Watching the back of Peon as he headed toward his office—lingering for a moment, as if reluctant to leave after their meal—Kaella felt a strange stir of curiosity. Previously, it had been Kaella who remained in the dining room, picking at tough meat while Beatrice was the one to leave. Today, their positions had been swapped.
She hadn’t realized such an atmosphere was possible before Beatrice arrived to stir the stagnant air of the household. But she also knew this was a fleeting anomaly. Starting tomorrow, the pretense would vanish.
‘It won’t be like this from tomorrow.’
She turned away to prepare for the night. The nights in Lyussenford were long, biting, and deep. She had to wash with water that was either scalding or freezing, bundle herself against the chill that sought to strip the warmth from her marrow, and slip quickly into a bed heated by a single stone.
‘Though, I wonder how much longer I’ll even have access to hot water and a warm bed.’
The exiled former head maid, Doris Windgood, had intentionally assigned Kaella the clumsiest of servants—girls who would either boil the water until it stung her skin or leave it lukewarm and stagnant. When Kaella complained about her injuries or her persistent, rattling cough, the maids would dissolve into tears, and the head maid would paint the Grand Duchess as a cruel woman making impossible demands. Over time, this had morphed into a local legend: a woman suffering from hysterics because she could not secure her husband’s love.
These “mistakes” were not limited to the water. Amidst the brutal cold of Lyussenford, she felt herself withering day by day. They were horrific, endless cycles of neglect.
“Good night, Your Excellency.”
“Sleep well.”
In Lyussenford, survival was the primary concern. Kaella no longer knew how to survive. She had exhausted every defense against those who loathed her, and after failing at every turn, she had effectively died. Now, she lacked the strength to even contemplate a future.
‘Maybe Beatrice Lavalle sweeping through Lyussenford is an opportunity. I should send Marie away while everyone is distracted by her. Next week? Yes. Next week would be fine.’
She had to hurry.
‘Hurry up and die.’
She had to fade away. There was no guarantee of survival even if the variables shifted; she was simply sick to her soul of the act of existing in this place. Her strength was spent. Kaella closed her eyes and sank into the darkness, praying that if she drifted away now, she might finally succumb.
Quietly.
“Where would I go?”
Without pain.
“I’m going to my wife.”
At the sound of the door clicking shut, Kaella’s eyes snapped open. The silhouette of a man stood against the moonlight filtering through the curtains and the rhythmic, red pulse of the fireplace.
Kaella stared, dazed. Was she dreaming?
His black hair, usually swept back with military precision, was disheveled and clinging to his forehead, damp with water. He stood there with his shirt unbuttoned, looking even more undone than he had on their wedding night.
Most startling was the voice she had heard while her eyes were closed—calm, dangerous, and utterly confusing.
“Did I wake you? Oh, I apologize, Vie.”
As their eyes met, his tone shifted instantly. The arrogant edge softened into one of genuine, hurried politeness.
“Is someone outside?” Kaella asked quietly. Peon went rigid.
“Yes. Do not mind them and go to sleep. I will leave shortly.”
His intent had been to sit in the shadows, keeping a respectful distance from the bed, and slip out the moment Beatrice retreated. He must not interrupt her rest.
“Is it Lady Lavalle?”
Kaella hit the nail on the head. Peon felt a spike of dread. He knew exactly what she would say if he confirmed it: *You should go to her. Don’t mind me. I’m fine.*
He detested those words. They were the words of a woman already resigned to losing him.
“Yes. She has been persistently following me, and I find it… excessively unpleasant. Since I have come to you, I wish she would keep her distance.”
He spoke with deliberate finality, leaving no room for negotiation.
“It may be uncomfortable for you, Vie, but I must stay here for a few hours. Please, do not mind me.”
His sternness left Kaella with no opening to protest. Not that she had much to say; it was Peon’s bedroom, and the owner was entitled to remain. Their relationship was a matter for him to handle, not her. She was, after all, an outsider.
She lay back down.
“Yes. Good night, Your Excellency.”
“Sleep well.”
The room felt suddenly crowded. His presence was as massive and suffocating as the man himself. He moved quietly, but Kaella couldn’t focus on anything but the scent of him—a heavy, crisp fragrance—as he dried his hair and settled into a nearby chair.
She opened her eyes, watching his profile in the firelight.
His face, carved by light and shadow, was both beautiful and harsh. His gaze was fixed on the flames, but a flicker of exhaustion caused his features to momentarily falter.
“Your Excellency.”
She whispered the name. He turned immediately, his expression shifting to a soft smile, as if he hadn’t been tired a second before.
“Do you need something?”
“Come up here and sleep. The bed is wide enough.”
Peon stiffened.
