Chapter 37
I made a mistake. What do I do? I can’t let him catch it. It has to be perfect.
Kaella clasped her hands tightly together and followed obediently behind Pheon. Her nape prickled with chill, and cold sweat beaded on her skin.
One small mistake, an insignificant oversight she’d brushed past without a thought—it had piled up and now grabbed her by the hair, slamming her face into the dirt. To make such an error in Lüsenford of all places. She’d been too cautious and ruined everything.
What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? How could she avoid suspicion of being the emperor’s spy?
She could never do anything right. She was dim-witted, slow-moving, unattractive—if only she had quick wits to make up for it, but no, she lacked even that and blundered through everything clumsily. What was she going to do this time…?
“It looks better now that it’s been torn down, doesn’t it?”
Kaella quickly lifted her head and looked ahead. The man who always strode ahead with her trailing behind was no longer there.
Huh? Then where was he? She turned her head as it was. Pheon stood at her side, looking down at her. When had he come over?
“Pardon?”
“I mean that curtain from earlier.”
“Ah, yes.”
In truth, she hadn’t heard what he’d said. Kaella thought even her own responding voice sounded foolish.
“With it torn down, it feels more open… Was it a curtain you liked, by any chance?”
That hideous vivid pink? You liked it?
“No!”
Kaella blurted it out like a shout without thinking. Her so-called ‘foolish voice’ echoed through the vast corridor.
When Pheon looked slightly startled, her face flushed crimson in an instant, and she ducked her head again. Foolish. So foolish. Unrefined, provincial, nothing but clumsy.
“I’m glad I tore it all down, then. Have it redone entirely in whatever color you prefer.”
Time facing Pheon was always brief and hard-won. Conversations ended in seconds, and he always brushed past her.
So it felt strange and awkward that he lingered at her side, listening and responding to each thing she said. She wished he’d just leave at times like this, but he still stood there.
“I’ll have it resolved by today, today for sure.”
“Take your time. There’s plenty of time.”
But as long as she remained in Pheon’s bedroom, Kaella had little time. She needed to retreat to the opposite bedroom as soon as possible.
For the duchess, recovered enough to attend ladies’ events, to still be in the duke’s bedroom was undoubtedly a problem. There would be talk that she’d driven her husband to the cold quarters while hogging the most comfortable and secure room.
This place was too exhausting. She decided to retreat to the room where the hideous curtains had all fallen away and quietly find a way to send her maids back to Ostein.
To do that, she first needed to hang new curtains. That was easy. Pheon’s bedroom had just gotten those deep blue ones, so she could do it quickly.
Kaella hurriedly placed the curtain order. The butler, having witnessed Pheon ripping them down with one hand, wasted no words and ensured the order was processed swiftly.
“Your Highness, the curtains have been ordered.”
“Well done. But, Duchess… this chair doesn’t seem to match the new curtain color, in my opinion.”
Pheon eyed the old chair in the duke’s bedroom with renewed interest.
“Doesn’t your discerning eye agree it needs replacing too?”
The butler would call it perfectly fine. You could sit on it, after all.
Even if sitting long made your hips ache and the upholstery was worn and faded. But before Kaella could respond, a snap came from Pheon’s hand as he touched the chair.
“…Your Highness?”
The chair had bizarrely split in half and thudded to the floor. The other half, still intact, remained in Pheon’s hand.
“Oh dear.”
He muttered indifferently, then casually dropped the remaining half. The chair, worn but hard for an average adult to break, lay utterly shattered.
“We’ll use it for kindling. But now there’s no chair to sit on—what to do?”
Good heavens. The duchess was speechless, and the butler gaped. The duke smiled faintly.
“I’d be grateful if you could select this one too, Duchess. I’m often careless and break furniture, so I look forward to your help going forward.”
From that day on, the duke began diligently proving just how careless he was.
*
“Your Grace, His Highness the Duke has gone and…!”
Ah. Kaella truly did not like this butler, Viscount Rolf Anderson, who had burst in in a panic.
Like the head maid, he treated Pheon as if he were his own son—an insolent man—and to him, Kaella was either the unwelcome daughter-in-law or the emperor’s destitute spy.
