The Trash Lady Who Stole the Duke's First Night
Chapter 8
“To think your son would cause such an incident… The boy is a hero of the Empire now, yet he’s still so immature. How can we let the Dragon Slayer’s honor be dragged through the mud like this?”
A sharp clatter echoed.
The master of the parlor draped in opulent red curtains—the Emperor of Lübeck—casually knocked over a bottle of whiskey.
Golden whiskey dripped and pooled toward the Duke’s feet.
In the razor-sharp air, the Chamberlain quietly poured tea. The fragrant aroma was swallowed whole by the heavy stench of medicine and alcohol.
“Affairs between men and women are unpredictable, are they not? In any case, since the first night was consummated, he must take responsibility.”
Duke Schupenhart stepped on the spilled whiskey and took hold of the hot teacup. His voice was flat and blunt, as if devoid of all emotion.
“Tsk, responsibility isn’t everything. A man must know how to cast a woman aside. Once you stand in a high position, wenches will crawl between your legs anyway…”
The Emperor lifted his whiskey glass with a sly, leering smile.
“Isn’t that right, Duke?”
“Your Majesty’s own lap has been messy since your days as an Imperial Prince.”
Accustomed to the Duke’s blunt tongue, the Emperor chuckled, his shoulders shaking.
“Carlos should rise higher and enjoy more. If he likes the Aquitaine wench… tell him to keep her as a mistress.”
“I am told he has already taken the Blue Orb oath before a priest.”
“Ah. Why not just kill the priest? How can he break off his engagement with the Imperial Princess over mere Aquitaine? I was going to pave a golden path for my son-in-law.”
A golden light shimmered above the Emperor’s tilted head.
A golden cross engraved with a crescent moon gleamed alongside the imperial crest.
“We cannot shake the authority of the Papacy. Tensions are already high because of the New Church. Touching their authority will spark immediate conflict.”
“Even if that damn authority crumbles—”
“The Papacy’s standing army is now larger than the Imperial standing army. It is hardly a trifle. Moreover, the public sentiment regarding the subjugation of the Evil Dragon leans toward my son and the Papacy.”
At the Duke’s nonchalant response, the Emperor clenched his fist, twisting his lips.
“Besides, my son’s sense of chastity is so rigid that he will never retract a Blue Orb oath.”
“Ah. Is that so? Takes after his father, does he?”
The Emperor opened and closed his scarred fist, his blood-red eyes narrowing. His whiskey-slick lips curved smoothly.
“Having no greed for the imperial throne must be something he inherited from you as well.”
“It is only natural for a son to take after his father.”
At the Duke’s casual reply, the Emperor burst into hearty laughter. The sound rumbled deep in his throat, vibrating through the heavy air.
“Right, right. A son should take after his father. It’s a pity our Imperial Prince isn’t as imposing as your son… I ought to be blessed with sons like you are.”
He cut into a piece of cake, a lingering smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
“I rather want to see the face of that impudent wench. To dare pull such a vulgar trick on the Dragon Slayer… She must have two or three lives to spare.”
“…….”
“You must introduce her to me soon. After all, do I not cherish Carlos as if he were my own son?”
The Emperor curved his eyes amusedly. His pupils wavered, making it impossible to tell where his gaze was directed.
The Duke quietly stared at the dimming focus of Emperor Friedrich, the Conqueror King. The sickening smell of Paralysis Herb grew thicker, strong enough to numb the nose.
“…His Majesty will hardly last past three months at most.”
Recalling the Chamberlain’s words, the Duke lowered his chilling gaze.
“…Yes. I shall bring the girl who is to be my daughter-in-law to greet you.”
❖ ❖ ❖
“Bedchamber? No! Absolutely not, not at all!”
“That’s a relief. I’d prefer to avoid such a bothersome chore.”
“Ah! So there’s no need to pretend!”
“Right.”
Her face flushed crimson, Elio raised her voice.
“Are you really going to marry me?”
“No.”
“Th-Then what?”
“We’ll break the engagement.”
At the man’s nonchalant answer, as if everything until now had been a joke, the tension draining from her stiff body left her limp.
“…Sir, please answer me seriously. Stop joking around. If an oath is made on the Blue Orb, we have to marry within three months. Does that mean we part ways within three months?”
“Yeah.”
Elio let out a deep sigh of relief.
Of course a Schuppenhardt would never marry a country lady. It was comical how nervous she had been for a moment, wondering if she really had to become a Duchess.
“…But since our first night was recorded in the Blue Orb, wouldn’t it be a divorce rather than a broken engagement? Remarriages can’t even receive a priest’s blessing.”
“Worrying about your next marriage already?”
A rustle of leaves crunched as the man moved. Startled, Elio sank into the water up to her chin.
“Honestly, of course I’m worried! My dream is to have a blessed wedding with someone I love. If I get divorced…!”
“Marriage is your dream?”
His voice sounded somewhat incredulous.
“I suppose marriage can actually be someone’s dream.”
“…To be exact, love is my dream. Because it’s not an easy thing. Marrying someone I truly love, by my own choice, of my own will.”
The wind blew past several times, yet the man gave no answer.
“I’m just thinking about the future, is all.”
Feeling needlessly embarrassed, Elio changed the subject.
Without a penny for a dowry, she worried she sounded like an immature, impoverished noble lady rambling about love. To get married, she would need to save a large dowry…
No, first she had to earn living expenses… no, save up for rent first.