“Do not mind me. It is enough if we sleep at opposite ends.”
“I cannot share a bed with someone who is supposed to be resting.”
“There is plenty of room. And ensuring you are not inconvenienced is my duty.”
The bed was gargantuan—designed for a man of his stature—and her request was perfectly reasonable. But the word “duty” struck him like a physical blow. He found himself constantly uncovering facets of his wife he had never truly known. Had she truly navigated their marriage solely through a sense of obligation? Had there never been a shred of affection?
‘Am I a fool?’
He had treated her with such coldness; of course there was no affection. He felt a wave of self-loathing, a horrific, sprouting desire that he knew he should excise but could not.
“And as you can see, I have recovered quite a bit, Your Excellency.”
Peon watched her rise slightly from the mattress. He saw the parting of her lips, the stray lock of hair, the fragile, elegant line of her collarbone beneath the muslin nightgown. And in those clear eyes, there was a complete absence of suspicion. It was devastating.
“Vie. I am grateful that you are thinking of me.”
His violet eyes caught the firelight, burning with a complex, shadowed intensity.
“I am grateful that you treat me with such courtesy, but I hope you do not forget that sharing a bed with a man has… many implications.”
At his pointed remark, Kaella held his gaze. Peon braced himself for the silent, cool condemnation he expected. He would have preferred her hate to this polite indifference. It was better to be a villain with needs than a piece of furniture in her life.
“I know what it means,” she muttered. “We are married.”
Something that should have been impossible in his bleak, regressive world occurred.
“It does not matter.”
His heart stopped, then began to hammer against his ribs, a violent surge of blood. He was a shameless man.
“That is also a wife’s duty.”
Her pupils condensed into black specks within the violet of her irises.
“Duty, you say.”
He leaned in, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against her ear, his teeth bared in a feral grin.
“You truly do love that word, Vie.”
It was deep in the night, a dangerous hour where reason surrendered to the hunger of a lonely man. He looked like a beast coiled to strike.
“You once said that as the Grand Duchess, you would educate my illegitimate child as the heir. But it is a peculiar thing.”
Kaella felt a phantom ache in her arm, the one propping her up. She couldn’t move. A ridiculous thought flickered: if she shifted, the giant before her would snatch her up.
“You never once said that you would bear my heir, Vie.”
He rose, looming over her. Even as her arm went numb, she stayed still.
“Is not carrying on the lineage the greatest duty of all?”
Before she could process the question, Peon’s hands were on her, pulling her upright. The pain vanished, replaced by the weight of his presence. His broad shoulders blocked out the world.
Would he dare? He was just mocking her. She was a block of wood, a failure—but she was a fool who had been desperate for even a contemptuous smile from him. Since her life was destined for nothingness, his actions didn’t matter.
“Why would you not say such a thing? Do you not wish to fulfill that duty with me, Vie?”
Their breaths mingled. She didn’t evade him, though she leaned back just a fraction. Seeing her blank face grated on his raw nerves.
“You are fine with the idea of children with another woman, but with me, you cannot?”
Was there truly no chance for him? If the affection she had shown before the regression was just a delusion, what was he supposed to do with the rest of his life?
“Do I disgust you that much?” he asked, sounding wretched.
“No. It does not matter.”
Her answer was a blade.
“Regardless of who my husband is, I must fulfill my duty.”
He let out a sharp, jagged laugh. His blood felt icy, then surged again with terrifying speed.
“But will you be okay?” she asked.
“With what, Kaella? Me? Or you?”
“Both. Are you really okay with this?”
She was worried about the woman outside the door, about the situation, about everything.
“You’re worrying about that?”
Peon laughed, hollow and devoid of humor. He stared at her, his eyes stripping away the facade. Before she could move, he caught her hand, pulling her firmly toward him.
“After turning a man’s world inside out, are you now asking me to back away?”
He had struggled so hard to reach her. He had been so shamelessly, desperately hungry for this.
“That’s not it…”
“That’s what it sounds like. It’s a shallow trick.”
Then, did he mean he was okay with it? The desire she had tried to bury began to claw its way to the surface. She should have refused, but she wanted to cast aside her conscience and hold onto him.
“I heard you were fine with some other bastard, so what does it matter if it’s me?”
Kaella saw golden flecks blooming in his violet eyes, swirling with a violent, terrifying intensity. His pupils were dilating—and were they… vertically… shifting?
“I only need you, Kaella.”
His voice cut off all thought. A large hand covered her blue eyes, while the other tangled into her hair, gripping the nape of her neck to pull her into the final, breathless distance.
The man, snatching at a prize he thought he’d lost forever, was desperate. He clung to her, devouring her breath, stealing her lips again and again.
Only you.
I only ever wanted you.