Chapter 29
The carriage jolted harshly as it passed over a protruding rock on the dirt road. Stefan tightly embraced his wife's tilting body and urgently asked.
"Darling, are you alright?"
Baroness Boild smiled gently, stroking her anxious husband's arm. Gazing at him affectionately, she chided softly.
"Stefan, please. How many times have I said I'm fine? It's getting tiresome hearing it repeated."
"But your condition right now..."
"Yes, you're right. Because of my state, our journey has doubled in length. We had to sell your precious books to rent this expensive carriage."
"We'll recover that money many times over once the territory rental fees come in, so don't worry about it."
Even knowing his wife wasn't scolding him, Stefan fidgeted restlessly. He felt endlessly sorry toward his wife, who had to endure this arduous trip while finally pregnant after great difficulty.
"I'm sorry, darling. I always end up apologizing to you."
"Don't say that, Stefan. I'm actually glad to be going to the duchy. You know my dream is to live quietly in the countryside raising children."
Stefan's wife was a distant relative of the Chamberlain Count's family, close aides to the Dowager Empress, but born into a modest household of little note. Her father's ambition to launch her into the capital's social circles had sent her to Chellino as a companion and maid to the Countess Chamberlain. However, disliking the capital's bustle, she found Chellino's high society overwhelming. Her attraction to Stefan—lacking eloquence and quiet—stemmed from this disposition. Despite family opposition, she became Baroness Boild thanks to her bull-headed stubbornness, contrasting her seemingly docile appearance. Noble poverty was harsh, but she'd never regretted marrying him. Fearful of the long journey in her delicate state, she'd volunteered to accompany him for the same reason. Because she loved him and wanted to be by his side. Because she worried over his rigid, inflexible nature.
"And no matter how ruthless Duke Rihardt's temperament, would he harm the steward who arrives with his pregnant wife? I must be by your side."
Baroness Boild burrowed deeper into her husband's embrace.
"You worry too much."
Letting out a deep sigh, Stefan wrapped his arms around his wife's shoulders and patted her soothingly. It was his wife Matilda who had pushed his back, deepening his concerns upon learning of the pregnancy. Though a collateral branch, her decisiveness as kin to the influential capital Chamberlain family outpaced Stefan's. Without needing to hear it twice, she'd insisted they go to the duchy.
"Stefan, you know what the Dowager Empress's family is like. The Baichen family never tolerates those opposing their will. They'll torment you endlessly."
Unable to refute the truth, no counterargument came to mind. Regretting the Chamberlain Count's unilateral recommendation to the Dowager Empress was pointless now. As her husband's sigh lengthened, Baroness Boild comforted him.
"You should stop worrying. We'll do well in the duchy. I know how to handle noble ladies' whims."
Unable to speed due to the terrain, their journey stretched over ten days, yet his wife's face gazing up at him brimmed with vitality.
"The Duchess is frail, so I'll care for her and build trust. You just fend off the Dowager Empress's curiosity vaguely. What could happen in this remote mountain corner that the distant capital would learn? Right?"
The heavy, dark shadow on Stefan's face melted away like spring thaw ice.
"You're truly a brave woman."
As he chuckled and kissed her forehead, the carriage jolted more severely than before and came to a halt. Hearing the coachman dismount, followed by ominous grumbling.
"Stay put here. Don't come out."
After earnestly instructing his wife, Stefan opened the door and stepped out. The coachman, inspecting the wheel and wiping sweat-soaked hat, looked troubled.
"What do we do, my lord? The carriage wheel is broken. Fixing it will take half a day at least."
"Half a day? Then it'll be night."
Overnighting with his pregnant wife? Unthinkable. Approaching the coachman, Stefan examined the wheel together. The supporting axle was snapped, confirming it wouldn't be easily repaired as the coachman said.
'Damn it.'
Pressing his forehead in dismay, Stefan shook the coachman's arm seeking any hope.
"Hey. Isn't a village nearby? Can't we make it there? How can my pregnant wife spend the night on the road?"
"I'd try if possible, but this wheel won't budge an inch further. If unlucky, it'll come off completely. Then the carriage is done for."
Disaster. Stefan paled in shock. Then the coachman craned his neck toward their approach path.
"Oh? My lord, I hear another carriage."
"Another carriage?"
