Chapter 21
That afternoon, the Grand Duke’s day brimmed with obligations, leaving me no chance to linger with him.
Perhaps a letter to Ferdinand is in order?
Even if he received it with reluctance, I owed him gratitude for such a lavish present.
A response from him seemed unlikely, though.
Now that I think about it, the Marquis has stayed silent.
He might not have minded his unacknowledged daughter slipping away. No word had come from his household. With the marriage complete and their aims fulfilled, my whereabouts probably held little interest for them.
Speculation wouldn’t yield clarity, so I set it aside and requested fine stationery from Whitley.
Moments later, he delivered an exquisite set, its edges gilded and bearing an official crest.
“…Whitley?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Is this genuine gold?”
“Indeed. It’s the premium stock His Grace employs.”
I nipped gently at the gilded border with my teeth. A distinct impression marred the edge.
“…Could you fetch some practice sheets as well?”
One slip, and I’d have to start over. At this rate, the discarded gold might fund an entire home.
Whitley soon returned with superior practice paper—luxurious, yet mercifully free of precious metal.
I sat tall, gripped the quill with care.
What to even say?
“Dearest Ferdinand, I trust this finds you well.
The jewels arrived safely. My thanks are profound, yet since you attended my wedding, why not hand them over yourself? Questions swirl in my mind, but you dispatched the case via a servant…”
I shook my head, discarding the sheet for a fresh one.
“To Lord Ferdinand,
Gratitude for overlooking my flight. Yet how did you learn of it…?”
Irritation creased my brow as I glared at the page. Endless queries burned within, but our bond was too fragile to voice them.
Strip away the true curiosities, and scant words remain.
Just then, Leta swept in with a tea service.
Craving sweetness, I welcomed the treats.
“My, how lovely.”
Three tiers bore petite fruit tarts, so densely adorned it blurred whether fruit cradled cake or vice versa.
“This is far too much for one. Join me.”
“Oh, no, Your Highness. I couldn’t presume…”
“You divvy up the remnants with the other maids regardless, don’t you? Sit and share.”
Leta wavered, but yielded with a profound curtsy when I pressed a tart into her hand.
Does the North truly boast such fruit abundance?
Had my union unlocked trade paths? Winter’s grip notwithstanding, meals brimmed with diverse produce.
The tarts proved divine.
Savoring orange, apple, and strawberry varieties cleared my thoughts.
“Very well. A basic salutation first, then structure the rest.”
After prolonged toil, I transcribed the polished draft onto the opulent gilded sheet.
As Leta cleared the heap of botched attempts, I folded and sealed the final missive with precision.
Late at Night
Following custom, I rapped on the Grand Duke’s door.
“Your Grace, it’s me!”
The portal swung open, but rather than admit me, he emerged and clicked it shut behind him.
“Your Grace?”
His eyes gleamed with icy sheen in the shadowed corridor, prompting an involuntary flinch. Arm braced against the frame, he murmured.
“One thing I omitted earlier.”
“And that is?”
“I’d rather you ceased these nighttime visits.”
The abrupt formality chilled me, stalling my words.
“Why?”
“You understand perfectly. Such encounters ill befit us.”
“We’re wed, aren’t we?”
“…And divorce awaits in a year.”
His resolute timbre shattered my levity.
“I’ve said it before—no need to feign a true union.”
Knuckles blanched as he clutched the door.
“Your Grace, have I offended you?”
“…”
“Did I err somehow…?”
A sigh escaped, tempering his features faintly.
“You’ve done nothing amiss.”
“Then why…”
“I grasp your intent, but refrain from upending my routines excessively.”
“Do I unsettle you?”
“As I’ve noted, solitude suits me. It’s my lifelong habit, one I must maintain.”
Polite yet remote, his dismissal brooked no rebuttal.
“…So, no more nights, then?”
Clutching at the final thread like a child hoarding sweets, I sought solace. He sighed anew.
“That hardly grants daytime license. Simply… avoid the nights.”
“Understood.”
Unyielding, the Grand Duke averted his eyes, leaving my crestfallen stance unheeded.
“Good night, then.”
He retreated inside.
I’d even brought scented oil today for a hand massage.
My fingers still clasped the vial, its aroma curated specially.
Alone in the gloom, self-pity welled.
At least a sliver of light seeped from his door’s gap, easing my retreat to my chambers.
Loic lingered behind the barrier until footsteps ascended the stairs and her door latched. He could only crack it ajar, ensuring her path glowed softly.
The Grand Duchess had barreled into his world like a tempest, upending all in mere days.
Her deeds and utterances perpetually disarmed him.
Loic found himself swept along, powerless.
She bantered boldly of knotting his cravat, demanded strolls in tandem. She breached his sanctum—and worst, he savored it.
I shouldn’t have revealed the curse.
Loic pored once more over Lady Annette’s dossier.
Outwardly the Marquis’s cherished offspring, whispers painted her as his wife’s illegitimate child from infidelity—gossip bearing credence.
Even Perel, who escorted her here, grumbled, “Legitimacy aside, such chill toward her seems excessive.”
Yet her bloodline’s verity held no sway.
Tied to the Marquis, she’d serve his designs.
Loic’s affliction loomed as his direst vulnerability; the Marquis must never unearth it.
Should he learn touch from any woman spelled death for Loic, the Marquis would decry him Empire’s foe.
A hexed Grand Duke.
Pandemonium would engulf Blenheim.
A tainted ruler endangering wife and kin. Should allegiance wane there, locals would scatter.
The Marquis would muster forces; to spare his house’s honor, Loic must capitulate.
What fate then?
The noose might prove merciful. Ill luck could chain him in a spire, puppet to the Marquis eternally.
Despite this, he’d imprudently confided the peril to the princess.
Her knowledge unnerved even stoic Whitley into faltering.
“T-then, Your Highness, we must bind the Grand Duchess to these lands.”
Futile.
She’d vowed departure in a twelvemonth.
Why?
Why did her presence disarm him so?
Not solely him.
Perel and the knights softened like wax before her.
He suspected the cause.
She differed utterly.
Annette diverged from the North’s austere folk.
They shunned excessive mirth as frailty; she radiated perpetual, radiant warmth.
Her voice lilted soft, a zephyr’s caress.
And that subtle pout, her honeyed pleas—irresistible.
Blenheim ever bloomed eternal spring.
Yet the Grand Duke’s stronghold had never brimmed thus with coziness.
The princess, nibbling modest cake, extolled the strawberry as sublime.
Capital delicacies surely outshone it, yet simple joys enraptured her.
Loic, erstwhile indifferent to flavors, now eyed his board anew.
Blenheim’s fruits shone true.
No harm in that.
He wished her recollections of here warded off barren frost.
One fond keepsake sufficed.
Even merely the strawberry’s tang in her tart.
