am Amarion of Amari.”
[*Amari is the estate where Amarion grew up, in the kingdom of Siland.*]
She extended a hand to help him rise. He glanced around in dismay but took it.
“I am Grand Duchess Morte. Seek me there if you crave revenge.”
She sheathed her sword and surveyed the garden.
Silence reigned.
No one concealed their shock.
She turned to Nanael Welch. The lady’s flawless features twisted in humiliation and outrage.
Amarion had expected satisfaction in her rival’s defeat, yet none came.
Like subduing Victor’s nightmares, her blade offered only fleeting remedy.
In society’s gilded halls, a lady wielded words with decorum, not steel.
Today’s rashness would invite sharper barbs.
Yet she was a knight. Her tongue was her sword.
She cast a frigid glance at Duchess Mülze’s guests—the architects of her torment.
Ruining their spectacle brought grim solace.
She tossed her sword aside and returned to Carlz. He knelt silently, slipping her shoes back on.
“Let us depart, Sir Carlz.”
“Yes, milady.”
In the stifling hush, they abandoned the tea party.
***
The Imperial Capital gleamed through the carriage window.
Carlz exhaled heavily.
“Thank the gods you spared him.”
“Why would I kill him?”
“Milady’s sword… well…”
Sir Carlz drew a steadying breath and met her eyes.
“Will you tell me what provoked this?”
“…”
“You wouldn’t unsheathe your blade for trifles. What transpired?”
She averted her gaze.
She had concealed it from Carlz solely because he served the Grand Duke.
The nobles were sly, never mocking her within earshot of the Grand Duke’s chief of staff.
None dared insult a knight’s lord and kin before him.
She yearned only for the storm to pass.
“I lost my temper. Childish folly.”
Carlz’s blue eyes shadowed.
He studied her, then shrugged theatrically.
“Very well. If milady won’t speak, I’ll pry no further. But the Grand Duke will have my head.”
His lament stirred her unease.
As her escort, scrutiny would fall on him.
She reassured him: it wasn’t his fault; she would confess to Victor herself.
Their talk concluded as the carriage halted before the Grand Duke’s mansion.
‘Home at last.’
Relief washed over her as she alighted.
***
Victor returned soon after.
Fortune smiled; the duel remained unknown to him.
Obliged to confer with high nobles and the Imperial family, he had been confined to the Imperial Palace through much of the social season.
She joined him at table after days apart. Dinner featured sizzling grilled beef.
As she sliced her meat, she ventured cautiously.
“I fought a duel today.”
“What?”
Victor blinked in confusion, setting down his wine.
“Are you injured?”
“No, I’m unharmed.”
“What was Carlz doing, letting you duel?”
His eyes narrowed.
Recalling Carlz’s half-jesting frets, she shook her head.
“Spare Sir Carlz your ire. I insisted.”
“Who was the opponent?”
“I…”
She hesitated.
“A knight of Welch. Jeffrey of Sutherland.”
Victor pondered, then scowled.
“Nanael Welch’s escort?”
“Yes. I challenged Lady Welch herself.”
Victor regarded her impassively.
‘Are you furious too? Have I shamed the Grand Duchess’s mantle?’
‘Or is it her name that offends?’
She battled dark musings.
No regrets for defending her honor, yet her conduct strayed from a Grand Duchess’s poise.
Victor’s anger was justified.
‘Rebuke me… despise me if you must. I’ll endure.’
Yet no reprimand came. He clasped her hand fleetingly, then released it with a tender smile.
“I’m relieved you’re safe, Marion.”
He summoned a servant to add meat to her plate.
“You must be famished. Eat.”
She nodded, bemused, and chewed.
The beef tasted of leather.
***
Amarion withered before his eyes.
All week, she resembled the dying—exhausted, taciturn, barely eating.
Probed, she mustered wan smiles, insisting all was well.
‘Yet today… a duel.’
Victor masked his unease, dismissing her early to their chamber. The instant she vanished, he summoned Carlz.
His knight arrived to a barrage.
“What in blazes were you doing?!”
Carlz bowed at once.
“My failing, Your Grace. I apologize.”
Victor’s amber gaze sharpened, serpentine. Rare for his chief of staff to confess so bluntly.
He sighed, tousling his hair.
“Even if Marion demanded it, you should have intervened. What if she’d been wounded?”
Carlz lifted his head, eyeing Victor incredulously.
“Your Grace, even if every Welch knight assailed her at once, milady wouldn’t suffer a scratch. She’s the continent’s second finest—after you!”
“Is that your justification?”
“By chivalry, aye… No, that’s not my point.”
Carlz’s face twisted. Gravely, he continued.
“Odd rumors fester in ladies’ circles. Whispers that once cured, Your Grace will divorce her and wed Lady Welch.”
“Who spreads such filth?”
“Likely Welch’s ilk. Many credence it, and slighted the Grand Duchess accordingly.”
The Grand Duke’s eyes blazed feral.
“Why speak now?!”
“I learned today!”
Carlz massaged his temples.
“Your Grace, I serve you. None malign you before me.”
“…”
“Today, I pressed milady. She stonewalled me. Gods know what venom she endured.”
He sighed deeply.
“How could it come to duel?”
The Grand Duke’s gaze iced over.
Duke Welch.
A mighty house; their aid was invaluable, yet dearly bought.
War’s end saw his affliction leaked deliberately, quashing marriage talk.
‘Engagement severed, yet she covets my hand still.’
‘Unaware their alliance alone spares them my wrath…’
Carlz forestalled his master’s drumming fingers.
“Don’t misconstrue, Your Grace. Milady concealed it deliberately.”
“My wife’s honor demands retribution.”
“She’d loathe you knowing.”
His piercing gold eyes bored into Carlz.
Yet Carlz held firm.
Victor glanced away irritably, at the ceiling.
Cold fury lingered, laced with novel impatience.
“Why endure in silence? Why not confide in me?”
Carlz replied softly.
“Indeed.”
The Grand Duke’s gaze lowered slowly. Rage quaked his frame. Carlz hadn’t witnessed such ire since war’s end.
Yet he stood unshaken.
“Your Grace bought milady with dowry. She’s no fool. She knows she’s aide, not true Grand Duchess or hostess. How could she burden you? You earned her distrust, Your Grace.”
The chief of staff’s words pierced Victor’s chest like a dagger.
