Translator: Nox

Chapter 24

The lights in the new bridal chamber went out early. Pheon, having extinguished all the lamps, thought of the Emperor’s spies watching them from beyond the curtains and windows. And it wasn’t just outside the windows. There would be some beyond the door as well.

He gazed at Kaella, who had burrowed completely under the blankets. Or rather, it was a pile of blankets, but even directing his gaze there felt like a sin, so he quickly looked away.

She was seven years his junior, the little sister he had held hands with and walked around with since her toddling days. A little sister should remain just that. He needed to get a grip.

But why had Kaella slipped right into bed regardless of whether he was there or not? And right after getting married, she’d switched to formal speech, showing no awareness at all of the fact that they were alone in the bedroom.

‘Was she still on the innocent side?’

Had she been? He wasn’t sure. He had waited as long as possible and slipped in only after she had fallen asleep.

It had been a mistake to overlook how much longer it always took for ladies to prepare for bed than one might expect. His heart had dropped when he saw her collapsed face-down on the bed, and she was even awake.

She was tired, understandably so. Her voice had been barely above a whisper, and beneath the white nightgown she had carefully donned, her ankles and feet were swollen. It was heartbreaking.

He understood she was exhausted, but the Duchess casually flopping onto the bed like it was nothing was quite unusual. Wasn’t she afraid of him? She must have received some education about the wedding night.

No, no. Pheon shook his head. After the fuss Beatrice had made, the Duchess might have completely shut down any thoughts about marital relations.

In their previous marriage, there had been no such relations at all. More precisely, because Pheon had left her untouched to “uphold chastity and fidelity,” Kaella had been pointed at and humiliated as “not even a real woman, just a block of wood.”

‘Such nonsense must never come up again.’

It absolutely could not happen. It would be better if rumors spread that he was the one failing to perform properly.

And that would give Kaella legitimate grounds for divorce later. If anyone was going to be pointed at in this marriage, it had to be him. He would never repeat the same mistake.

Turning his back to Kaella, he sat not on the bed but on the floor beneath it. The presence he felt behind him was heartbreakingly fragile, and at the same time, its excessive fragility terrified him.

Guarding someone he had once thoroughly broken, without a single scar—it was frightening, yes. To him, who had only ever shattered things and who would continue fighting wars meticulously, Kaella was an utterly perplexing existence.

And so, in the darkness, he ruminated on his sins over and over. For a very long time. Until Kaella, who had been lying still as if dead, finally made a rustling sound.

‘My feet hurt.’

Her soles burned, her calves ached with a belated throb. Even the muscles in her thighs were screaming. It hurt so much, throbbing intensely. And since she’d turned sideways, conscious of Pheon, and stayed motionless for so long, her whole body had gone numb.

‘Should I pretend to be sleep-talking and roll over? Pretend it’s a sleeping habit? What do I do?’

Ah, how had she ended up worrying about something like this? Just then, as she was overly conscious of why that man was sitting motionless on the floor by the bed, her overlapping legs slipped with a soft slide. The slightly thinned spring blanket rustled.

Kaella unconsciously held her breath. She thought she heard something.

Light footsteps drew closer and stopped right in front of her, where she was desperately pretending to sleep. There was also the thud of something heavy being set on the floor. Then he sat down nearby.

“Kaella.”

Tension shot up from her waist at the low voice, but she didn’t move a muscle.

“You’re not sleeping, so open your eyes.”

Not ’not sleeping’ but ‘unable to sleep’—at those words, Kaella had no choice but to open her eyes. A gaze as quiet and polite as his voice, one that seemed to know everything, met hers.

He had pulled up a chair and sat by the bedside.

“Listen to me carefully.”

What was he planning? Kaella sat up.

“If we don’t take care of it now, you’ll toss and turn tonight, your legs will hurt again tomorrow, and the day after, it’ll be even worse with tomorrow’s pain added on. And we have to go to Lüsenford, so they’ll swell up again.”

