Chapter 30
While Frida hesitated, unable to speak first, Daniel observed his wife closely. He'd heard the physician had come and gone, but she didn't look ill—so it must be confusion from last night. Last night... Anyone overhearing might think something grand had happened, but it was merely a kiss between husband and wife. Their first in three years of marriage, no less. Why yesterday, at that moment? Well. His wife had been there—such a pretty wife, at that. Because she said she liked him? He hadn't sought excuses, so he couldn't explain. She was just beautiful. Admirable too. Chattering innocently as if it were nothing, having achieved the impossible in this barren duchy as a woman.
"You are my benefactor who made my dream come true."
Amusing to be seen as a benefactor by someone, yet his chest oddly swelled warmly. Most words Daniel had heard were curses or maledictions far from 'benefactor.'
"Daniel Rihardt, you filthy bastard. I'll curse you even in hell. You're our family's eternal enemy!"
Was the owner of that voice now in his mind Graf Duke? So many had cursed him he couldn't distinguish. All who clashed with Daniel died repeating the same. He'd never started a fight first. The contract between him, his mother Laura, and the Dowager Empress had been thus from the start. As long as Daniel protected Leopold, the Dowager Empress wouldn't kill him. He'd insisted protection meant defense, not offense, joining battles only after they began. They'd have avoided him if they stayed put, yet they stirred and faced extinction, blaming him. But such excuses didn't justify or ease killing. Emotionless acts. Thus Daniel had lived erasing emotions. As blankly, indifferently, expressionlessly as possible. Everything grew tedious. Even women. Ricardo once snuck one into his bed without permission, but desire never stirred. He'd never found a naked body beautiful. To Daniel, human flesh was merely something destined to die and vanish. After battles, survivors stripped the dead bare: clothes, shoes, weapons, belts. Lucky gold finds sparked dances before battered corpses. Moments ago, breathing and alive—their limbs torn, stripped bare. He'd seen it from age ten. As a child, similar sights made him vomit endlessly.
"Acting like noble trash, are you?"
Dominic's mockery each time. Suddenly curious. Which was more horrific: himself retching at such scenes, or feeling nothing now? What would his wife say?
"You are my benefactor who made my dream come true."
Last night, hearing that had felt purifying. If he said he wanted to kiss her pure lips. Or that he wanted to defile her noble body and mind like his own—what would she reply? Daniel closed his eyes briefly, then opened them slowly before speaking.
"Do you need something from me?"
"Pardon? You knocked first, Your Grace."
"Seemed like you had words for me."
"Oh, you heard? I whispered."
Frida covered her mouth with her hand, eyes widening as she glanced repeatedly at the wide-open door.
"More saw it than heard."
Her shadow flickered ceaselessly under the narrow door gap. Sometimes lingering long. Waiting for her presence, he'd grown bored and knocked.
"Speak. What do you want from me."
"Well... Could you help me go outside?"
Daniel alternated glances between the brightly sunlit outdoors and the perfectly fine Frida who'd walked in.
"Did you hurt your leg?"
Was that why the physician came? Frida waved her hand seeing fine lines crease her husband's brow.
"No. My legs are fine. But Muriel issued another outing ban, so I can't go out."
"Why?"
"Well... Muriel thinks I'm sick."
"Aren't you? Heard the physician visited."
"Not sick, just... a bit embarrassed, so I faked it..."
Unable to finish, Frida pouted and mumbled.
"Help me get to the tower with the vault... I have to pay by today. Dominic must be waiting desperately."
Desperately? Unladylike phrasing—Ricardo's influence. What had happened here these three years? Dominic's lament that she felt like family now came to mind. Even that cold man, who saw all women as his abandoning mother, shaken by his wife. Suddenly, the unfamiliar emotion upon meeting her made sense. Dominic had mentioned leaving the castle afternoon—likely for the payout. Grumbling the vault emptied, yet faithfully handling the Duchess's tasks. Daniel inwardly tsked, lit the corner lantern, and headed to the bookshelf. No order given, yet light footsteps hurried behind. Creak. Pushing the shelf revealed familiar darkness. Recalling his wife collapsing there recently, he turned to her.
"Will you be alright?"
Fear leaves lasting afterimages. Yet his fearful wife smiled brightly, nodding.
