“……”
Even Orgen, who had been trained to remain unshaken in most circumstances, flinched at the cold, commanding voice that struck him to the core.
“To me, there is only one wife—Ione Clarke. No, let me correct that. Ione Preses. Now and forever.”
“Forever?”
“You must’ve been entertaining delusions when you heard she might not receive the seal. Snap out of it.
Because once Ione is gone, there will never be another Grand Duchess by my side.”
Orgen had never seen the Grand Duke like this.
His speech was precise, his tone calm. Yet when he declared there would be no other, there was a flicker of something—anger, perhaps—lurking beneath the surface.
But surely, it had to be Orgen’s imagination.
Adrian’s face was as expressionless as always, not even a furrow in his brow. Still, something under Orgen’s skin tingled, whispering that the man before him was not quite the same as the one he’d always known.
“Bring the bouquet.”
As quickly as possible.
Though the words weren’t spoken aloud, Orgen heard them all the same. Without another word, he turned and hurried off.
Adrian was acting strangely.
But whether this was a good thing or a bad one—Orgen couldn’t say. All he knew was that his heart was pounding in his chest.
Wasn’t it normal for people to sleep through the night?
Ione found herself cursing the moment she woke at the exact instant Adrian’s voice sounded from the doorway:
“Is the Grand Duchess inside?”
‘You’re not even human. What are you expecting to see, jumping out of bed at the sound of his voice like some lovesick fool?’
Like a woman who’d been waiting all night for his return.
“Ugh…”
No amount of groaning could undo the damage now. Especially since she’d blurted out,
“Catherine? What is it?”
before the maid could even check on her.
“Did I disturb your rest?”
Very much so.
But instead of saying so, Ione simply shook her head.
She had decided to live quietly, to avoid drawing attention—that included not getting on Adrian’s nerves.
People are funny that way. If someone acts aloof, others stop paying attention to them. You exchange greetings when you pass, and then slowly, you grow distant, until eventually no one notices when you're gone.
But if you go out of your way to avoid someone, they start to wonder why—and they chase.
“…ing?”
“Sorry?”
She had been too pleased with herself for keeping her composure and missed what Adrian said.
“I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.”
“Fine…”
He repeated the word slowly, like tasting something bitter. The coldness in his voice made Ione involuntarily glance up at him.
But as always, Adrian’s face betrayed nothing.
Everything about him was impeccably composed—he was the very image of someone thoroughly trained.
“They said you must’ve had a rough time. You warped from one end of the continent to the other in a single day, didn’t you?”
“Ah, yes. That was difficult. But it’s been a while since then. I’m fine now.”
Yes, a textbook answer. Ione was rather proud of herself for replying so politely.
But just as she was patting herself on the back for her ladylike poise, Adrian’s next words made her freeze.
“I’m not fine.”
“Pardon?”
“I said, I am not fine.”
Now? What for?
“You’re the Grand Duchess. Though they called it a nomination, it was essentially already confirmed, wasn’t it?”
“Ah, yes. It was.”
Right. They said she’d been nominated, but once she arrived at the palace, it turned out she wasn’t a
candidate
—she was the
designated
Grand Duchess.
The memories of that day started returning to her piece by piece.
“And yet they made you travel across the entire empire like that.”
It was no longer just her imagination—his voice had turned unmistakably cold.
Ione lifted her head and looked at him.
Now that she allowed herself to believe it, she could see the difference.
The cheeks she once thought smooth were now stiff. The shadows around his eyes made his cold blue gaze seem even sharper. His lips were tightly pressed together, and even his usual formal smile had vanished.
She couldn’t help but ask, even though she knew the answer:
“Are you… angry?”
“Yes.”
What?! I thought you didn’t really feel emotions?
Completely thrown, Ione gaped at him.
She couldn’t wrap her head around the situation.
“May I ask… what you’re angry about?”
“From the moment you left Clarke territory, you were the Grand Duchess. You should have been treated accordingly. That means proper escorts and a reasonable schedule—those are the bare minimum.”
