Chapter 3
Death Can’t Sleep
***
“His Grace endured a brutal war, one fraught with horrors beyond our comprehension. His squad was ambushed under cover of night, and he alone survived. He speaks of nightmares born on the battlefield—upon drifting to sleep, he awakens in a frenzy, sword in hand.”
The corners of Sumona’s eyes crinkled with sorrow.
“His Grace has toiled relentlessly. He consulted every renowned healer in the Empire and even bound his own hands and feet to his bed. On the battlefield, his knights could restrain him... but not here in the mansion. He cannot permit knights into his private chambers.”
Amarion’s cheeks flushed suddenly. Only the Grand Duke and his wife could enter the bedchamber at night. Alternating knights would have birthed scandalous rumors.
She sighed deeply.
“After months of such torment, he returned alone. It was folly on our part to beg him for a way to prevent His Grace from rousing...”
Sumona fell silent. That was the crux of their marriage—she, a knight skilled with a blade, and a woman. Yet it still struck Amarion as peculiar.
Were there not too many weapons adorning the room?
“Could you not conceal them?”
Sumona replied softly.
“Milady, His Grace bears the war’s lingering scars. He cannot sleep without a sword nearby, nor in an exposed space.”
The head maid’s voice brimmed with unspoken pity for her master. Her grief was palpable.
Even in Amarion’s northern homeland, many bore wounds from monstrous clashes—phantom pains of the mind. Some could not venture beyond their homes without a blade; others, never beyond the village walls.
Yet this felt unjust in its own way.
Was it not akin to unleashing a chained beast without safeguards?
Last night had truly terrified her.
Sumona bowed repeatedly in apology.
“Forgive us, milady.”
“No... I wish to sleep more. You may go.”
She pushed her plate aside listlessly.
What good would berating the uninvolved serve?
The maids swiftly cleared the remnants and drew the curtains with silent precision—flawless service befitting the Grand Duke’s household.
Before departing, Sumona hesitated.
“Milady, forgive the intrusion, but may I ask one thing?”
“Of course.”
“How did you subdue His Grace? No one has ever managed it before.”
Amarion answered plainly.
“I struck him with the sword’s pommel.”
“What?”
“I crossed blades with the Grand Duke and knocked him out.”
Shock bloomed across the maid’s face.
***
She awoke as evening fell, rising to stretch languidly.
Well-fed and rested, her body thrummed with ease—a luxury undreamt of before. The white linens cradled her like clouds.
In her northern kingdom, cotton sheets were treasures beyond reach.
She summoned attendants and dined in bed. As she washed her face afterward, the bedchamber door opened.
“Awake at last?”
It was the Grand Duke.
A torrent of questions surged at the sight of him.
She swallowed them back repeatedly, but one escaped.
“You should have warned me properly.”
“I feared you would flee if forewarned.”
“Flee where? There is no escape.”
He studied her a moment, then shed his coat and draped it over a chair.
His form was flawless, unmarred by scars.
“Evading my blade unscathed could not have been simple. Well done.”
This was no tale to earn commendation for her swordplay!
She bit her lip.
Praise from the continent’s finest swordsman brought no joy. She would sooner face the true god of death than endure yesterday’s ambush.
There was vast chasm between consented combat and sudden assault.
Yet he seemed indifferent, perhaps inured by his own anguished existence.
He reclined upon the bed.
“Don’t exhaust yourself all night—sleep once your watch ends. I’ve never roused more than once per night.”
***
As attendants drew the curtains, she slipped into the dressing room to change. Earlier, she had requested trousers and a shirt from the maids.
Last night had taught her the folly of fighting in flimsy nightclothes. The garments—borrowed from male servants—hung loose, but she minded not, merely rolling up the cuffs before returning.
The Grand Duke slumbered like one truly dead.
Sword in hand, she took her post beside him. Vigil in dim light bred crushing boredom, little changed from estate watch duty.
Less than an hour passed before he stirred yesterday. She held her breath, blade drawn.
Forewarned, she adapted her approach.
Why wait for frenzy? She circled behind him stealthily. He slept on, undisturbed.
Suddenly, he snatched an axe from nearby with blinding speed. She dodged in panic as it hurtled toward her.
‘A sword taxes me—how mighty is he?’
Only after parrying several blows did an opening appear. She drove her elbow into him, then pommel-struck his nape, felling him at last. Gasping, she hauled his limp form back to bed.
Drained utterly, she collapsed onto the mattress. Repelled by proximity to him, yet the plush duvet’s allure proved irresistible.
She yielded, curling at the bed’s edge—invisible, should he stir.
An unreal night slipped away.
***
A hand shook her shoulder. Blinding sun pierced her lids. Groaning, she pried her eyes open.
“Amarion.”
Victor gazed down, amber eyes alight with intrigue.
“You slept like this?”
His gaze roamed her baggy trousers, shirt, and clutched sword.
Flustered, she hugged the blade closer.
Who bore fault for this?
He chuckled at her glare, his smile so radiant she faltered, staring blankly.
With a gentle grin, he rose.
“Regardless, you’ve endured another night unscathed.”
“...Yes, Your Grace.”
“Join me for breakfast.”
He departed in his robe.
Soon, maids arrived to assist: a bath, combed hair, a comfortable gown. Their selections outshone her kingdom’s garb in vibrancy and silkiness.
Prepared, she faced the grand mirror. Her lean, scarred frame in such finery seemed comical—like donning a stranger’s garb. Reluctantly, she proceeded to the dining hall.
Breakfast awaited: warm loaves, vegetable soup, crackling roast duck—abundant, aromatic.
Again, restraint was her battle, lest she gorge.
The Grand Duke, at table’s head, sliced duck with elegant precision.
“Explore the mansion today. I must attend the Imperial Palace; Diederik will escort you.”
The butler beside him bowed.
“Greetings, milady. I am Diederik.”
“Hello.”
Diederik was a middle-aged man with neatly trimmed gray hair and beard, exuding steadfast resolve. Only then did she note the hall brimming with servants.
Had something transpired?
The Grand Duke rose first, perhaps sensing her measured bites for decorum’s sake.
“I must away. Eat your fill.”
“Allow me to see you off.”
“No need. It’s nearby.”
He inclined his head and exited.
She glanced to Sumona, who nodded reassuringly with a whisper.
Amarion puzzled. Etiquette demanded a lady bid farewell to her departing lord.
She pondered briefly, then drew the duck platter near.
After last night’s ordeal, elegance be damned.