"Of course. Going with Your Grace, so I'm fine. Not scared at all."
"Brave."
His true feelings slipped out.
"Hear that often."
Rarely speechless, Daniel struggled for reply this time. He stepped aside silently instead. Whether sincere, Frida strode in briskly and took the lantern from his hand.
"I'll hold this."
Finishing, she halted, gazing calmly at him. Blink blink. White lashes fluttered innocently, expression expectant. Unable to read her eyes, Daniel gazed down at his wife calmly.
"…."
"I…."
He realized her hesitation seeing the lantern in her hand and her awkwardly spread arms, ready for embrace. Recalling the past, he couldn't hold back and chuckled.
"Right now, are you asking me to hold you?"
Watching crimson spread rapidly across her pale face, Daniel's smile deepened.
*** In Svergen Empire's south, Baimar—once Graf Duke's land among the Twelve Dukes—had fallen to Duke Mathias Andrea after his death. Precisely, leased from the imperial family. Unable to manage all empire lands, as long as payments flowed steadily, the imperials cared little. Tracing imperial lineage, Duke Andrea had slyly wedged into a branch, amassing wealth swiftly. Along southern waterways eastward to Turk, westward to Rungen Empire, Milabo, Bologna, Bulenchi. He focused on major trade of luxuries and iron ore. Utrecht—narrow duchy in Altas range bordering Baimar—lay outside his interest. Save distant kin Count Harkbon's pleas. The typical Svergenian with blond hair and green eyes, he furrowed his brow at Turner Viscount, overseer of ducal finances.
"Utrecht hiring servants again? That mountain hollow castle needs that many?"
Count Harkbon's frequent letters fretting his daughter had prompted supplying Utrecht's needs. Years ago, he'd bought her furniture at good price amid urgent sale. Merchant to the bone despite nobility, he'd profited modestly—not excessively. Pitying a lone woman managing a widower's duchy, he'd shown 'concern' sans interest. Lately, Utrecht cropped up often.
"Heard Rihardt Duke awoke, but since when does that man act noble with servants? Mercenary habits unbroken. Servants, what servants?"
"With Dowager Empress sending a steward personally, perhaps turning noble now."
"How many are they hiring? Got the funds?"
"That's the odd part."
Turner Viscount handed dense documents of numbers and script to Duke Andrea.
"Last request was about ten—experienced folk with recommendations, clean backgrounds. This time, just 'as many as possible'—no further conditions."
"So what's the problem? We supply casually, take referral fees."
"Planned to, but... applicants overflow. Even pre-arranged shippers now head to the duchy—'Andin Franco' just threw a fit."
Tracing the document's list fingertip to end, Turner Viscount added,
"Rumors say the duchy living's quite good, spreading quietly."
Dozens of names filled the page. If all refused ships, Andin wouldn't sit idle. That foul-tempered sea trader between Rungen and Baimar bound to rage. Pressing forehead one-handed, Duke Andrea shook the papers shouting,
"Find out what's happening in Utrecht!"
*** The lantern in Frida's hand sloshed, their shadows flickering on the floor. Deep in Daniel's arms, Frida's gaze trailed her husband's faintly visible lips. Firmly set like his usual impassivity, yet recalling the recent smile made him seem another man. She'd seen smile-like expressions, but eyes and mouth curving so beautifully together? First time. A pretty smile to remember forever. Burrowing into Daniel's chest, Frida mumbled shyly.
"First time seeing Your Grace smile."
"…No reason to."
Ricardo's tale yesterday made 'no reason to' ache. Such a pretty smile—and he'd been a child then. Dowager Empress went too far. Tilting her head up stealthily, Frida haltingly spoke gazing at his sharp jawline.
"When I was six. Big sister Lotte died, little brother Albert born."
Feeling his arms tense slightly, Frida shrugged.
"Don't remember well, but Lotte said I hugely envied him. Pinching, making him cry when parents away... One day salting his milk, kid wailing... Oh!"
Daniel suddenly released his arms. Set down like tossed, Frida lost balance, dropping the lantern. Crash! Shattering on the passage floor, wide light spilled. Seeing her husband's face above it, Frida gasped, breath halting.
"Ricardo? Or Dominic?"
Pinned to the wall, his eyes gleamed vivid blood-red even in darkness.
"Who? The one spouting nonsense to you."