Moreover, he was a notoriously stingy miser. Lüsenford Castle’s furnishings had fallen to ruin, even the duke’s bedroom was in that state, yet he refused to improve anything. He must have played a major role in her confinement too.
“And a perfectly good sofa, no less—a sofa, of all things…!”
But these days, whether the duke was showing off his strength or not, he roamed the castle smashing overly worn furniture every other day. The only one to share these monologues with was this butler.
“Which sofa?”
“The one in the study!”
“Calm down. Surely there’s some part that can be repaired and used.”
“No, Your Grace, His Highness just ripped off the armrest with his bare hands!”
This petty cheapskate had even ordered kitchen renovations without the head maid present, and now with him smashing perfectly good furniture left and right, he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
To Rolf Anderson, who saw cherishing, recycling, and repairing as virtues, every day was torture.
“Did His Highness the Duke hurt himself?”
“Only the sofa suffered greatly….”
Two days ago, while deciding on decorations for the curtains in the duchess’s bedroom, the duke had snapped one of the four-poster bed’s posts, claiming his hand slipped.
With a wooden crack, the canopy collapsed, then crash—the perfectly fine decorative cabinet shattered too.
Startled by the noise, Kaella rushed in and was at a loss for words; the butler staggered.
Naturally, with the bed in that state, Kaella couldn’t return to her long-awaited bedroom. And from that point, the list of furniture needing replacement due to the duke began multiplying exponentially.
Kaella pressed her forehead, looking at the butler who seemed on the verge of fainting.
“Use it for kindling at least.”
“Yes.”
At least the butler’s habit of running to Kaella each time was because the duke had ordered her to personally select and purchase all new furniture and interior decorations.
On top of that, the butler quite approved of how the young duchess managed to repair and reuse the broken items somehow.
She wasn’t just recklessly spending like the Ostein duke’s daughter who had gold to spare; unexpectedly, she suggested turning torn-down curtains into blankets or fabric, which pleased him on that front.
“I’ll meet the furniture craftsmen myself. You have plenty to do. Off with you.”
Normally, the butler would haggle prices to get plausible designs cheaply.
But the additional furniture list from the duchess’s troubled face was already too long and varied for the butler, buried in work and suffocating.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
So gratitude came naturally. With strict orders for the duchess to handle purchases and placement anyway, the butler wanted nothing more than to sever ties entirely with that ever-growing list from the duke’s rampages.
These mentally taxing events kept happening in the castle. Kaella, seeing the butler pale like that for the first time as he fled, turned her gaze to the furniture list.
What a variety he’d smashed. Was the duke unable to contain his overflowing strength, or were the castle furnishings so worn they broke at a touch? Probably both.
‘Maybe it’s for the best?’
Lüsenford Castle was so embarrassing it needed a complete overhaul.
But while that benefited the castle folk, it was no good for Kaella at all. She had the eye for good furniture and carpenters, but honestly, she didn’t want to touch any of this work.
‘…I just want to do nothing.’
She wanted to slump powerlessly, waiting day by day for death, but even the sofa she could slump on had been smashed by the duke, and the bed neatly demolished too.
The chair he’d smashed first that day had arrived hastily made, and now even the study sofa was torn apart.
She hadn’t been to his study yet, but Kaella knew well what that boring sofa looked like and felt like.
‘It was worn, though.’
Worn, outdated, ancient, utterly lacking any antique elegance—just crude, quintessentially Lüsenford.
Every room in this castle had at least one eyesore of hideous furniture, and the sofa in Pheon’s study was prime example. Satisfying to relegate it to kindling, but what about her teeth…
Kaella pondered, then finally stood. To order new ones, she’d need to visit the study again anyway.
Bundled tightly in furs, passing the cold corridor and carefully descending the stairs, Pheon unexpectedly stood at the foot, heading to the study.
“Your Highness.”
“Where are you off to?”
He asked naturally, offering his arm.
“I heard the study sofa was broken…”
Whether truly broken or ripped apart by brutal hands, she wasn’t sure.
Kaella took his arm and descended the stairs cautiously. She couldn’t tell if checking spots of accidentally broken furniture had become her daily routine.