His hands, originally long and delicate but thickened and roughened from gripping a sword, rested quietly on the blankets. Beneath those blankets lay the legs screaming in swollen pain.

Kaella bowed her head deeply.

“I was short-sighted. I’m sorry.”

He meant that if the Duchess fell ill on the way to Lüsenford, the procession would be delayed accordingly.

Kaella hurriedly pushed back the blankets and began massaging her own legs. She pressed clumsily over the nightgown with hands unfit for such work, kneading firmly.

An old habit surfaced. Watching for cues, adjusting her actions in hopes of a single glance back, striving to be helpful rather than a hindrance—the pitiable one-sided love.

And so, causing trouble filled her with shame and guilt. No matter how many times she vowed to quit, it was a toxic emotion that made her forget her resolutions before long.

‘I definitely promised myself I wouldn’t care.’

So why had she apologized out of embarrassment and guilt? It could happen! He was someone else’s man anyway—what did it matter if he thought her pathetic? She scolded herself as she rubbed the sore spots.

“No, I didn’t mean you were short-sighted.”

Pheon, his discomfort evident as he swept a hand over his mouth, stopped her clumsy hands. Though he tried to stop her, he didn’t dare touch. In this bridal chamber alone together, everything felt cautious. He approached only close enough and met her eyes, speaking softly.

“I meant I wanted to help since the schedule ahead will be tough. I was asking for your permission. Let me do it.”

She had no immunity to such gentle words she’d never heard before. Kaella shook her head vigorously.

“I can do it myself.”

She wouldn’t accept even if offered. Or rather, she knew she shouldn’t now and was trying to keep her head straight. Her hands pressing her calves unconsciously tightened, veins whitening over bone.

“Kaella.”

Unlike her, who was trying so hard to play the Duchess, he continued treating her casually. He wasn’t matching her formal speech anymore.

“If you keep that up, your hands will hurt too.”

He seemed to have all the leisure in the world by himself. Of course, the one nervously watching and gauging reactions out of fear was solely Kaella.

“I won’t make it unpleasant.”

He carefully sought permission.

“If it does, just kick me away.”

As if she could kick Pheon. Kaella, with an awkward expression, set her aching hands down for now.

“Relax.”

With no choice, she nodded and averted her gaze. His large hand tidied the blankets, covering up to her knees as if to say that’s as far as he’d go.

Then he began pressing firmly from near her knee on the thigh. As the tightly knotted muscles creaked, a groan escaped involuntarily, and Kaella gripped the blankets tight. It hurt so much!

“Does it hurt? Sorry. I’ll be gentler.”

He’d thought he was going easy, but seeing the petite Duchess whimpering as if she might collapse, Pheon loosened his grip further in surprise.

“No, it’s fine, it’s okay.”

Everything was fine. This absurd situation of him suddenly massaging her legs, the fact that she’d end up married and dying anyway—it was all fine.

No use pouring her heart into it. So it was fine. She didn’t want to attach meaning to his consideration and kindness.

“Still.”

Even as he massaged his new bride’s legs on their wedding night, he spoke with elegant composure.

“It hurts, doesn’t it, Your Grace?”

It was a joke laced with a hint of amusement. But his large hands, warmer than average body temperature, touched her legs without a trace of ulterior motive. Yes. He really just wanted to help.

Kaella was glad she’d renewed her vow not to attach meaning to anything involving Pheon. Then, as the pain came, she let go of the thought and groaned.

How long had it gone on with her body rigid? The stiff muscles screamed with every press. Kaella furrowed her brow and clutched the blankets as if tearing them.

“Deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth big. It’ll help.”

It did get a little better. But then she’d forget even to breathe and bite her lower lip.

Sweat beaded slightly on her temples, and her extended leg flailed in Pheon’s large hands. Each time, he wrapped her slender ankle, gently pulling it back to soothe her.

“Breathe, Kaella.”

