Chapter 36
“Is your name Morina? Why don’t you sketch something right here.”
She looked startled for an instant, but when Whitley handed her paper and a pen, Morina dove right in, capturing the tea service on the table with swift strokes.
Her talent was unmistakable; she hadn’t exaggerated her abilities.
Before long, her delicate fingers lost themselves in creation.
A fierce concentration settled over her youthful features, the mark of a true artist.
Those eyes burned with a fervor that drove her to pilfer scraps just for the chance to draw.
I’d posed the challenge to Morina for one straightforward reason: to gather evidence that I’d at least made an effort to confirm her story.
“Proof” might sound grandiose, but it sufficed to validate her words.
Ultimately, I let her go unscathed.
Norton appeared on the verge of speaking up several times.
In his place, I held Leta accountable for her sister’s behavior too.
I cautioned her that the Grand Duke could still impose a penalty down the line.
Yet Leta could only murmur her profound relief that Morina was unharmed.
By the time we wrapped things up, the hour for meals had long passed.
With no hunger stirring in me, I retreated to bed early, gazing at Morina’s artwork for what felt like ages.
Happiness had been a rare visitor in my previous existence.
Scant resources always shrank the spirit, leaving one diminished and wretched.
But resorting to swiping discarded paper for art supplies…
By contrast, griping about a world ruled by wealth seemed almost spoiled.
Naturally, folks here faced their own hardships, and it wasn’t for me to cast judgment…
“She could end up as an illustrator someday.”
The impulse to slip Morina some coin for proper paper tugged at me, but it felt like too much.
Excessive benevolence might paint me as a soft touch, the “naive Grand Duchess.”
“No. No extra favors.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the notions away. Exhaustion weighed down every limb.
“Perhaps a brief nap before the Grand Duke shows up.”
A faint heat bloomed in my skin as slumber claimed me gently.
“Why am I in this place?”
I knelt upon the guillotine’s platform.
My neck was forced down, wrists lashed tight.
Raising my gaze, I beheld a throng packing the plaza.
Eagerness gleamed in their stares for the spectacle ahead.
I strained to cry out, but agony scorched my throat—silence was all that emerged.
“I’m terrified! Help me, please!”
Flailing in bewilderment, my gaze snagged on a figure amid the masses.
He seemed distant at first.
Yet the moment our eyes met, space collapsed between us.
Those golden irises seared into me, devouring my soul.
Ice gripped my frame, turning me rigid as marble.
A voiceless wail tore from me.
His vast golden eyes slitted narrow. My sight swam.
Agony erupted in my eyes then, like flames devouring them.
No amount of writhing freed me from that merciless stare.
“How pathetic.”
Tears of blood streamed down as a resonant voice, laced with fury, reverberated through my skull.
“This is your doing alone. Your last reprieve.”
Oblivion engulfed me.
“…Has she stirred yet?”
“…Let me look once more.”
Click. The door’s latch yanked me from the depths.
Turning my head, I spotted the Grand Duke perched at a distance from my bed.
“…Your Grace?”
“Feeling improved?”
Propping myself up proved futile; my limbs dragged like lead in water.
“Stay down.”
Night had fallen. Flicking on the bedside lamp bathed his angular features in soft glow.
“Why is he here?”
Memory resurfaced then.
We’d planned dinner for that night.
“My apologies.”
The words rasped out, dry and frayed. I swallowed hard a few times.
“We were meant to dine together, weren’t we? I must have dozed off too deeply.”
Concern shadowed the Grand Duke’s gaze.
“You’ve been out a full day. Are you truly well?”
“What?”
His palm lifted toward my brow, paused, then retreated.
He clutched a damp cloth.
“At least the fever’s eased.”
“A whole day? So our meal was last night?”
“I figured mere fatigue at first, but when dawn came without you waking, I summoned the physician.”
A quiet breath of relief escaped him.
“With a chill upon you, take it easy—no straining yourself.”
Surprise flickered through me.
‘Was it that severe? Just weariness, I thought.’
