Chapter 4
Frida's purple eyes shook in even greater confusion than when she had demanded if Daniel truly knew nothing. They were so disarmingly innocent. Eyes utterly ignorant of the fact that she herself had been the victim of a fraudulent marriage. He had heard of the issues with the daughters of the Harkbon family, though whether they could truly be called 'issues' was debatable. But compared to the troubles plaguing the Rihardt ducal family—Svergen Empire's premier troublemakers in this wretched empire—that was mere dust. Four years ago in winter, the Notingen Duke, backed by the empire's northern forces, had incited a rebellion. The interminable imperial throne struggle, which had seemed to quiet down, had flared up again. Back then, and even before, Daniel had been forced to roam every corner of the provocative Svergen Empire's territories. Three hundred years ago, the founding emperor of the Svergen Empire on the Roschman continent, Karl I, had sired eighteen heirs from ten wives. The first emperor used those children to expand land and power. It was said to be the era when the blue Svergen flag emblazoned with the white Nordic cross fluttered most gloriously in imperial history. Upon Karl I's death, the throne passed to his eldest son, Bolshtak I, who fathered twelve children from six wives. Bolshtak I personally named twelve castles and bestowed ducal titles upon his offspring. They were the progenitors of the families later called the Twelve Dukes. Bolshtak I made a somewhat absurd proclamation that would later plunge the empire into chaos.
"The next throne shall pass not by birth order, but to the wisest and most outstanding son among the twelve children."
It was not recorded in official imperial histories, but the prevailing theory held it was due to the pleas of his fourth wife, Milina, who enjoyed the emperor's favor. She had reportedly whispered in his ear at night, urging him to name her eldest son, the fifth prince and Vullo Duke, as heir. Yet the throne went to the seventh son, Oldenburg Duke. Less than two years later, to the tenth, Rosilt Duke. The following year, to the ninth, Rehinar. Thus, within a mere decade after Bolshtak I's death, four families had claimed the throne, only to be ensnared in intrigue and extinguished. The Vullo Duke family was the first to be wiped out, vanishing from history. Damn those old Svergen fools. Why did they sire so many children, exhausting everyone? Afterward, families like the Heidel, former lords of the lands west of Altas now part of the Rüngen Empire, followed suit into oblivion. In the end, only five of those grand Twelve Dukes remained. No, four now, with the Notingen Duke dead by Daniel's hand. Rihardt, Baichen, Rainingen, Vonheim. This tiresome conflict might continue until only Emperor Leopold's Rihardt family and Empress Dowager Margret's Baichen family were left. Thus, no one knew when or where Daniel himself might die. Frida had married into this utter wreck of a household. And not by her own will, but pushed by the Empress Dowager—everyone knew that. Fraudulent marriage? If anyone had been defrauded, it was this woman who had become his wife under the pretext of infertility.
"No husband would look kindly on a wife who might not even bear children."
Daniel had overheard Countess Harkbon say those words on their wedding day, finally understanding why the Empress Dowager had forced this marriage. No wonder she had dragged him from the battlefield. Upon hearing news of the escaped Notingen Duke's son being found, he had fled the wedding hall without even glimpsing the bride's face. In truth, he hadn't wanted to see her—the poor woman forcibly entangled in his already twisted life. Daniel, who had been staring out the window, turned his gaze back to Frida. To the woman wearing an anxious expression, as if unsure where to begin with all she wanted to say. He couldn't fathom how her emotions showed so plainly on her face. Hadn't her parents taught her to conceal her inner thoughts to survive? She was a woman too unlined and smooth for the life beside him—one that had been turbulent thus far and would remain so. Having defined his feelings toward his wife, whom he had met for the first time today, exhaustion suddenly overwhelmed him. Daniel repeatedly clenched and unclenched his loosening fist, struggling to regain sensation.
"Let's end our conversation here for today. As you know, I still need rest."
"Ah!"
Frida let out a sharp cry and rushed over, grasping the arm of the already seated Daniel. Bewildered by her actions, he awkwardly allowed her to support him and guide him onto the bed.
"You looked so fine that I forgot. You're a patient, Your Grace. Your body isn't normal yet. Lie down quickly. If you're tired, lean on me."
As if she, who would tumble to the floor with the slightest push, could support anyone. Sure enough, when Daniel pulled his arm free, the recoil alone made Frida's body sway limply. Casually steadying her trembling shoulders, Daniel climbed back onto the bed himself. But... flowers here, flowers there. The quilt, the curtains—all a riot of colorful blooms. Now that he knew, even with his body weighing a thousand pounds, he couldn't bear to stay in this room. With a short sigh, Daniel sat on the edge of the bed instead of lying down and pressed his forehead.
"Could you call the servants to prepare a separate room for me? You can have this one if you like it."
He had no idea how his room had become like this, nor did he want to ask.
"Haah...."
