Chapter 2
My husband had awakened. The lord of the Duchy of Utrecht, Duke Daniel Johannes Rihardt, who had been unconscious for three years. Physician Anton of Munheim Castle confirmed to Frida once more that Daniel had safely regained consciousness. The doctor spent hours meticulously examining the Duke's condition and several more hours under a barrage of questions from the Molly father and son, unable to leave the bedroom. By the time he finally stepped out the door, he was nearly dazed, but even then, Anton checked one more time to make sure Frida's nosebleed had properly stopped. Frida, seated upright in bed with her gaze fixed on the Duke, waved her hand dismissively at the physician.
“I'm fine, Anton. The cucumber herb you prescribed worked wonders.”
“Cucumber herb does help staunch bleeding quickly, but it's only a temporary measure. Make sure to take your medicine diligently, and absolutely do not go out to the fields for at least three days. Understood?”
The physician's eyes overflowed with respect as he looked at Frida. Earlier that day, Captain Ricardo had dragged him out to the fields without letting him grab his medicine bag, throwing him over his shoulder on a whim. The fact that he, empty-handed, had been able to quickly stop the Duchess's nosebleed with cucumber herb was all thanks to her. It was possible only because the land, painstakingly tilled by the territory's people until their backs nearly broke, was now planted with various herb seedlings and medicinal plants. The lord of the Duchy of Utrecht in the southern Svergen Empire was Duke Daniel Johannes Rihardt, the Emperor's half-brother. However, in his current territory, the words of the Duchess Frida were as good as law. Over the past years, this land had been neglected amid the absent-mindedness of its lord, Duke Rihardt. Only after welcoming the Duchess three years ago did it transform into a place fit for human habitation. Surrounded by Altas to the west and the Rapas Mountains to the south, Utrecht had no roads, let alone a nearby sea for building a port, so it had always relied on the neighboring trade city of Baimar to the east for all commerce. The climate was favorable as it was in the south, but the duchy was a mountainous region with scarcely any arable land. The people mainly survived by hunting and gathering. It was fortunate the winters were short; otherwise, they might have all starved or frozen to death. Amid all that, the lord, Duke Rihardt, was constantly off at war at the imperial court's behest, rarely staying in the territory. And for the past three years, he had been bedridden entirely. The person who hadn't abandoned this barren land without even a lord and turned it into farmland over several years was none other than the Duchess. For that reason, no one in the territory disrespected Frida. Despite her saying she was fine, the doctor looked worriedly at her slightly swollen nose bridge and asked,
“Does it hurt?”
“Hurt? I didn't get hit by anyone.”
Even with her pallid, bloodless face, Frida smiled with dazzling innocence. But the moment she finished speaking, Ricardo Molly, captain of the territory's mercenary corps defending the duchy, whipped around and bellowed,
“What? Who dares lay a hand on our precious Duchess? If there's such a bastard, I'll snap his arms off at the shoulders.”
His booming voice was as unaccustomed to the ear as ever. Startled, Frida flinched, her shoulders jumping. Seeing this, Dominic sighed deeply and tugged at his father's arm.
“Father, lower your voice. You're scaring the Duchess. She might faint like last time.”
“Oh dear, did I startle you badly? Are you feeling dizzy?”
Dominic clicked his tongue at his father, who instantly switched to a gentle tone. Over his shoulder, Frida caught sight of Duke Rihardt frowning. Annoyed by the hair covering his eyes, the Duke blew at it with a puff. But when the strands fell limply back over his eyes, a grumbled 'damn' escaped him. Frida thanked the doctor for his hard work and hurriedly shooed him out of the room. As she turned, she kept stealing glances at the Duke through the gap between the burly Molly father and son standing side by side. His black hair and dark reddish-brown eyes stood in stark contrast to her own pure white locks. Dominic had said that when angry, the red hue in his eyes became vivid, like blood—could that be true? His physique was so robust and solid it was hard to believe he'd lain motionless for years. Though a bit leaner, his body was no less toned than any mercenary in the territory's corps. Even with eyes closed it had been striking, but now open, his features were so defined compared to her own hazy, indistinct ones. Frida's gaze clung to the Duke, reluctant to part. At that moment, Ricardo, who had rushed to the bedside upon hearing his lord had awakened and was standing guard there, clicked his tongue at the Duke.
“Losing consciousness for three years just from bumping your head on a rock. I must've raised my lord too softly. A man this frail—tch tch.”
Having dealt with him for three years now, Frida knew those words meant 'I've been so worried all this time.' He was the one who said every day that the Duke was the strongest man alive and would shake it off soon enough. But upon hearing Captain Molly's words, the Duke's eyes...
'Oh... They're turning red. Turning red.'
As rumored, the Duke's eyes blazed red in an instant. Sensing trouble, Dominic smacked his father's arm and intervened.
“Enough, Father. Frail? Our lord ended up like this saving me.”
'As expected of Dominic.'
