32.
Marriage.
After performing a ritual intended to happen only once in a lifetime, Anita slept alone every night.
It was not a surprising state of affairs, nor was it a thing to be lamented. Given that their contract marriage lacked both love and the prospect of heirs, this separation was the natural order of things. Of course, when considering the unique, intimate nature of a married couple, one could hardly call it an absolute principle.
Yet, Lancelot insisted on respecting and being considerate of Anita, even if it meant defying that norm.
‘Respect? Is it truly respect and consideration for a married couple to sleep in separate beds?’
Whenever this thought surfaced, Anita would find herself picking at her skin until it was raw.
‘Isn’t it better, in a way, that Lancelot doesn’t share a bed with me? Sleeping with someone you don’t love is a terrible fate.’
It was a form of self-torture she had never considered before marrying him.
‘Since I can avoid the misfortune of having a child, I won’t have to worry about the issue of heirs after he eventually takes a real wife.’
In that sense, it was a mercy to the child who would never be born. They would never have to be pointed at for having a mother of low birth.
…Haa.
‘There is no gain in spiraling into these thoughts.’
Anita already knew the answer to her own endless questions.
The answer was simple: Lancelot was, indeed, being considerate.
It was merely her own heart—in love with Lancelot—that doubted, feared, and felt disappointed in the dark, all by itself.
Knowing this only made her feel like a more pathetic fool. As she matured, the realization burned sharper: emotions born of unrequited love often yield more pain than joy.
At first, the vast, empty space beside her in bed had hit her with crushing force.
The time Lancelot spent in their shared suite was as predictable as clockwork.
After 9 PM, he would leave the room under the guise of reading or analyzing financial statements—a task he usually delegated, but which he refused to entrust to outsiders. He would not return until breakfast the following morning.
‘We could at least… sleep in the same room.’
Worried about the whispers that might stir among the mansion’s servants, she asked him about it the next morning.
“That is not what you said at the beginning.”
“Hm?”
“Did you not say we should respect each other’s nights? Have you changed your mind?”
Lancelot asked quietly, pulling a single letter from a mountain of correspondence to read.
Watching him concentrate, sipping his warm coffee, felt surreal. The morning scene with him felt like something pulled from a dream.
It had been two years since she first arrived at this mansion. The mere weight of that fact made her heart tremble, and she stammered in response.
“I—I didn’t change my mind. It’s just that I want to be faithful to my role…”
“The maids and servants on this floor are people I have known for a long time. They are my people. You have no need to worry.”
“Ah, yes. That is a relief.”
She carefully set down her coffee, which tasted particularly bitter today.
“If it is acceptable to you, I would like to bring in a tutor starting tomorrow. What do you think?”
“A tutor?”
“We leave for Hixen in two weeks. It would be wise to brush up on royal etiquette and social formalities before we arrive.”
Opportunities to master such protocol were rare. Moreover, it would serve as a defensive barrier, maintaining the dignity expected of a Duchess, so she had no reason to refuse.
“Of course. We can start immediately.”
Lancelot replied as he refilled his cup.
“I must send an invitation, so today is not possible.”
“Who is the instructor?”
“Lady Adelaide Whisker. She is the former Queen’s first-class lady-in-waiting and the head of the Whisker Count family. She left the royal castle years ago and is enjoying her retirement in the countryside nearby. If I ask, she will accept. She is difficult, but meticulous.”
The former Queen’s first-class lady-in-waiting, and a Countess besides.
Anita knew she had to acclimate, but the sheer status of such a figure felt heavy enough to crush her.
“Do not be scared. Be aware of your position.”
She swallowed hard and looked up at Lancelot. For the first time since breakfast began, he met her gaze directly.
“You are the Duchess Edenbahir. My dignity is your dignity, my honor is your honor, and my authority is your authority.”
Anita focused every fiber of her being on his steady, unwavering voice.
As she contemplated the reality of her new life, Lancelot’s advice felt more vital than any other guidance she had received.
“In Montebio, the only ones who stand above me are the King, the Queen, and Prince Maxim. Half of my blood is royal. Now that you stand by my side, everyone must look up to you.”
“Yes.”
