"…."
"…."
The awkwardness was palpable.
It lingered between them as the carriage, adorned with an ice emblem, departed from the royal palace grounds.
Duke Esclat discreetly observed his companion seated across from him—a graceful Princess who kept her head bowed and eyes closed, silently enjoying the journey.
Unbelievable.
Was someone as virtuous-looking as this Princess truly gifted to him, free of charge?
Wouldn't such treatment leave her shaken, being passed around like a mere object? Especially by her own stepsibling?
"Excuse me."
"…!"
Oh, how startling!
The Princess, who had kept her eyes shut since entering the carriage, finally opened her eyelids, revealing a pair of mesmerizing ocean-blue irises.
"Do you have something to say?"
"M-me?"
Caught off guard by the Princess noticing his covert glances, Duke Esclat's mind went blank.
He didn't know how to respond, so he simply offered a stiff smile for the moment.
"Your turquoise eyes sparkle as they look at me. There's deep curiosity in that gaze."
"R-really?"
"You wish to know something about me, don't you?"
"…."
That's right.
Duke Esclat fell silent.
How could she, a Princess of the same age as him, be so perceptive?
She had discerned that Lewin Esclat was curious about her!
"I-it's just, …."
Since it had come to this, might as well.
Let's continue the conversation and get to know each other.
At least it would help dispel the awkwardness.
"Don't you feel angry about being treated like an object, and sent away from the palace to marry me?" Lewin Esclat asked cautiously, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
"…."
Princess Cherin was silent for a moment.
Then, after bending her right index finger to rest thoughtfully under her chin, she replied, "Rather than angry, I feel grateful."
"Huh? May I ask why?"
"Because I can finally be free from the daily fear of being killed."
Princess Cherin lowered her hand from her face, fully revealing her lovely visage to the Duke.
"At last, I …."
She curved her lips into a smile.
Her blue eyes narrowed slightly, forming crescents.
Her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink, like a ripe peach.
Her smile was genuinely sweet.
"… Can live in peace."
Everything she did seemed devoid of pretense, purely an expression of her happiness.
"…!"
… And it left Duke Esclat, Lewin, swallowing hard in fascination.
An unfamiliar flutter stirred within his chest.
A flutter so … enthralling.
•••
"…."
"…."
CLANK! CLANK!
Awkward silence filled the dining room, broken only by the clatter of forks and knives on plates.
No one initiated conversation during the meal that day, which only deepened Escar's unease.
What should he do?
It had been two weeks since "that" day, and Shirley still acted as if she didn't want to talk to him.
At least she still attended these shared meals, which slightly eased his mounting worry.
"…."
Chewing his food in silence, Escar reflected.
What mistake had he made?
He had followed Count Hellington's advice to the letter.
Then why …?
"I'm done."
"…!"
Shirley abruptly ended her meal.
Without waiting for Escar's response, she rose and left the room.
The act left Escar's fragile heart weighed down by guilt and anxiety.
This wouldn't do!
He needed to find the time and the way to address this misunderstanding, so the tension between them could finally dissipate.
~~~•••~~~
"Hah, damn it. It's from her again?"
Shirley furrowed her brows sharply.
Her forehead wrinkled as her crimson eyes glared at the pile of letters Ginger had dumped on her desk at her request.
GRRT!
"What does she want this time?! To humiliate me in public again?"
The Marchioness of Aschenford grabbed a letter from Baroness Fantana.
Her grip was so tight that she tore the unfortunate letter in half.
"Huff! Ginger! Burn all these letters."
"Yes, Madam."
"Huph!"
Shirley exhaled sharply.
Her expression clearly displayed her irritation.
Crossing her arms, she clicked her tongue in annoyance.
"Tsk!"
What was wrong with today?
Everything seemed to set her off!
For example, seeing Escar in the dining room earlier.
Shirley had no desire to interact with him—not verbally, not even with a glance.
She didn't want any kind of contact.
KNOCK! KNOCK!
A knock on the door drew her attention.
"Madam, it's Villicia."
"Enter."
This, at least, slightly eased her inexplicable anger.
"What is it?"
However, ….
"Madam, it has been over two months since you became a Marchioness."
