Ch#69
A slender crimson streak bisected her forehead, akin to a delicate fissure in fragile glass—the lingering graze from the eggshell against her skin.
“It’s only a minor cut. It’ll vanish in a day or two.”
The Grand Duchess spoke those words with a faint pout, and Loic’s fists balled so hard his nails bit into his flesh.
A profound betrayal gnawed at him from his own subjects.
As Duke of Blenheim, he had devoted his life to shielding them.
He had even endured a horrific curse on their behalf—yet now his wife bore the scar?
“…I’m sorry. This is entirely my doing.”
He had erred in assuming no one in his domain would dare injure the Grand Duchess.
He ought to have foreseen every threat she could encounter, layered safeguards around her.
Above all, he should have rooted out anyone harboring malice toward her from the start.
“How is any of this your fault?” She shook her head.
“It was merely an unlucky mishap. Misfortune strikes anyone.”
“But—”
“And if blame must fall somewhere, it’s because I’m Marquis Fasie’s daughter. Are you claiming that’s my doing?”
“Never. You’ve committed no wrong.”
“Precisely. So let’s chalk it up to rotten luck. That’s simpler for me to swallow.”
Had she demanded he drag every culprit before her to grovel, he would have eagerly complied.
“So please… free the knights as well.”
Loic’s brow furrowed.
Had someone filled her head with needless chatter again?
“They shirked their fundamental knightly obligations. Punishment is fitting.”
“No knight matches your flawless standard.”
“…Even so…”
Heat crept up Loic’s neck.
Even now, her calling him perfect sent his pulse skittering.
What’s happening to me?
“There was a crowd. It unfolded in an instant.”
The Grand Duchess cocked her head, studying his face.
“Naturally, the Duke decides the knights’ fate. But if they’re detained on my account, guilt will keep me awake.”
Loic exhaled silently.
This woman grasped his weaknesses all too well.
Truthfully, he had no intention of absolving Tiern lightly.
Tiern possessed ample skill to block that egg. His lapse was inexcusable.
That’s precisely why I chose Tiern for her—he excels in crises.
Yet her plea about sleepless nights left him defenseless.
“…I’ll command their release at once.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Her smile did little to soothe Loic’s unrest.
He had fulfilled the necessary action.
Freeing the knights would ease Hedrick, Perel, and the rest.
But her?
Who would mend her wounded spirit?
Loic raked a hand through his hair in frustration.
He yearned to lift her spirits, even slightly.
She had always extended solace in his bleakest hours.
An idea flickered.
She might not welcome it, but…
He drew the chair nearer to her bed and settled into it.
“Your Grace?”
“Tonight…”
He paused, steeling himself before continuing,
“I’ll lull you to sleep.”
“…Pardon?”
The Grand Duchess’s eyes widened in astonishment.
“You aided me to slumber once. Now, I’ll return the favor.”
Loic eyed her hand, peeking from beneath the covers.
With a silent request for consent, he extended his own.
She wavered briefly, then offered it forth.
He clasped her delicate pale hand between both of his without delay. It was a full joint shorter than his, nestling plushly in his hold.
“Recline now.”
Still hesitant, she eased back beneath the blanket.
Once settled, Loic commenced a tender massage—kneading softly, tracing his thumb across her palm.
As his thumb glided upward, her fingers twitched faintly.
“Did that sting?”
He had strived for utmost gentleness.
“N-No.”
Her stammer drew his gaze upward, flooding his cheeks with warmth.
Her face bloomed pink, eyes cast demurely downward.
His heart thundered wildly.
“If it’s ever unpleasant, speak up.”
“…It’s warm. Soothing.”
From the instant their hands met, a glow had suffused his body.
Her soft words now threatened to burst his chest.
I can’t tell who benefits more—her or me…
Loic willed composure, kneading her hand like a warrior in grueling drills.
Soon, her breaths deepened into sleep’s rhythm.
He lingered, cradling her small hand a moment more, then tucked it safely under the covers and rose.
Gazing at her slumbering visage, he gulped.
She’s breathtaking… Unbearable.
After gnawing his lip at length, he bent slowly and pressed lips to her forehead—directly atop the mark.
Her fair features quivered, then softened into serene bliss.
The attackers’ cells lay buried beneath the northern tower of the Grand Duke’s castle—the chilliest, most shadowed depths.
Loic’s boots struck the stairs with resolve.
Frosty stone yielded to a line of stout iron grates.
“Commander.”
Guards saluted, voices taut.
“Reports?”
“…Nothing noteworthy.”
The captive was a weathered man past middle age, hair streaked gray. Shackled yet he knelt erect, defiant.
He alone had been seized amid the chaos.
Knights reported his interrogation yielded stonewalling—claiming vengeance against the foe’s spawn.
Blenheim had suffered dearly in the demon beast war, families shattered.
Blenheim knights bore that guilt regardless, for failing the populace.
Thus, they handled him with restraint.
Loic dismissed such qualms.
He dropped heavily onto the iron seat opposite.
Tanned arms showed through the man’s irons.
The mere thought of that hand hurling the egg at the Grand Duchess made Loic’s temples throb.
“Commander!”
Sir Theor of the 1st squad interjected swiftly.
Unwittingly, Loic exuded lethal menace—the prisoner wheezed.
Such fury availed nothing.
Loic drew a steadying breath, fingers grazing his chin—the same that had cradled hers.
“…Why?”
His tone sliced like winter wind.
“The Grand Duchess… she’s Blenheim’s foe—!”
Loic’s boot crashed into his shoulder mid-sentence.
The man reeled into the wall, shuddering.
“Hoist him.”
Two knights hauled him back to his knees, stunned by Loic’s ferocity.
“Comprehend your penalty?”
Loic’s features were a mask.
The man’s throat worked convulsively.
In the North, affronts to nobility drew milder reprisals than in the capital.
Scarce corporal measures, typically.
But royal blood changed that—hard labor at worst for the Grand Duchess.
Still, feigning war grief might soften the blow…
As resolve hardened—
“Death sentence.”
“W-What?!”
He lurched up in frenzy, only for guards to shove him down.
Loic’s glacial gaze impaled him.
“You marred the Grand Duchess’s face.”
The man’s eyes quivered.
“That elevates it to assault on royalty.”
“I—I never intended—!”
His plea quavered.
Assault on royalty? Nowhere in his scheme.
“Two paths alone.”
Loic’s timbre dropped, ominous.
“Silence and the axe… or name your instigator—and plead.”
Instigator…?
Guards exchanged baffled glances.
To them, a solitary outburst from a wrathful local.
But Loic knew upon sight:
No mere grudge. A deliberate strike to shame the Grand Duchess, erode her foothold in Blenheim.
“W-What ‘instigator’…?”
Panic churned in the man’s skull.
No executions marred Duke Loic’s reign in Blenheim.
Bluff, surely.
“I acted alone—!”
Loic surged to his feet.
“Still not grasping it?”
He turned to Theor, face impassive.
“Behead at dawn.”
“…Yes, sir.”
Loic pivoted to depart when—
Clink!
Shackles rattled as the man bellowed,
“It was… a woman!”
He sprang upright, words tumbling free.