“I called Countess Milena for your sake, but you do not have to force yourself to follow her advice. Do not sacrifice or endure for my sake. Though, the Countess is not the type to force such things on you, either.”
“…I know what you are worried about. Thank you. I will not lose my nerve.”
His presence, more reliable than ever, filled Anita with a sudden, surging courage.
It was embarrassing to admit, but she finally understood why mothers—even those who weren’t her own—would stake their lives on securing a good husband for their daughters.
[Don’t be fooled by men with slick tongues, Anita. Those types see a young girl like you as a plaything. Find someone prudent even if they aren’t talkative; someone who speaks only the truth, even if they aren’t affectionate.]
‘Father used to say things like that, too.’
Even if their union was temporary, was her fake husband not a man who fit her father’s criteria quite perfectly?
Feeling a prickling sensation on her cheek, she looked up. Lancelot was watching her.
“Why? Is there something else?”
“You will have to address me differently when we are in public.”
“Ah… yes. I cannot call you casually as I do when we are alone. I am well aware.”
What would be the most appropriate way to address him?
“I suppose ‘my dear’ or ‘darling’ would be more convincing, would it not?”
“Any title is fine, provided we appear to be a couple in love.”
She found the instruction amusing. They were a married couple in name only, yet he insisted she use titles that framed them as deeply enamored.
“I will think on it.”
However, she would never use a pet name more intimate than ‘my dear’ or ‘darling.’ She wasn’t confident she could handle the look of distaste that might cross Lancelot’s face.
***
Two weeks after the wedding, the time had been nothing short of grueling for Anita.
Countess Adelaide Whisker was far more demanding than expected.
[Duchess. How many times must I emphasize this? You only need to be quiet in the presence of the King and Queen. Bowing your head is reserved solely for learning royal etiquette. When you look at me, you must lift your chin. Lower your eyes only slightly. You must project the aura of the superior one, no matter who is watching.]
Hearing the same instructions twenty times a day was the norm.
Exhausted by the relentless schedule, Anita would fall into a deep, heavy sleep the moment her head hit the pillow. When she opened her eyes, it was inevitably early morning.
Just like today.
“Good morning, Duchess.”
“I have brought breakfast. I brewed tea instead of coffee. It is a fragrant jasmine blend.”
As Anita mastered the etiquette of a noblewoman, time blurred, and now only one day remained before their departure for Hixen.
Preparations for the journey had been finalized the previous day.
For a trip expected to last a month in Hixen, the arrangements were simple, consisting mostly of clothing. Since there was an Edenbahir mansion waiting for them there, it was a natural transition; they simply had to move themselves.
Anita rubbed her stiff shoulders and asked the nearby maid.
“Where is Lancelot?”
“Lord Lancelot is busy, My Lady. He has been in meetings with gentlemen who visited last night until just now. It seems he will join you when it is time to depart for Hixen.”
So he had pulled another all-nighter.
It seemed visitors had flocked to see him, knowing he would be away from Shavalon for some time.
‘I am so tired…’
Anita, who was picking at her bread with little appetite, eventually crawled back into the bed.
“Duchess? Are you finished? Shall I clear this away?”
“Yes… my lessons start a bit late today, so I am going to sleep a little longer.”
“Very well. Please rest well.”
The blackout curtains were drawn shut once more. Thanks to that, Anita could drift into the darkness.
Truly, so very comfortably.
So very.
“…Gasp.”
What time is it?
How long did I sleep? She kicked off the blanket and checked the clock.
“9:30 AM. You are not late. Take your time.”
A blunt yet kind voice told her the time before her brain could fully process the hour. It was Lancelot.
Just as the maid had mentioned, he was dressed exactly as he had been the day before. It meant he had truly spent the dawn wide awake, though not a single trace of fatigue marred his face.
She felt a renewed sense of admiration.
‘He maintains a schedule far more grueling than mine, with not a moment to rest. He truly knows how to mask his exhaustion.’
And here she was, sleeping in, drained by a few days of lessons. She felt unnecessarily ashamed.
“I am sorry. I am so lazy…”
“What is the problem? I like your sleeping face. It feels as if I have finally come home to my own room.”