Sleeves hitched up, clad only in his shirt, the Grand Duke set the cloth by the basin on the nightstand.
Had he been tending to me?
No one had ever lingered at my sickbed before.
Warmth bloomed within as I watched him.
Sweeping back stray locks revealed corded veins on his forearm. His shirt’s loose neckline hinted at the enticing hollows of his collarbones.
‘Heavens, I’m cured on the spot.’
His presence alone mended me.
A quip rose to my lips, but his gravity halted it.
“Your Grace?”
“…….”
“Your Grace?”
Only at my second call did his eyes find mine.
Lamplight carved deep hollows across his face.
“Your Grace, are you all right?”
His teeth grazed his lower lip before words came, deliberate and low.
“It could be my fault.”
“Huh? How so?”
“Your illness… because of me.”
Ah, that explained it.
‘He’s fretting needlessly.’
“Since you were close to me…”
“No, not at all.”
I interrupted sharply, emotion thickening my tone unbidden.
“It has nothing to do with you.”
“Your Grace…”
Brushing off his worry, I hauled myself upright.
“I simply reveled too much.”
“……?”
“Too many outings in my excitement—I caught this cold.”
Truth laced the excuse.
Gift preparations for the knights had drained me, market jaunts had piled on, and even today I’d ventured beyond the walls.
“What thrill is there here?”
Skepticism etched his stare, as if sifting an implausible tale.
“I know the North’s tedium better than most. Didn’t you call it dreary?”
“No such thing! The North brims with delights!”
My pitch climbed unwittingly.
“At home, I was caged indoors. Here, I roam the streets, browse stalls, savor that rich tomato stew! It’s pure joy!”
“…Stew?”
“And you’re here with me.”
“…….”
He regarded me, struck dumb for a beat.
I spoke from the heart.
Mornings and evenings brimmed with our banter, my fingers on his cravat, snippets of talk.
“Chats with you, shared strolls… my days here sparkle.”
His appeal didn’t hurt, either.
“Your Grace, I love it here.”
My declaration rang clear, quashing any doubts.
“And I’m on the mend—no need for concern. Truth be told, falling ill had its perks.”
“…….”
“My husband nursed me.”
“…….”
“Now I see the point of matrimony.”
Flush deepened on his face, already warmed by the glow.
“Jesting now, of all times?”
His voice strained after the hush.
“And don’t repeat it.”
“Repeat what?”
“The knights’ gifts. Your hands…”
He nipped his lip.
Glancing down, I noted the faint bandages.
“Blisters everywhere when I saw them. Untended, even.”
Days back, scripting and ribboning those presents had chafed my pampered skin raw.
Scant marks lingered now.
‘Everywhere? He’s dramatizing.’
Sensing an imminent lecture in his scowl, I hurried ahead.
“I aimed to win them over.”
“Win over whom?”
“Your knights, obviously.”
“…….”
“I’m only here a year, but I’d rather not be scorned.”
His brow creased.
“Who scorns you?”
Such earnestness nearly drew my laugh.
“You, to start. You spurned this union repeatedly.”
He recoiled, muttering,
“My error.”
“…….”
“I only meant you seemed… er…”
An awkward cough.
“In any case, no one holds you in disdain. The knights adored the presents—ease your mind. Moreover…”
Fists tightened briefly; he paused, then pressed on,
“Whatever its span, our bond is genuine. You’re Duchess of Blenheim. Others’ views needn’t trouble you.”
His resolve soothed a knot within.
“So if anyone mistreats you, come to me.”
“What then? A reprimand?”
Teasing lit my eyes.
His mouth quirked, smile reined in.
“…I’ll reprimand them.”
“Mark those words.”
Bliss settled in me.
Nodding, I caught him stifling mirth, lip caught between teeth, before he murmured softly,
“The doctor’s due shortly. Rest a bit more.”
Weakness from skipped meals lingered, so I complied, sinking back.
That prior dream faded to irrelevance.
As the Grand Duke drew the covers snug, his tender touch lulled me; eyes fluttered shut once more.
