Isadora saw the smile dropping from Jessamyn's face seeing the Archduke standing by the door. She intuitively stood in front of Jessamyn covering her.
Jerrick looked at Isadora's defensive position with his eyebrows raised. Then his lips curved to an amused smirk. "Bernard…" he said with a careless wave of his hand. "Escort Ms. Isadora Freemont to her room."
Isadora clenched her fists and took a step forward. Jessamyn held her hand and stopped her from speaking out. It was just for a day. The next day, they could leave for home.
Isadora pouted looking at Jessamyn. She wanted to scream at that conceited man for treating her lady like a slave.
"You're too spirited for a maid. I can see why you suit her heart," Jerrick smirked.
Isadora rolled her tongue inside her mouth and glared at him. So, what if she suited her lady's heart? Why would he sound jealous about it?
Jessamyn stood up. "She's not a maid!" She pulled Isadora to the back. He didn't have to mock Isadora. "Your Grace," she did a polite curtsey just to control herself. She could treat him respectfully for his status to stop herself from showing her emotions blankly on her face.
Whether she liked it or not, she agreed to marry him. She needed to act appropriately.
"Right, my bad, beautiful Jessamyn!" Jerrick said, his eyes resting pointedly on Jessamyn as if he were observing the tiny little details on her face. "I don't see an ointment bottle anywhere here… How did you treat your wounds?" he asked.
"You're hurt, Milady?" Isadora turned her back to Jerrick and held Jessamyn's shoulders in panic. "Where? Why didn't you tell me? Show me~"
"Isadora, it's nothing. Just some scratches. It will heal on its own," Jessamyn patted her shoulders. Her pretty eyes were reddening. She didn't like to see Isadora hurt.
Isadora held her hands and checked. Jerrick nodded at Bernard. He entered the room and walked to Isadora. Jessamyn instinctively tried to stand in between Bernard and Isadora. She was a little scared to see the mountainous soldier looming over her. Still, she held her ground.
Jerrick shook his head in exasperation and yet his lips curved with amusement. Not wanting to wait, he pulled Jessamyn out of the way. Bernard got to Isadora. Isadora bowed her head, unwilling to look at Bernard. Jessamyn thought Isadora was afraid, but Jerrick noticed the flush of red on Isadora's face.
He immediately observed Bernard's reaction. Bernard was trying to show himself as small and gentle. Jerrick smirked, understanding Bernard.
Bernard tried to lift Isadora. "I can walk," Isadora quipped, leaning far from Bernard's hand. Ignoring everyone else, Isadora walked to the door while Bernard followed her like a lamb would follow its mother.
Jessamyn rubbed her forehead with a deep sigh, watching Isadora leave like a trained slave. She must be in despair if she was not fighting. She had to bring Isadora back home. She didn't have to be treated this way.
"What brings Your Grace here?" Jessamyn asked, looking at his chest. She didn't have the energy to look at his face. She saw his neck muscles stiffen.
She sensed that he didn't like it when she used the formal greeting for him. They used to be so close they called each other by the shortened version of their names, although it was considered humiliating.
There were countless careless days between them, when he lay on her lap and slept as she caressed his hair.
But everything has changed now. He was the Archduke of the Kingdom. It was only proper for her to address him with the respect his title warranted.
"Is this not my house? Should I need a reason to enter one of the many rooms in my castle?" he asked. He sounded angry.
"I apologize for my impudence, Your Grace," Jessamyn bowed her head. She saw him fisting his hands.
He'd die out of anger if this continued, Jessamyn thought. She regretted forgetting for a moment that she was in his house.
She waited for him to say something. He must have had a reason to be there. But he didn't say anything. She did a curtsey. "Then, I'll take my leave, Your Grace…"
She said softly, not wanting to set off his mood.
"You're not excused. Sit," he commanded.
What! Jessamyn lifted her head and looked at his face.
"Now you look at me," he said with a wry smile.
Jessamyn took a glance at the door. Relieved that it was open, she sat on the bed. If things went south, she could make a run for it. Although he was stronger, she hoped she could outrun him.
He walked to her. His limp was not as pronounced as before. She noticed his shoes had soles with different-sized heels. He must have customized his shoes. Still, he limped a little as his knees weren't strong enough.
It did cause a little unrest in her heart. He used to run like a deer. It was a shame that accident happened.
"Thinking of running away?"
His deep voice snapped her out of her reverie. She looked at his face. He had a soft smile on his face. She was left confused.
Is he mad at me or not?
He put his hand inside his trouser pockets and pulled out an ointment jar. "Remove your shoes," he said as he tried to kneel.
Is he going to apply the medicine himself?
Jessamyn stood up and got the ointment jar from his hand. "I wouldn't dare to let you touch my feet, Your Grace," she said. Quietly, she removed her shoes and applied the medicine on her wounds.
Through the stained-glass windows, the sunlight seeped in. The floor closer to the window glowed in green, blue, and white. She could hear the birds chirping and the rustling of the branches swaying in the wind.
Her heart was unusually calm.
He stood in front of her, watching her like a hawk. Clenching her teeth to soothe her pain, Jessamyn applied the ointment. Her fingers trembled at the sting of the ointment as she was not provided a cotton ball. A few of her baby hair fell in her eyes, disturbing her. She tried to fix them with the back of her hand but couldn't. Her eyes burnt by the sting of the ointment.
Let's get this over with!
Jessamyn had turned to being silent in her pain. She just wanted out of this situation. She quickly dabbed the ointment on her wounds.
Just as she was about to finish, she felt a warmth engulfing her. The bright sunlight from the window went dark, covered by the majestic frame of the man she never understood.
Before she gathered herself, his big hands wrapped around her delicate wrists. She dropped the ointment jar; it rolled down her skirt onto the floor.
She gasped in surprise when he pressed her hands on his cheeks. "Your Grace! It stings…" she tried to pull her hands back, but he pressed it closely on his face.
The next moment, he leaned forward and rested on her shoulder, still pressing her hands to his cheeks. His entire upper body was on her, and yet he didn't lean his weight on her.
"Myna…"
His broken voice was feeble like the crying call of a child who fell into a ditch hollering for his mother for hours.
Jessamyn's heart skipped a beat as his warm breath fell on the crook of her neck.
What is going on here?