Translator: Nox

Chapter 37

“Is she truly all right?”

Loic dragged a hand down his face, concern etching deep lines into his features.

“Apart from mild anemia, she shows no grave concerns,” Hosen replied, his voice laced with unease.

Though he had served in the Grand Duke’s castle for almost a year, this marked the first occasion he’d stood so near the Grand Duke. His typical duties involved tending to knights fresh from the fray, not attending the castle’s noble masters.

The Grand Duchess’s sudden collapse had offered him a rare shot at distinction. Yet the instant he laid eyes on Loic, any hopes of rising in rank evaporated.

The Grand Duke exuded an aura of unyielding authority. Merely being in his vicinity set Hosen’s knees quaking.

And at this moment, the Grand Duke appeared profoundly irritated.

His chiseled features twisted into a stern scowl, leaving Hosen’s mouth parched.

“How can fainting occur without any underlying disease?” Loic demanded, his tone icy.

“Many noblewomen possess delicate frames and succumb to spells of unconsciousness now and then,” Hosen offered, choosing his words with care.

“Because she’s frail? Do you mean she lacks the vigor even to remain awake?”

Loic and his aide, Whitley, stared at him as though the notion were utterly alien.

‘They wouldn’t grasp it, of course. These northern men brim with innate strength, untouched by even a common cold their whole lives,’ Hosen mused inwardly.

Hosen hailed from the empire’s heartland.

There, he’d been deemed robust, but beside these hardy northern fighters, he paled in comparison.

Fainting from frailty struck them as preposterous, yet in the capital, aristocratic ladies frequently swooned under corsets laced too tightly or from abrupt distress.

Lingering in slumber for an entire day afterward was hardly remarkable.

Still, instinct warned Hosen against voicing such observations.

“Adapting to unfamiliar surroundings has weighed heavily on her. With tensions easing, her accumulated fatigue has simply overtaken her. Rest is all she requires,” he ventured delicately.

“Rest? No stronger remedy exists?” Loic pressed, his brow furrowing deeper.

“I could recommend tonics, but nourishing meals and ample sleep offer the surest path to recovery.”

Loic’s gaze sharpened with dissatisfaction.

Ultimately, Hosen pledged daily visits to the Grand Duchess and to place her well-being above all other duties before earning his release.

Even after Hosen departed, Loic lingered in brooding silence.

“I must engage a personal lady’s maid for her,” he murmured at last, fingers drumming the armrest.

“Are you certain?” Whitley inquired tentatively, probing whether Loic truly welcomed another woman into the household.

“She can’t rely solely on ordinary servants indefinitely,” Loic replied.

“Valid point, yet…”

“I ought to have acted long ago.”

A heavy scowl settled over Loic’s expression.

“I’ve been utterly negligent.”

Regret thickened his words. Whitley regarded him with quiet compassion.

“Your Grace had valid motives,” Whitley consoled.

“She’s so fragile. Why conceal it from me?” Loic lamented, a bitter edge to his voice.

He’d recognized her frailty—her slender arms seemed liable to snap, her waist narrow enough to encircle with one palm.

Yet her radiant smiles had lulled him into complacency.

“What if it happens again? She requires constant vigilance.”

Loic massaged his temple, exasperation plain.

“Instruct Perel to seek out eligible daughters from noble houses. The Grand Duchess knows no one here.”

“Very well.”

“And that maid—what’s her name?”

Whitley, on the verge of exiting, pivoted back.

“Leta.”

“Did the Grand Duchess take to her?”

“Indeed. She deferred the choice to you but hoped for clemency.”

Loic paused briefly before responding.

“Suspend her for one week.”

Whitley’s step faltered, mild astonishment flickering across his face.

Hitherto, pilfering or smuggling from the Grand Duke’s castle had warranted harsh reprisals.

Such measures served as stark deterrents to the staff.

“But didn’t the Grand Duchess plead for leniency?”

Loic averted his gaze as he answered.

“Norton has verified every detail, so it’s settled. Honor her request.”

With Whitley’s departure, Loic exhaled softly.

‘Could this truly be mere fever?’

Loic understood that curse-induced magical rebound struck without prelude. It didn’t mimic the gradual torment afflicting the Grand Duchess.

Rational as that knowledge was, anxiety gnawed at him relentlessly. What if her collapse stemmed from his influence?

Since her arrival, not one surge of wild magic had plagued him.

Moreover, his frame grew lighter by the day. Whenever she fastened his cravat or clasped his arm, the pent-up power ebbed from him effortlessly, like a gentle stream.

But should her ailment arise from this exchange, duty demanded her swift departure.

Perched at her bedside, all appointments cast aside, Loic steeled his resolve.

— “…Grand Duke?”

The instant the Grand Duchess’s luminous eyes fluttered open, however, clarity struck him.

His resolve crumbled into feeble pretense.

‘You selfish wretch.’

At his core, he’d never truly meant to release her.

Loic had long nursed resentment toward destiny.

Since claiming his father’s draconic curse, existence had devolved into ceaseless obligation.

No joys awaited—only an unbroken chain of burdens.

As others savored unhindered lives, he endured excruciating agony, stifling suicidal impulses, clinging to survival through sheer grit.

Misery defined his norm.

Happiness flickered only in pain-free nights, fleeting respites.

Yet from their initial encounter…

From cradling her in his embrace…

Time had begun to stir for him.

Colors sharpened, unseen before. Desires stirred, long dormant.

Proximity to her bred turmoil.

One impulse urged him to savor this novelty without restraint.

Another dreaded addiction, rendering reversion impossible.

— “Grand Duke, I like it here.”

Those words shattered an inner barrier.

She liked it here?

Previously, she’d vowed only to endure the North.

Never professed enjoyment.

A barrier surely barred her capital return—he comprehended that.

Relief washed over him nonetheless.

“I like it.”

That unadorned declaration unleashed his basest cravings.

Elation consumed him.

So profound it bordered on delirium.

His pulse thundered; tremors coursed his veins.

For the first time, his heart laid bare.

‘I awaited these very words.’

Justification to draw her near.

‘Does she cherish the North? Blenheim? Castle life?’

Irrelevant.

How dare he probe, when her scarred hands bore witness to gifts crafted for his knights?

Her emanating warmth proved irresistible.

Repelling it now would be folly.

Better to clasp this glow while it lasted.

She’d bound herself for one year by contract.

Should she depart, he’d not obstruct.

He lacked the audacity to plead eternity.

He’d not shatter her world for his solace.

Yet for this fleeting span, he craved indulgence.

The goddess had forsaken him.

If eternal torment loomed, might he claim one year of normalcy?

Regret might haunt her absence eternally.

A bridge for tomorrow.

‘She is my wife. No more distance.’

That night, after exhaustive reflection, Loic embraced selfishness.

For once—and the last—he chose himself.