Calculating the independence fund she needed to gather within three months, Elio gave a bitter smile as she remembered the emergency savings her father had thoroughly stripped from her.
How could marriage not be a dream? It was as distant as one, after all.
“Is marriage a given?”
“…Then you wouldn’t get married?”
“You could just live alone.”
“Is that what you want to do, Sir?”
Elio dreamed of spending sweet, peaceful days with someone she loved. Eating together under one roof, falling asleep together, holding each other…
“Being alone is easier.”
Elio hesitated, pulling back the fingers she had reached out to catch a firefly.
Being alone was easier—it didn’t resonate with her at all.
“After listing so many duties a Duchess has to do, I find it hard to believe you when you say being alone is easier.”
His low chuckle drifted over.
…Did he just dislike taking care of a wife? The servants would tend to everything anyway, so what would he even have to do?
Elio sighed at the seemingly idle, carefree man.
“…Anyway, when we divorce, what reason will you file under? Will the Papacy accept it?”
“What divorce? We just have to nullify the oath of the first night.”
“Nullify the oath? How?”
“Just bear with it for three months. Once everything is settled, I’ll introduce you to a decent nobleman.”
At his generous-sounding offer without a proper answer, Elio rolled her narrowed eyes.
Though he didn’t explain a single thing properly, she wondered if he was at least looking out for her aftermath.
“…If you ever do marry, Sir, what kind of person would you want to marry?”
Elio asked somewhat impulsively to the man who seemed utterly indifferent to his own marriage.
“I wonder.”
“Just hypothetically. If you had to pick just one trait.”
“A strong woman.”
At his rather unique preference, Elio nodded blankly.
Musing over his answer, she buried her burning face in her knees.
She was certain of one thing: it was definitely not a woman like her.
Her bruised body, the pathetic sight of being beaten by her father, and herself—having inherited no dragon powers at all and only growing up abused—made her burn with shame right to the tips of her fingers.
❖ ❖ ❖
Elio returned to the campsite, walking dejectedly five steps behind the man.
One by one, fires lit up the deep valley, and the knights were all busy hammering stakes to pitch their tents.
It being her first time camping in her life, Elio’s eyes and body moved restlessly in turn.
No matter how hard she looked, there was not a single female knight in sight.
“…What are you doing?”
At the man’s low voice, Elio craned her head up. Looking up at the man whose legs were impossibly long, she blinked rapidly.
“Preparing for bed.”
Carlos rested a hand on his waist and quietly looked down at her.
The moment he hammered in the final stake, Elio had promptly claimed the sleeping bag inside the tent and curled up into a ball, her face flushing redder by the second.
“Thank you for pitching the tent.”
Carlos stared silently at the utterly shameless little rabbit.
“This is my tent.”
“…….”
Carlos gazed quietly at the little rabbit, who seemed struck mute. A cold mountain breeze fluttered the tent flap. When she gave no answer, he dusted off his hands with a brisk pat and strode right inside.
Elio scrambled hastily into the far corner as if fleeing from a hunter.
“Sh-Should I sleep in the carriage? But the carriage is a little…”
Elio trailed off, looking out at the campsite where dozens of tents shone like the Milky Way.
She did not want to go to the carriage, which sat pitch-black and isolated like a remote island, far apart from the Lobitan members. If a surprise attack occurred, rather than anyone noticing and protecting her, it felt like a spot where she would simply drop dead alone.
“Are there no spare tents? If you give me one of my own, I’ll pitch it myself, but if there’s no spare tent, I’ll sleep in the carriage. I’m sorry for barging into your tent. I didn’t know it was yours…”
As she rambled on with lowered eyes, crawling backward, her ankle was seized.
“Eek! S-Sir!”
As if stuffing cotton into a duvet, the man shoved her into the sleeping bag up to her thighs.
Just as Elio tumbled from her crawling posture and tried to cry out—
Carlos’s thick forearm wrapped around her waist, lifting her into the air, and in an instant, the sleeping bag was pulled all the way up to her chin.
“You came in knowing it was my tent. You knew there were no spares, too.”
He unceremoniously pushed her head into the sleeping bag as well, leaving only her round face peeking out, and cinched the drawstring tight without hesitation.
Elio closed her mouth, swallowing her shout. The sleeping bag was so plush and warm she wondered if this was what a mother’s womb felt like.
“……Yes.”
It was true that she had stubbornly plopped herself inside his tent out of fear he would tell her to sleep in the carriage. She had no excuse to make.
‘That’s why you shouldn’t have kept ignoring me when I asked for my own tent. I only did this because you didn’t answer me.’
Grumbling inwardly, Elio gauged Carlos’s reaction. Her spirits shrank completely before his monstrous physique, which filled the small tent to the brim. If only I had properly inherited the dragon’s power, I’d be far stronger than this man…
Without any particular response, he fastened the strap over the sleeping bag and stuffed her stray, damp strands of hair inside as well.
She winced slightly at his rough, clumsy touch, but demurely cast her eyes down. Sitting so close together in the cramped tent that she could feel his breath, even breathing felt awkward.
“…It’s a bit too cramped for two to sleep, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Are you going to leave?”
“But I’m really petite, so I think we can lie far enough apart.”
Elio cautiously watched the rough man, who kept stuffing her wet hair into the sleeping bag as if it were an ogre’s tail.
“Do I really have to leave…?”
