Chapter 9
As she followed Dominic to meet Daniel, Frida's heart raced anew. It was merely that the pale face she had seen for three years now brimmed with vitality, yet how could a person look so utterly transformed? There was no need for second thoughts. Duke Rihardt, with his sharply defined features now revealed, was the handsomest man Frida had ever laid eyes on. Even considering both men and women together. The refreshing face that had emerged in place of his shaggy hair was a flower in itself, even without a boy's smile to accompany it.
'I really thought my heart would drop out. No, why hadn't I realized it before? Has my vision grown dim even in the daytime, not just at night?'
As if punishing her eyes for failing to recognize her husband's true appearance, Frida rubbed them vigorously with her fingers. Her husband had been handsome even when exuding a somber aura, but this surpassed her wildest imagination. She could scarcely believe this was the same man who had coldly told her that morning, 'I am uncomfortable.' It made her think the tales from merchants frequenting the Harkbon estate weren't exaggerations after all. They had all whispered that Duke Rihardt was merciless beyond measure, a cruel man starved for blood. Dominic's occasional stories hadn't differed much.
"Though he is my lord, I cannot in good conscience claim that the Duke has a good disposition..."
Even Ricardo, whose affection for his lord overflowed excessively, agreed with Dominic on that point.
"Duchess, you must always remember this. If you see any sign of his eyes turning red, shut your mouth immediately and run. The moment you hesitate and meet eyes fully crimson... you'll experience hell. Even that fool Dominic nearly lost an eyeball—I mean, his eye—by charging in cluelessly."
Because of such stories, she had been initially terrified to touch his body. But after one month, two months, her husband who only drew faint breaths was no different from a somewhat large and heavy newborn babe. The Duke Rihardt whom Frida had seen every day for the past three years had simply been... a patient. A sick person whom Frida, who had never cared for anyone in her life, had taken full responsibility for. Yet for this husband to rise from his sickbed and, in a single day, transform into a dazzling figure like Freyr from ancient myths, hailed as the pinnacle of beauty. Her chest tightened stiffly, her heart pounding faster and faster; even pressing it firmly with her clenched fist brought no relief.
"Miss."
Startled by the voice calling her from behind, Frida whipped around.
"Wh-what? Muriel?"
"Deep breaths."
"Huh?"
"Deep breaths. Hoo, hoo."
Following Muriel's hand slowly tracing circles in the air, Frida exhaled and inhaled deeply. As Frida and Muriel lagged behind, Dominic halted ahead and turned back. His eyebrows twitched as he watched the women standing in the corridor, inexplicably breathing in and out repeatedly.
"Might I ask what you're doing right now?"
"Miss Frida forgets to breathe when she's nervous."
Muriel signaled her to continue toward Frida, who was trying to compose herself and say she was fine now.
"Ten more times. You've been holding your breath the whole way here. You'll faint."
Dominic tilted his head at Frida, who frowned at the word 'faint.'
"Nervous? No, why would you suddenly do that? Don't tell me..."
Dominic pointed to the heavy brown door of the duke's study, several steps ahead.
"Because you're going to see my lord?"
When Frida, chest heaving dramatically, silently nodded just a little, Dominic's brow furrowed sharply.
"Why get worked up now over someone you've seen every day..."
In lieu of a reply, Frida flushed her cheeks red and darted past Dominic and Muriel. She then rapped briskly on the door handle with somewhat hasty fingers, vanishing into the study the moment permission came. Dominic, staring blankly at the un-duchess-like swiftness, crossed his arms and muttered.
"Do you know why the Duchess is acting like that, Lady Rosivalt?"
"If you don't, you're a hopeless fool."
Even branded a hopeless fool on the spot, Dominic didn't seem particularly offended. Ever since meeting her at the Harkbon estate three years ago, this lady knight had consistently shown a cold, cynical demeanor. Setting aside her exceptional swordsmanship, that was reason enough for Dominic to show Muriel Rosivalt respect. People who didn't change easily deserved admiration. So instead of sulking at the curt reply, he posed the question that had long nagged at him.
"By the way, Lady Rosivalt, how long do you plan to call the Duchess 'Miss'? She holds the proper title of Duchess."
The lady knight's usually tightly sealed lips parted with a faint puff of air, emitting her signature cynical tone.
"Who knows. Until you lot treat our miss as the real lord's wife?"
"What do you mean by that? Lady Rosivalt, we already treat the Duchess as..."
"No need to prattle on, Dominic."
Muriel passed Dominic and turned her back to the door Frida had entered, standing squarely before it. Unlike Dominic's deeply furrowed brow, her expressionless face was serene as a still lake.
"We all know you see our miss not as the wife you'll serve for life, but as some pitiable noble miss with a terminal sentence—who knows when she'll go."
It was also like the cold, unyielding depths of Altas in midwinter, allowing no approach.
"Well, thinking ahead, it's probably better than getting attached and bawling later."
