After the nobles surrounding the two retreated, Headrin handed Katrina a glass of wine and began.
“Are you afraid of me, Your Highness?”
Katrina, sipping the wine he had offered, burst into laughter as if she had heard a joke.
“Afraid? Me? Of you?”
Looking at her, I see my wife’s reflection. Blair resembles her—at least in that exquisite face, a face once whispered to be capable of toppling a kingdom.
The moment that realization struck, the woman before me became viscerally repulsive.
“You act as if you are terrified I might uncover the truth. You preach that I am merely the nephew of a sinner, and that you are the saint who forgave me and accepted me into your family. That is the truth you cling to.”
The way she struggled to suppress my aura was almost pathetic. It seemed my mother-in-law still viewed me as the fifteen-year-old boy I once was.
Headrin set his empty glass on the table and leaned in.
“But when an intention is this transparent, it only provokes antipathy.”
The smile vanished from Katrina’s face.
“What you know is the truth. That fact will never change.”
Her voice held a sharp, ironclad conviction, but Headrin, having no further desire to entertain her, bowed with cold precision and turned away.
He retreated to a quiet corner of the banquet hall, moistened his dry throat with a fresh glass of wine, and scanned the room. His eyes, now calibrated to the sight of Blair, found her quickly amidst the throng.
She was engaged in conversation with a woman at the edge of the hall. Their expressions were solemn, signaling a serious discussion. But what truly prickled his skin were the men hovering nearby, glancing her way like vultures.
Scavengers. They were waiting for the slightest opening to rush in, to strike up a conversation, to steal a glimpse of her hand. His blood ran cold at the thought of what might be churning inside their heads.
During the wedding, I hadn’t noticed; she was constantly by my side. No matter how lecherous their thoughts, they wouldn’t have dared approach a new bride with her husband standing in plain view. But recalling the victory banquet, these bastards had always been swarming around her. Only she hadn’t noticed.
Just then, a hand clamped onto Headrin’s shoulder as he downed his wine like rotgut.
“Is it that good?”
Johannes Felix, the second son of the Marquess Felix family.
He was one of the few bizarre individuals who approached Headrin without fear or hesitation, often boasting to anyone who would listen that we were friends. Headrin didn’t even turn his head.
“What.”
“Your wife. You claimed you weren’t interested at the victory banquet, yet you haven’t been able to take your eyes off her all night.”
“Nonsense.”
The denial was smooth, devoid of a shred of hesitation. Johann blinked, bewildered.
You’re glaring as if you want to murder every man who glances at her, yet you deny it? Johann, struggling to reconcile Headrin’s words with his murderous gaze, finally decided to play along with the assumption.
“Well, honestly, she’s beautiful. What man wouldn’t fall for that face and body?”
Headrin, like any man, was clearly attracted to her. *Of course,* Johann thought, *unlike the others, it’s legal for him.* He had never shown interest in a woman before, but this was the Imperial Princess, the Empire’s greatest beauty. It was only natural.
“To exaggerate a bit, if she put her mind to it, she could make every man in this hall kneel at her feet…”
Johann, rambling under the impression he understood Headrin’s heart, suddenly stopped when he met the Duke’s eyes. They were burning with a homicidal intensity.
“Ah, of course, not me! I have principles. I’m not some asshole who harbors lewd thoughts about a friend’s wife, you know?”
Johann quickly raised his glass to clink it against Headrin’s, laughing awkwardly. Headrin stared at him with look of pure, unadulterated contempt. It was baffling how Johann spoke of basic decency as if he were upholding a sacred, thousand-year-old oath.
Headrin pulled back, leaving Johann’s glass grazing thin air.
“Oh, where are you going? Leaving a friend you haven’t seen in ages? Hey, Duke!”
Headrin ignored the call, already moving toward the corner where Blair had been standing.
But in those few seconds, she had vanished.
* * *
“Haa…”
The breath Blair exhaled hung in the air, a pale ghost against the cool winter night.
‘I’m dizzy.’
She had stepped onto the balcony to shake off the alcohol with the biting air, but the sudden temperature shift only made her head swim. She tapped her cheeks, sighing deeply.
“What do I do? If I go back in like this, they’ll call me a drunkard…”
She had a low tolerance for wine, and between the crowd and the conversation, she had inadvertently exceeded her limit. She didn’t feel wasted, just untethered.
‘I need to return quickly.’
But instead of clearing her head, the drowsiness rolled over her like a tide. Just as she was about to doze off, the door clicked open.
“…Lina?”
Thinking it was her maid with water, Blair froze. The person approaching her was not Lina.
“Look who it is. Our dear Princess.”
It was Wesley, the heir to the Marquess Baldwin family. He had been friendly enough when she was a Princess, but as he stepped closer, the smell of cheap alcohol hit her.
“They say a woman becomes prettier once she’s known a man. You’ve certainly become radiant since your marriage.”
Wesley’s staggered gait and half-lidded eyes set off a sharp alarm in her mind.
“…I’m leaving.”
Blair forced the words out, her tongue clumsy. She couldn’t let him know she was intoxicated. But Wesley moved to block her path, his grin widening.
“Hey, we’ve run into each other. It would be a pity to leave so coldly. Give me a moment.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve been away from my seat for too long—”
“Come on. You’re playing hard to get.”
Wesley lunged, his hand clamping roughly around her wrist. Blair, unable to find her footing, was dragged along. She tried to pull away, but the pain only spiked.
“Let go of me!”
“You aren’t even a virgin anymore, so why act like such a naive, virtuous lady? Let’s be honest about our desires, Duchess.”
As Wesley roughly yanked the swaying Blair, a shadow fell over the balcony. A hand materialized from the darkness, catching Wesley’s wrist in a grip so powerful it sounded like bone grinding against bone.
Wesley shrieked, his grip on Blair failing.
“Kuh—what kind of bastard—!”
Wesley turned to swing at the intruder, but his fist halted mid-air. Before him stood Headrin, his expression colder than the frozen winter wind.
“As for what kind of bastard…”
Headrin delivered a crushing kick to Wesley’s stomach. The man tumbled, rolling across the balcony floor. As Wesley scrambled to rise, Headrin closed the distance and pinned him down with a heavy boot.
Headrin crouched, locking eyes with the groaning man.
“I am this woman’s husband.”
He pulled back his fist, his voice a lethal whisper.
“Clench your teeth.”
Just as Headrin prepared to shatter him, a soft sound cut through the air.
*Hiccup!*
Blair, stunned into silence by the sudden violence, had hiccuped. Headrin’s fist froze.
The only sound in the silence was the rhythmic, helpless hitch of Blair’s breath.
Headrin lowered his hand. Instead, he grabbed Wesley’s hair, dragging his face close.
“If I hear you barking again, know that you won’t ever be able to taste anything with that tongue of yours.”
It was a growl too low for Blair to hear.
Headrin released him and stood up. Blair was still hiccuping. Even now, she was devastatingly beautiful. Her large, teary eyes, the flush on her cheeks from the cold, her lips parted in shock—it made his chest ache.
Johann’s voice echoed in his memory: *What man wouldn’t fall for that face and that body?*
Yes. That was the problem.
Because she was damn pretty, this whole mess had occurred.
Thinking of every man in the banquet hall harboring the same lewd desires as Wesley, he felt a frantic, savage urge to pluck out their eyes. He wanted to lock her away in a place where only he could see her. A place where she was safe from the world.
He knew it was madness.
Headrin suppressed the boiling tempest in his blood and reached out, taking Blair’s hand.
“…Follow me.”