“But it was just one warp jump…”
“Do you even understand what a warp truly entails?”
How should I know magic stuff?
Still, there was one thing she knew for certain: she
definitely
shouldn’t tell him about the imperial maids dressing her up at dawn before sunrise.
The way his eyes narrowed was genuinely terrifying.
She swallowed hard.
“It’s already in the past…”
“And because it’s in the past, it should just be forgotten?”
His tone now resembled an interrogation.
With each word, his anger became more and more clear.
Ione didn’t understand how things had spiraled like this.
Clearly, Dr. Benson had told Adrian about her schedule that day.
Judging by the way both Benson and Helena had reacted, it hadn’t been an ordinary situation.
But still—wasn’t this trip inevitable? Wouldn’t it be better to get it over with in a day?
And most of all… this was what Ione really didn’t get:
“Why are you so angry about
my
affairs?”
“What?”
For a brief moment, Adrian’s expression faltered.
“You’re saying I got angry… over your affairs—”
Knock knock.
Just as Adrian was about to say something, a knock interrupted him. Catherine’s voice followed from the other side.
“Your Graces, Lord Orgen has brought the item you requested. May he enter?”
Ione’s expression became unreadable.
Catherine’s tone was far more formal than when she spoke to Ione. But at the same time, she sounded almost giddy, as if humming a tune.
This mismatch was bizarre.
Was Adrian terrifying but also the kind of master who inspired absolute loyalty just by standing still?
In the story, he had indeed been a benevolent lord who cared deeply for his people.
That’s why the northern lands had endured even through monstrous winter waves.
“…May he come in?”
To her surprise, Adrian turned to Ione for permission.
Only then did she realize she was still half-reclining in bed.
“Ah…”
Well, it wasn’t a nightgown, so maybe it was fine?
“Yes, let him in.”
She tried to get up, but found herself unable to move—Adrian had gently but firmly pressed her shoulder down.
It was the lightest touch, yet she felt like her entire body was anchored.
“Stay just like this. It’s Orgen’s job to mind where he looks.”
His tone was imperious, and all Ione could do was nod.
“Your Graces, I apologize for the delay.”
As Orgen entered the room, a sweet fragrance filled the air—so much so that Ione, still half-reclined, instinctively lifted her head.
Orgen handed the bouquet to Adrian with great care, who, without missing a beat, passed it to Ione.
“…This is?”
“It’s our first meeting since my return.”
“And you’re giving me flowers because of that?”
She was dazed, half in disbelief.
“Your Graces, may I take my leave?”
Orgen asked, clearly uncomfortable lingering.
Only then did Ione realize how utterly foolish she’d been—standing there like a statue, not even thanking Adrian.
My God, am I trying to become infamous or what?
Suppressing her embarrassment, she answered smoothly:
“Yes, thank you, Lord Orgen.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
As soon as they were alone, Ione rushed to speak.
“I was so surprised by the unexpected gift that I forgot to thank you. Thank you, Your Grace, for the lovely flowers.”
“Think nothing of it.”
Her graceful thanks helped dissolve the tension from moments earlier.
Thankfully.
She had no idea why she kept losing her grip on herself around him.
Silently berating herself, she took in the fragrance of the flowers.
“They smell wonderful. They must be hard to find in winter.”
“We have a greenhouse.”
“Still… flowers raised in a greenhouse are a rare luxury. Are you sure I deserve them?”
“Please, enjoy them to your heart’s content.”
The gentle, polite tone didn’t sound like him at all.
And in that moment, a line from the novel came back to her:
“Pitiful Ione. She never realized her place. She was the Grand Duchess, not a partner. She bore the title, but never the heart of the Grand Duke. Perhaps to provoke him, she indulged in extravagance, mistreated the staff, and flaunted herself.”
A chilling shiver ran down her spine.
The brutal winter of the North, the Grand Duke on the front lines, and the Grand Duchess lounging in luxury with flowers?
It made her blood run cold.