“Embarrassingly, the castle’s furniture is all so worn, with poor durability.”
Kaella gaped at Pheon.
Was this man so brazen? His smooth face showed no change in expression. Astonished speechless, her body swayed.
“The stairs are just as worn.”
An arm around her waist in a flash lifted her lightly before she could tumble. Falling like that would have been disastrous.
After Rolf reported to the duchess pale-faced, Pheon had waited, calculating when she’d emerge. The weight in his arm sent a shiver through him. Since remarrying Kaella, he’d grown afraid of too many things.
“Duchess, are you eating well?”
Food. Kaella’s lashes trembled slightly. She suffered gnawing hunger from near-starvation, but poor digestion from the mishandled turbery kept her in misery.
“I’m eating as the doctor prescribed.”
Soft purees, then digestible egg dishes, progressing to well-stewed vegetables bit by bit.
She wanted more, but exceeding portions meant vomiting, so Darinka strictly limited amounts. Eating more wasn’t always better. In Lüsenford, meals were torment.
“…Eat well.”
The hand unavoidably on his shoulder, the waist wrapped in one arm, the effortless weight—it choked Pheon’s breath and tightened his throat.
“You must eat well and regain your health.”
He descended the stairs in a flash, light as could be, and set her down. No time to protest.
“Thank you.”
Not expecting him to carry her so easily, she greeted him with wide eyes.
“Aren’t you busy?”
“I’m always fine. Come in.”
The study door stood wide open, the tattered sofa being carted out just then.
The torn right armrest dangled pathetically, barely attached. So the thickly padded, stitched sturdy sofa had endured years, but not its owner.
“How do you even manage to do that to a sofa…?”
“I just pushed it lightly with my hand, and it ended up like that—quite perplexing. The furniture’s poor durability embarrasses me before you, Duchess.”
The faded sofa, original color long forgotten, had been covered where it frayed.
Thanks to the duke, frayed spots, faded patches, and stains were all exposed. Much like Lüsenford Castle, barely masquerading as a duke’s residence under modest cover.
Dependent on the emperor’s pity handouts for a non-existent household, everything poured into military costs—poverty was inevitable. Then saddled with a penniless duchess who just ate their food—how they must hate her.
The air stung. Somewhere in this castle, hostility toward her lingered. Kaella composed her expression, hiding her feelings.
“I’ll ensure durability for the new furniture orders.”
Her calm, polite demeanor, efficiently checking the sofa’s spot, gauging the study’s atmosphere for a suitable replacement, and a voice more secretarial than the secretary—flawless.
Even Rezen Nerckel, visiting the study, stared at the duchess in surprise.
“Better replace them all. The sofa that’s been broken so far—mine in the bedroom is still intact, so I’ll send that down temporarily. Use it until the new one arrives.”
The one matched to those hideous curtains. By the time the study sofas were all replaced, that vivid pink one wouldn’t return to the duchess’s bedroom—it’d end up carted out just like the one just removed. The study’s master had decided.
“Very well.”
Answering, Pheon turned to Rezen, who’d only aimed greetings at the duchess till then. His uneasy wait, watching them anxiously, seemed off.
“Um, greetings, Your Grace. I’m Rezen Nerckel, secretary to His Highness the Duke. A pleasure to meet you.”
Kaella received the greeting from the man she already knew.
“Nice to meet you.”
“I look forward to working with you. There’s a notice from Kline.”
Had he turned into a bear lately? With the duke, ripping through Lüsenford’s crudely sturdy, aesthetically barren furniture like a brute, glaring daggers from behind the petite duchess, Rezen hurried to his business.
Rezen was more fragile than furniture, after all.
Pheon took the gold-and-red-enveloped letter from Rezen and opened it. The contents were brief.
“…His Majesty is sending an investigator.”
Violet eyes met icy clear blue.
“Seems the report of Your Grace’s injury at the banquet reached him.”
Kaella lowered her gaze. The air no longer just stung—it thickened densely, pressing painfully down on her.
She always sensed first how others saw her. This time, the troublesome woman calling in the emperor’s investigator. That about summed it up.