A deep sigh escaped his lips, which had learned curses from Ricardo and were ready to unleash them.
"Um...."
At the hesitant voice, Daniel lifted his head, heavy enough to crash to the floor. What now? Her hands fidgeted busily with her skirt. Lowering the hand from his forehead, Daniel crossed his arms.
"Can't you call the servants first and then tell me what you have to say? I'm tired."
"It's that... There are no separate rooms for you in Munheim Castle right now."
"...."
Speechless, Daniel recalled Munheim Castle's layout. As far as he knew, it was neglected, but surely overrun with empty rooms—what was this about? Her hand, which had fidgeted long enough, clutched the hem of her sky-blue dress wrapped tightly from neck to toe, creasing it. A voice so small it seemed sucked back in slipped from her thin lips.
"I... I sold them all."
"...The rooms?"
"N-No."
Her head shook so frantically it seemed her slender neck might snap.
"The furniture. I needed money to hire workers for the farmland. So right now, this is the only bed in Munheim Castle fit for you to sleep in."
Frida's slender fingertip pointed to the bed where Daniel sat. Even Daniel, unflappable in most situations, was genuinely startled this time. Sold the furniture? To make farmland? What was all this? And only one bed left in this huge castle? With two people, but only one bed—where had the other one slept?
"Then where have you been sleeping all this time...."
Her white eyebrows fluttered like a hummingbird's wings again. What, what was that reaction? No way.... An absurd answer flashed to mind.
"Next to you, Your Grace."
"Ha!"
A heavy sigh burst out upon hearing the very answer he had dreaded. For a moment, Daniel nearly cursed in front of a lady, forgetting his late mother's stern lessons against sounding like a barbaric Milabo native. *** Fortunately, amid selling off the castle's furniture, Daniel's study had survived. Perhaps due to the absurdity, his muscles, stiff for three years, seemed to loosen all at once. Daniel slumped into the study chair and pressed his forehead with one hand. The Molly father and son, summoned mid-dinner, stood side by side casting broad shadows before him.
"Speak."
At Daniel's curt command, Dominic scratched his chin.
"Where to start? With you deflecting the spear flying at me, losing balance, and slamming your head into the ground? Or me cradling your gushing head and sobbing...."
"Want me to make you really sob, Dominic?"
Ricardo chuckled at the chillingly cold voice and smacked his son's nape.
"What did I say? It wouldn't even take half a day for our lord to recover. Of course—who's bloodline is he? No match for those frail Svergen nobles; he's built different."
Dominic clutched his stung nape and glared at his father.
"What're you saying, Father? Until yesterday, you were cursing him as frailer than the Duchess."
"That was just pity for the wife suffering alone. You said it too—'If he stays like this, find some sturdy guy and ship her off.'"
Bam! Instead of his left hand still on his forehead, Daniel's right fist slammed the desk. Remaining perfectly upright, he spat another short word.
"Speak."
He added in the familiar bloodthirsty tone the Mollys knew well.
"Before I shut those noisy mouths forever."
Undaunted by Daniel's harsh warning, Ricardo merely sobered his grin and nudged his son's shoulder as if to say, "You tell him." Clearing his throat, Dominic dropped the sass and spoke straight.
"Unconscious, you received treatment at the Harkbon count's estate for a month. Their physician said there was nothing more to be done. Unable to leave the territory vacant longer, we said we'd bring you back, and the Duchess insisted on coming along."
Ricardo closed his eyes, recalling, and chimed in.
"Truly brave. Not a single complaint of hardship or fear on that brutal road to the territory. She could've just stayed at the count's without anyone batting an eye, but she chose the hardship."
As his father's interjection ended, Dominic added right away.
"The real hardship started after arriving. Call it a duchy or castle—proper rooms? Taxpaying residents? It was just a mercenary barracks, barracks."
"Exactly. I worried sick how such a frail lady would fare in this harsh place."
The now-loquacious father and son rambled on about the past three years, over half in praise of the Duchess. To manage the duchy, she had said they first needed land for residents to settle, launching massive logging operations. Organizing Altas's foothills required workers, so she sold everything sellable to pay wages. Now, the population was five times what it was when Daniel first received the duchy. Taxes had started trickling in since last harvest.
"This year, we're planting herbs on last year's cleared land. They fetch good prices."
"Our Duchess knows everything. That Baimar merchant tried nitpicking and bragging, but ended up speechless and paying up."
"Ricardo Molly."
Startled by the icy voice calling him, Ricardo turned to Daniel. Remembering that full name and title meant his lord was in a foul mood, he subtly shrank back.
"What did you say to me with your own mouth?"
"Wh-What did I say?"
Sure enough, perfectly crimson eyes bore down on him.
"'A woman who won't live long—if you don't want a wedding turning into a funeral, don't lay a finger on her.' Did you or didn't you?"