*** Frida couldn't tear her eyes away from the desk made of Altas ash wood, its grain vividly alive. More precisely, from the key resting atop it. The key was as long as Duke Rihardt's palm and looked quite heavy at a glance. Given that he was extending it toward her, it seemed meant for her. When Frida didn't pick it up immediately but merely stared blankly, Daniel nudged it slightly closer to her.
"It's the key to my personal vault. Dominic will tell you the location."
"...You're giving it to me?"
"Yes."
Unlike Frida, whose voice rose slightly in confusion over his intent, Daniel's reply was utterly calm.
"Why are you giving me the key to your personal vault?"
"I heard from Dominic that you used your entire dowry to develop the duchy. This is to return it."
"Ah... I see."
Frida nodded slowly with serene eyes, as if understanding, but her purple gaze soon sparkled again.
"But, Your Grace. I understood that a bride's dowry becomes her husband's property upon marriage... Is the law on property different in the south from the north?"
Law on property in the south? Caught off guard by the unexpected question, Daniel couldn't reply immediately and quietly closed his mouth. Entrusted to his maternal grandfather's mercenary corps after turning ten, he had wandered everywhere. How could he know headache-inducing things like property laws just from hearing the terms? Even his mother, who had zealously ensured etiquette tutors followed him to the battlefield, had emphasized ignoring laws and systems.
"Don't even glance at such things, Daniel. They'll only shorten your lifespan."
Not knowing wasn't shameful. But unable to long ignore the clear eyes awaiting his answer, he muddled through vaguely.
"There can't be different property laws within one empire, so what you know is correct."
"In that case, Your Grace needn't return my dowry to me. I didn't spend my money, but our money—for no one else but our land."
"...Our land?"
Struck by the utterly unfamiliar words, Daniel forgot to use formal address with his wife. Unfazed, Frida repeated the phrase he had echoed.
"Yes. Our land. The Duchy of Utrecht, where the great 'Twelve Houses' Duke Rihardt and I reside."
Ah, the great 'Twelve Houses.' Yes, a grand and sacred house indeed. Daniel barely suppressed the sneer trying to escape his lips. But he couldn't block the memory surging into his mind.
"Leopold insisted your merits were so great I had no choice. But mark this, Daniel. It's only temporary. Sacred Rihardt is no name to bestow on the likes of you. So follow your mother's example—don't overreach and know your place."
Words from Dowager Empress Margret, former Duchess Rihardt. She had granted him this barren chunk of land, naturally bordered by the rugged Altas and Rapas ranges that needed no walls—while revealing her disdain openly. A woman from the cunning Baitzen family, unparalleled at hiding intentions and scheming behind the scenes. How much she despised him to express her reluctance so plainly. Why cherish land received that way? He had no time anyway, constantly summoned by Leopold. He had accepted it only to provide a resting place for his mercenary corps, forever toiling because of him. It wasn't land to be tended and nurtured by plundering the pockets of a fragile noble miss on death's doorstep. And 'our land'? Who is 'our'? Daniel shot to his feet, snatched the heavy key, circled the desk with heavy steps, and stood before Frida. Avoiding her clear purple eyes looking up at him, he placed the key in her palm.
"I heard the dowry you brought amounted to about 2 million florins in Florin gold coins. If I'm mistaken, inquire with the Harkbon family for the exact sum and bill me. If you dislike Florin gold coins, there are also jewels or ducats, so whatever you desire..."
"D-Ducats?"
Her small hand suddenly clutched the key tightly.
"Did you just say ducats? That your personal vault has ducats? The most esteemed gold coin in the empire right now?"
Daniel's fingers, not yet withdrawn, were caught alongside the key in Frida's grasp.
Amazed that her grip felt surprisingly strong when he thought she'd have none, he nodded, leaving his hand be.
"Yes. Ducats minted in the Veneto Duchy. Worth about... 1.5 times more than florins."
"And up to twice that if they're unused and pristine. My goodness—you have those gold coins?"
Ducats, purer by 2% than the widely circulating Florin gold coins and thus held in higher regard. In the past, his maternal grandfather Massimo had taken land rights in the Rapas mountains instead of gold for his mercenary services. Gold mines were discovered somewhere in those mountains, turning into ducats from the Veneto Duchy. Thus, his vault held more ducats than florins—perfectly unused ones at that.
"How many? How many ducats do you have?"
Hadn't she just said with her own mouth that there was no need to return the dowry? It was unbelievable coming from that woman. Intense, greed-filled eyes locked onto him. The subtle but distinct tug on the key grew stronger. Suddenly, a mischievous urge bubbled up. What face would she make if he yanked the key back from her hand? No. It might be more amusing to let those purple eyes behold a vault brimming with gold coins first, then snatch it away. Would even this noblewoman, appearing utterly untainted by filth, reveal her greed at the sight of glittering treasures? His impassive lips twisted faintly, almost imperceptibly.
"Do you want to see it?"