"And?"
"It would be good for you to start taking on some household responsibilities."
… The direction of this conversation with the Head Maid began to stir Shirley's anger once again.
"The Marquess is very busy with various matters. So, I hope you are prepared to fulfill your duties as a proper wife by lightening your husband's workload, even just a little."
"…."
"For starters, nothing too complicated. Simply managing the estate's finances would be sufficient."
Shirley pressed her lips tightly together.
Her eyebrows furrowed, and her forehead creased once more.
Her irritation returned.
"Okay! Okay! I'll do it later! Now leave."
"Very well, thank you."
Why was her mood so unstable lately?
Even Shirley herself was baffled.
"May health and happiness always bless you," the Head Maid added.
~~~•••~~~
"Your Excellency, a letter has arrived from the royal palace."
"…?"
What could this be about?
Escar's instincts told him that something surprising was about to unfold.
SRR!
Understanding the silent directive from his master, Sir Bashilian quickly opened the royal scroll, marked with the official seal, and began to read its contents aloud.
Summarizing for clarity, he stated, "The message conveys that the Crown Prince has summoned you to the palace for an important discussion."
So, that's what it was?
"Shall we go?"
SRATH~ SRATH~!
["We must. A summons from the Crown Prince is absolute, isn't it?"]
"Even so, considering what the Crown Prince did at your wedding—both at the altar and during the reception …."
Escar smiled faintly, appreciating Sir Bashilian's protective concern.
["It's all right."]
As always, his loyal knight—who had been by his side since infancy—displayed his dependable, older-brother-like demeanor.
["In fact, we should respond promptly to avoid further complications."]
This attitude always reassured Escar of the knight's steadfast loyalty.
["Let's prepare."]
TAK!
Escar placed his treasured book on the table.
Accompanied by Sir Bashilian, he made his way to his dressing room.
He swapped his relaxed yet dignified attire for a sharp, formal ensemble—a sleek black and gray suit, meticulously designed for official engagements.
He combed his hair back, revealing his forehead entirely.
He was ready.
However, before setting off, there was one crucial matter to attend to.
"Madam, it appears the Marquess is approaching you," Ginger informed Shirley, who was strolling through the flower garden at the Aschenford estate.
It was time for farewells.
"…."
Without speaking, Shirley turned her gaze in the direction Ginger indicated.
From a distance, Escar was rushing toward her, wearing his usual warm smile.
Today, however, that smile felt strangely irritating.
["Wife!"]
Escar held up a note, slightly winded from his brisk pace.
Shirley responded with a cold, "What is it?"
["I'm heading to the capital for a short trip. At most, I'll be gone for a day and a night."]
"Oh, and?"
["Take care of yourself while I'm away, okay? I'll return as quickly as I can."]
Shirley read the note but said nothing.
Instead, she turned her ruby-red eyes toward him, watching his every move intently.
Suddenly, Escar ….
SRUKK!
… lowered himself to her eye level.
"…."
"…?"
Before fully leaving, Escar reached for Shirley's right arm.
His large, sturdy hand, even covered in black gloves, held Shirley's small, delicate, and fragile palm.
With care, the emerald-eyed man—whose gaze now curved like a crescent moon—brought Shirley's hand closer to his lips.
Then, ….
CHUU~!
… He kissed the back of his beloved wife's hand, with pure affection.
"…!"
Caught off guard by the unexpected kiss—though it was a common gesture of farewell among gentlemen—Shirley froze.
She wanted to pull her hand away, but Escar held it a moment longer.
"L-let go!"
Even though his naturally rosy lips were no longer in contact with the back of Shirley's hand, she could still feel them.
Feel the softness and warmth of Escar's lips—a sensation she had once experienced on her own lips.
"J-just go already! Didn't you say you were leaving?"
Only after her sharp remark did Escar release her, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.
His laughter only fueled Shirley's growing irritation.
"Ahem!"
Not wanting to feel invisible, Sir Bashilian cleared his throat.
"It's getting late."
Beyond the awkwardness, Sir Bashilian had genuine concerns.
A delay would be unwise, especially with the Crown Prince involved.
"Let us depart, Your Excellency."