He whispered. His firm thumb pressed her shin. The pain whited out her vision, but where his fingers passed felt light and cool, so Kaella just entrusted everything to him.

“Even if it hurts, bear it a little. Getting it all at once now is better for later.”

His violet eyes seemed to pity her a bit. No, it must be her imagination. It had to be.

His hands moved steadily, sometimes mercilessly, down to her feet. It hurt so much she wished he’d stop, but Pheon sighed as he kneaded her small foot, which fit perfectly in one hand.

“No wonder it hurts after walking so long on these feet.”

“I didn’t walk that long, ahh…!”

She couldn’t even finish her sentence before a groan slipped in. Did it have to hurt this much?

Some said wedding nights forged bonds, others awakened to pleasure, but Kaella’s first had been utter solitude, and her second brought an unfamiliar, strange pain. One that mixed relief with the ache once done.

“Don’t tear the blankets—grab me.”

Pheon’s pressure was so intense she could see her finger bones twisting; he took her hand and placed it on his shoulder.

“It hurts, you’ll hurt…!”

In her daze, trying to speak formally but failing, groaning instead—Pheon chuckled softly at the sight.

“To hurt me, you’d need to build up a lot more grip strength.”

Why did legs come in pairs? One would suffice, but the extra one made it twice as hard and embarrassing.

Kaella gripped his shoulder tightly without refusal, enduring the pain. As he worked on the other leg, her body leaned toward him more, adding weight.

But Pheon showed no sign of discomfort. In fact, his body was like a heavy boulder, seemingly unaffected by her leaning.

“And Kaella. Call me however you want, speak however you like. Don’t be formal.”

Was it possible not to be formal with him? Kaella thought it impossible. How could she not be, with a man who had been a kind brother, then coldly cut everything off without looking back?

Pheon was unpredictable, hard to read, yet endlessly noble and beautiful in his solitude, impossible not to envy.

“When it’s just us, you don’t have to follow etiquette.”

And now, back from death and reunited, he poured words of kindness she never thought he’d say. Even after marriage, he was considerate enough to massage her swollen legs.

Was it a gift for her, worn out from endless false hopes? He could be so soft and warm that she wanted to believe it, but her wariness made her terrified, unable to fathom why he was acting this way.

“I’ll adjust to you.”

There was no reply. Just her ragged breaths, soft hair brushing his jaw and neck, and her light, fragile weight leaning more. Pheon soothed the struggling Kaella.

“Just a bit longer. You’ll sleep much more comfortably after.”

As he added pressure, a scream burst out immediately. Her slender hands, devoid of strength, pushed him away.

“Stop, stop…!”

She just wanted him to stop. But the pain from the leg she’d yielded to him intensified. Kaella panted, looking up at him pleadingly.

“Please.”

Her whisper, mingled with rough breaths, sounded heartbreakingly pitiful.

“Please, stop…”

So pained she was on the verge of tears—Pheon gazed at her steadily for a moment, then closed his eyes tightly and turned his head.

Get a grip. The spies would overhear any suggestive moans from this bridal chamber on the wedding night, misinterpret them perfectly, and report to the Emperor. He just needed to focus—no more, no ulterior motives. He couldn’t react to those teary eyes.

“No. We’re almost done.”

A choked “hic” escaped with her breath as her sweat-drenched face fell back. Pheon supported her neck, making her lean fully against him.

“It’s okay. It’ll feel cool after. Can’t you feel it’s already different?”

To someone in agony near tears, it was infuriatingly smug, yet his voice sounded so soft and kind.

His supported frame held her steadily. To Kaella, with nowhere to lean or rest her heart, it was temptingly safe—but it wasn’t truly a refuge. Not getting cast out would be lucky.

Realizing she liked leaning on him under the pretense of a massage, Kaella wanted to smack her own head. Her eyes reddened, tears welling.

“Breathe, Kaella. Breathe. Come on.”

