Previously
After lunch, Frederick reluctantly departs after observing the stiff dynamic between Aracella and Damian. Damian expresses his discomfort with Frederick's presence and warns Aracella to be careful, leading to a debate about platonic friendships and Damian's lack of romantic effort.
Aracella demanded with a freezing smile.
Naturally, calming down was out of the question. Even so, Damian did everything he could to appease her.
He could hardly start a brawl with his wife in front of an audience this large.
Besides, the blame rested squarely on his shoulders.
Well, perhaps not entirely.
She stomped her foot against the floorboards as she snapped, rocking the boat hard enough to draw every eye along the river.
At a loss for words, Damian muttered under his breath.
‘It’s over.’
The entire situation had collapsed into utter chaos.
Aracella’s clenched fists trembled with rage.
Her physical strength posed little danger, but the raw magical force she could unleash from those hands was a genuine threat.
Damian had to act before the watching crowd grew any larger.
Gripping the rudder, he spoke hurriedly.
Hearing the murmurs rising around them, Aracella barely swallowed her boiling temper and sat back down.
She invoked wind magic to dry her sodden dress and hair, then sparked a flame across her palm to banish the remaining dampness.
The water vanished, but she had done it solely to warm her skin—not to soothe her temper.
While she concentrated on carefully raising her body heat, Damian rowed with every ounce of strength he had toward the bank.
And so their river excursion concluded in the worst possible way.
Trailing behind Aracella, whose face was thunderous with wrath, Damian felt completely out of his depth.
It was hardly the first time someone had lost their temper at him, but he had never once bothered to placate anyone before.
Other people’s feelings simply did not matter to him.
Even while feeling unsettled by his own concern over her reaction, an unfamiliar anxiety seized him.
How was he supposed to appease her?
Perhaps an apology was the right place to start.
The moment he stepped into the carriage and closed the door behind him, Damian offered his apology. But Aracella sat leaning against the cushions with her arms crossed and her head turned away, offering no response whatsoever.
Damian conceded with silence.
Aracella let out a derisive scoff.
‘Who does he think he is? As if I’m dying to touch him!’
She unloaded the simmering fury that had been piling up inside her chest all this time.
She demanded bitterly, pausing to catch her breath.
Damian weighed his words with utmost care.
He certainly preferred cleanliness, but he was no mysophobe.
His aversion to physical intimacy stemmed from an entirely different reason…
Yet that reason was tied to his deepest vulnerabilities, leaving him hesitant to speak of it.
If she ever had a change of heart and chased after money like the former head maid had done, every vulnerability he revealed would turn into a poisoned dagger aimed straight at his throat.
Words buried deep within his memory resurfaced.
His mother had been innocent and soft-hearted, a woman who opened her heart too easily to everyone around her.
She never learned how to suspect others, exposed her weaknesses without hesitation, and welcomed suspicious kindness tainted with dark intentions.
As a consequence, she was betrayed by the friend she trusted most, lost her husband, and departed this world.
If Damian was to avenge her, he could never live as she had.
He could not afford to place his trust in anyone, and he had to bury anything that might become a weakness.
Tired of the lingering silence, Aracella spoke up in frustration.
The impulse broke through his defenses, and Damian blurted out the words he had kept hidden.
He caught himself, but the milk was already spilled. Aracella’s expression hardened into ice.
In truth, there was no need for trust or faith between them. It was a contractual marriage where each pursued their own ends, to be dissolved as soon as their goals were achieved.
Convinced of his own logic, Damian felt his composure return.
Yet the moment his gaze met her clear blue eyes, that confidence melted away like snow.
Aracella pinched her thumb and index finger close together.
If a couple supposedly married for love shared not an ounce of physical closeness, people would inevitably grow suspicious.
Even the Vandermeer Duchy could seize upon that as an excuse to annul the marriage.
Damian’s expression turned troubled. Evidently, he found no ground to refute her.
Aracella opened her mouth to speak again when she noticed a loose strand of her hair clinging to his knee, and she reached out to pluck it away.
A sharp smack cut her off as Damian shoved her hand away.
He had not done it intentionally this time either.
His mind had been a tempest of tangled thoughts, and his body had reacted on pure reflex to reject the hand coming near him.
Aracella had no way of knowing that, and even if she had, it would not have altered her reaction; she was simply done tolerating it.
In the end, the carriage rolling down the crowded thoroughfare ground to a halt midway through its journey, the flapping wings of the red bird ornament hanging limp and lifeless from the roof.
Gathering his bag and umbrella, Damian watched Aracella prepare to alight, his heart heavy with frustration.
Aracella ignored him completely and stepped down to the street.
Before the carriage door snapped shut, she flung one last remark back at him.
The date had ended in total ruin.
Churning with conflicting emotions, Damian did not return to the townhouse; he headed straight for the knight order instead.
He wanted to clear his mind by swinging his sword on the training grounds.
On the weekend, training was entirely optional, leaving the grounds largely deserted.
Most knights preferred to rest on their days off, meaning only people like Damian ever showed up to practice.
Naturally, there were also those who were Damian’s exact opposite—such as Isaac Wound.
Isaac, who had been drilling his subordinates under the guise of providing personal instruction, hurried over the moment he spotted Damian entering the grounds.
The sight of damp hair plastered across Isaac’s forehead brought Aracella instantly back to Damian’s mind, souring his mood even further.
Isaac blinked, bewildered.
Who on earth told someone that their face alone was irritating?
If anything, it was Damian whose expression looked utterly miserable.
After going out of his way to recommend the finest establishment in the city, Isaac could not fathom why his commander looked so foul.
Damian gave no answer, but that was answer enough for Isaac.
Whenever their commander refused to respond to an unwelcome question or shifted the subject, it meant he was knee-deep in trouble.
Despite the look of sheer indignation on Isaac’s face, Damian was unyielding.
When a subordinate riled his superior, this was the price.
Knowing any further protest would only double the count, Isaac reluctantly set his sword aside and began jogging around the perimeter.
Meanwhile, Damian threw himself into his own regimen. By the time sweat was beading across his brow, Isaac had finished his laps and jogged back over.
Isaac thumped his chest proudly with a sly grin—though the smile inspired no confidence whatsoever, not that anyone had the heart to tell him.
While Damian narrowed his eyes in quiet contemplation, Isaac pressed on, eager to draw him out.
Damian looked at his subordinate with thorough exasperation before adding quietly,
Isaac stared, his mouth falling open in shock.
Was he seriously pondering that right now?
As Damian’s glare sharpened, Isaac hastily took a step back and threw his hands up.
Even so, his tongue refused to stay still.
Isaac protested with a scowl, then muttered in a disgruntled tone,
The phrase ‘first date’ caught stubbornly in Damian’s ears.
Their meeting before the wedding had been nothing more than negotiating terms, making today their very first proper date as husband and wife.
When the realization struck him, an entirely foreign sensation stirred in his chest.
He was the husband who had wounded his wife on their first date together.
Judging by Aracella’s own admission that it had stung a little, it was likely that she had been.
Damian had spent his entire life indifferent to who took offense or how others felt, yet today, a sharp thorn seemed lodged in his heart, prickling with an unfamiliar ache.