Turning hurriedly, Stefan spotted one indeed. A massive, ornate, sturdy one incomparable to his rented carriage. The opposing coachman, noticing them, sped up. Stefan's eyes went to the flag on the halting carriage: an extraordinary emblem of two crossed spears between snarling Altaika heads. Frowning at the fluttering banner, Stefan muttered lowly.
"Could it be... Updyke Margrave?"
Why was the border margrave family's flag—defenders of the empire—here? The door of the carriage, twice the size of his, opened. Thud thud. The emerging golden-haired youth scanned Stefan's group roadside, the broken-wheeled carriage, and ample luggage before speaking.
"You're Stefan Boild Baron?"
"...Do you know me?"
Stunned that a stranger called his name without honorifics, Stefan asked back. The golden-haired youth shrugged, pulling off gloves finger by finger.
"Hardly. Just figured the one heading to Utrecht in a rented carriage loaded with that much luggage must be you."
Gripping removed gloves in one hand, the youth smirked at Stefan.
"Must be right. The Dowager Empress's handpicked rat pup to spy on her stepson back from the dead. Stefan Boild."
Stefan realized the man's identity—or rather, his nickname. The sole heir of Margrave Updyke, called genius swordsman...
'Mad... Flower Deer.'
The madman among madmen, said to smile vilely and beautifully at foes with deer-like round, clear eyes. He now flashed that rumored smile before Stefan. *** Knock knock. While Frida blankly stared at the wall, it resounded again. Clearly, as if knowing she stood before it. Leisurely, giving time to open the door herself once prepared. Her husband stood behind that wall. The man with whom she'd shared her first kiss. Knowing marriage made it inevitable, yet experiencing it left her too embarrassed to face people, feigning illness. Especially Muriel. Having no secrets with her knight, how to explain? She herself didn't know how it happened—what explanation? The dam in her mind burst, flooding yesterday's memories.
"Does today's Duchess like today's me too?"
No reason not to. Dreams achieved thanks to her husband—several. So she'd nodded vigorously with gratitude.
"Then let this be the Duchess's reward to her benefactor."
His lips suddenly met hers, strong with herb scent. Intoxicating just from touch. Her husband's lips lingered long before parting. At least to Frida. She'd fidgeted, wondering how much longer. Why had her husband done that suddenly? As the question assailed her post-kiss, the staring husband extended his hand.
"Let's go. I'll escort you to your bedroom."
Bedroom...? Lips earlier, hand now. Bedroom next? Finally today? Unprepared... Wait, what did Mother say? On the first night, just lie still and follow husband's lead. So like before, stay still? Like before...? Recalling the soft, sensual lip texture, Frida clutched her cheek with her free hand. Cheek burned hot enough to pull away momentarily. Dazed, she'd stumbled after him. Suddenly, her arm tugged.
"We're here."
Looking around: her bedroom door. Until recently, she'd shared a bed inside with her husband, sleeping and waking together. Ah, I woke alone. Blankly staring at the sturdy Altas wood door.
"Madam."
It's fine, Frida. Every wife endures this. Technically, I'm late. Who knew it'd tremble like this?
"Madam."
"...Yes?"
Regaining senses, her husband gripped her hand and whispered.
"Breathe."
Breath surging to her chin burst out. Panting deeply, wiping forehead sweat. Daniel calmly waited through Frida's flustered actions, then kindly opened the bedroom door.
"Go in."
Unclear where courage came to grab his arm.
"I... today..."
But her husband brushed off her hand, pushing her inside.
"Don't think. Sleep well."
That was it. Nothing happened. Nothing. Packing memories, Frida clenched fists, slowly rising. Regret for over-tensing came much later. But first times are awkward for anyone—no need for shame. Besides, she needed his help today. Must meet him. Deep breath, Frida yanked the wall handle firmly.
"Sorry, Your Grace. For making you wait... Huh?"
Blinking at the empty doorway, Frida peeked inside.
"I..."
"Here."
"Mommy!"
Startled by the heavy bass from the right, Frida steadied on the door. Arms crossed, shoulder to wall, leaning Daniel stared at her protruding head. Hastily straightening, Frida awkwardly smiled entering.
"Y-Your Grace, what are you doing there?"
"As you see."
Something felt different, atmosphere thickened mysteriously. Husband nodded chin toward her.
"Watching the wife who entered my room."