Her mind was blank. His strong hands gripped her legs without release.

“There might be some bruises tomorrow.”

She squeezed her wet eyes shut and nodded. Her spilled golden hair touched and tangled on his shoulder. Her sweat-damp white forehead gleamed in the moonlight that had finally seeped through the tightly drawn curtains.

Kaella hurt, and she was embarrassed. If she’d trained harder at riding, this humiliating scene wouldn’t have happened.

With her eyes and cheeks flushed red, she clamped her mouth to stifle the sobs leaking out. If she’d known it would hurt this much, she wouldn’t have started. Wouldn’t have let it begin.

“It’s okay. Almost there.”

Like coaxing a child, he coaxed and soothed as his hands kneaded the calf exposed beneath her white nightgown. His touch wasn’t unpleasant at all.

Each press made the muscles scream precisely where it hurt—no other intent possible. Besides, Pheon didn’t see her that way. She knew.

“By morning, it’ll be much better. You’re doing great. No—relax, Kaella. Don’t tense up. Relaxing makes it less painful.”

Beatrice wouldn’t have created such an embarrassing, shameful scene. She would have been more refined.

The rigid, unsophisticated Kaella, who knew nothing, was having this ridiculous wedding night. So used to comparisons, she’d developed the habit of comparing herself—tears welled at the corners of her eyes.

What was the point? It meant nothing, so no need to attach meaning—telling herself that, but clawing at Pheon’s shoulder and letting out beastly groans was too shameful and pathetic.

“You’re bearing it well.”

Even the way he coaxed her like a child, so much younger than Beatrice, made it obvious.

She decided to think it was for the best. Seeing her like this, she’d stop her foolish repetitions, not forget again, and focus only on death.

Why was she always so foolish? Had she felt changed because the man who’d helped kill her father was now helping save him? Kaella loathed herself for clinging to this lingering attachment.

“…Ka, Kaella?”

At his call, she suddenly looked up. And forgot to breathe. Pheon, closer than expected, watched her with an inscrutable expression.

Kaella gazed back unwittingly. The moment their eyes locked, she couldn’t escape the violet irises she’d always avoided. She was captured, frozen in place.

A belated tension unrelated to her crashed over her. As if it emanated from those eyes.

“Does it hurt a lot? Did I… go too hard?”

His thick, low voice was directed solely at her. The slight tremor—perhaps he felt the same tension. Her lips, bitten raw, trembled like his voice.

“It’s fine…”

Her quivering lips whispered before cutting off abruptly. Pheon poured toward her. His intense signal overwhelmed her, pinning her gaze. As if he wouldn’t allow her to look away.

Look at me, it commanded. The distance shrinking, until she’d be swallowed.

’No, no.’

But a stronger warning than Pheon’s struck her. Like pricked by a needle, she flinched, trembling, and sharply turned her head.

“Tha… thank you. I think I can sleep now. It’s much better.”

Squeezing out a voice that barely emerged, she hurriedly pulled away from Pheon.

Her whole body burned, unable to meet his eyes. Surely the Duke’s icy gaze was devouring her. She’d lost her mind alone.

Belatedly, her face flushed hot. Why would the Duke in love with Beatrice feel tension toward her? Staring only at the blankets, she bowed her head deeply.

“Better?”

But his voice was lower and fuller of heat than she’d imagined. Kaella peeked up again.

“Good. Then sleep.”

Standing, Pheon pierced her with his gaze.

“Good night.”

“Yeah, you too… brother.”

The new bride answered tensely under her husband’s eyes. She watched him head to the bathroom briefly, then quickly lay down.

‘That gaze felt like it was burning.’

Strange. She tilted her head, then closed her eyes. Her cheeks burned; she wanted to sleep before he returned.

Her legs felt light and cool. Everywhere his hands had touched seemed to retain his hot body temperature—embarrassing.

She forced her eyes shut. No illusions, it’s nothing—muttering it dozens of times.