How did he always phrase things so affably that no one took offense? Two years older than Duke Rihardt, Dominic had a mild temperament and a silver tongue. That skill was mainly used to resolve the messes and incidents his father caused, and whenever he stepped in, disputes were smoothly settled. The Duke, who had been sitting against the bedhead with arms crossed, seemed mollified as the red glow in his eyes visibly faded. But the peaceful atmosphere didn't last. Frida quickly realized it was impossible for a warm, harmonious vibe to persist among these three men.
“Of course, you do need to break the habit of acting recklessly without distinguishing courage from bravado. Well, having learned such a harsh lesson, you probably won't foolishly throw your life away meddling in others' affairs anymore.”
“You wanna die, Dominic Molly? Want me to twist your neck so your head touches your shoulders?”
“Whoa...”
Before Frida could even interject, an exclamation slipped out. It was a novel curse she'd never heard even from Ricardo, who boasted of knowing every insult in existence. In expressiveness, creativity, and the terror of its feasibility, it was undoubtedly a cut above.
“Damn...”
Only belatedly noticing Frida's gaze, Daniel swallowed his unfinished words in a low mutter and shut his mouth. *** The scenes and situations unfolding the moment he opened his eyes only muddled Daniel's already confused mind further. He'd never in his life let his hair grow long enough to cover his eyes, so these shaggy black strands irritated him first. Daniel wanted to brush back the unkempt black hair, but his arms no longer had the strength. Suddenly, dizziness hit him. Closing his eyes for a deep breath helped a bit. When he opened them again, he scanned the ceiling, the bed, and the room with a bewildered expression, brow furrowed. Judging solely by the ash tree pattern on the canopy, this was definitely his room in Munheim Castle. Though he'd spent little time in the territory due to constant imperial summons, surely he knew his own room. But what were all those colorful flowers placed around the room? Dominic wouldn't have let his room end up like this unless he'd gone mad.
“Ha!”
After seeing the quilt with its subtle floral pattern and the bed curtains neatly tied, a hollow laugh escaped him involuntarily. Daniel glared at Dominic and grumbled,
“What the hell are all these useless...”
But catching the purple eyes fixed unwaveringly on him, he clamped his mouth shut again. Dominic smirked, lips twitching, at his lord repeatedly starting and stopping. Normally, Daniel would've exploded in a tirade by now, but he was holding back. It was heartening enough that he'd opened his eyes, and even better that enough reason remained to mind the Duchess's presence. His lord had finally returned. His overwhelming emotions poured out as mischievous teasing.
“Now that the Duchess is here, please watch your words. How can the foremost of Svergen's noble Twelve Dukes, Duke Rihardt, keep using the rough talk of mercenaries? Even we don't do that anymore. Right, Father?”
His father Ricardo seemed to share the sentiment, a sly grin refusing to leave his face.
“Exactly. We're not such crude folk. Soon-to-be knights of the duchy can't go around using gutter language like vagabonds. Of course not.”
Daniel shot a menacing glare at the Mollys through the half-covered veil of his hair. They had always excelled at grating on his nerves, but in the past three years, that talent seemed to have doubled. Right now, though, he was utterly exhausted and in no mood for their banter. His eyes signaled them to cut it out and leave already. But the Mollys he wanted gone didn't budge an inch; instead, the white woman beside them, eyes sparkling, stirred.
“Um... I think the Duke should rest now. The doctor said to take it easy for the time being.”
Her cautious voice was soft and low, but it landed clearly in his ears. It wasn't just for him—the father and son, busy teasing their newly awakened lord, hurriedly stepped back.
“Of course. The Duchess is right. I lost my head in excitement.”
Daniel couldn't help but snort at Ricardo's disgustingly polite demeanor. The man who couldn't string together two sentences without cursing—why was he acting like this since earlier? If his arms had any strength, he'd hoist him up and scratch his nape to shake off the chills.
“This is all thanks to the Duchess's devotion. You've truly been through so much. We sincerely thank you, Madam.”
Dominic, infamous for his cheekiness, was as infuriatingly ingratiating as ever, even after three years.
“No need for thanks, Dominic. I only did what I had to.”
“Nonsense. With a wife like the Duchess, our lord is truly blessed. Haha.”
Duchess... Daniel's gaze, markedly different from when looking at the Mollys, turned to the petite woman between them. Yes. The woman with dazzlingly white silver hair and mysterious purple eyes was Duchess Rihardt—his wife. Watching her see the Mollys out, Daniel tried to recall their wedding day. But there was nothing to remember. They'd only stood side by side briefly in the hall; he'd bolted without even seeing the bride's face.
All he could recall was...
“Stop this wedding right now. It's obvious she'll be scorned for not fulfilling a wife's duties. No husband would look kindly on a wife who might not even bear children.”
That her parents, the Count Harkbon couple, hadn't been pleased with the marriage. And also...
“She can't even stand in the sun, and at night she can barely see. How's she supposed to properly share a bed with her husband in that condition?”
Sharing a bed... Doesn't visibility matter?
'Damn, how long has it even been since I woke up.'
Astounded by his own ridiculously frank and explicit thoughts, Daniel let out a long sigh.
