Chapter 165: A Sleepless Night
“I’ve actually always been quite interested in you, my lady,” Noah whispered in a barely audible voice, his expression a mix of slight shyness and keen curiosity.
Aracila, careful not to step on his feet as they danced, responded lightly. “In me? Why’s that?”
“It’s a bit embarrassing to admit, but I’m a mage myself. Though my abilities are rather insignificant compared to yours.”
“Oh, that explains why I sensed some mana from you.”
It wasn’t particularly strong, but she had noticed faint traces of mana from Noah a few times before. The realization that she was dancing with a fellow mage brought a subtle smile to Aracila’s lips. Noah, too, flashed a broad, easy grin.
“I heard you’re set to become the next master of the Mage Tower in the empire,” he said. “That’s why I wanted to make an impression and requested this dance.”
“I’m honored, Your Highness.”
“The honor is mine. To stand face-to-face with someone destined to inspire and lead the mages of the continent—it’s truly remarkable.”
Noah’s words carried no trace of pretense, only genuine sincerity. Few could remain unmoved by such heartfelt praise. Aracila felt the bitterness of her earlier jealousy slowly ebb away, replaced by a quiet warmth.
“When you officially become the master of the Mage Tower, I’d love to send some of our kingdom’s mages to study under you,” Noah continued. “I believe they could learn a great deal from you.”
“Do you really think so? My mentor, Master Philip, the current head of the Mage Tower, is far more accomplished than I am.”
“Haha, I’ve read about your exploits in the papers,” Noah said with a chuckle. “You’ve walked a path worthy of anyone’s admiration.”
Pride swelled in Aracila’s chest. She had earned the recognition of the Mage Tower’s inner circle, securing her place as its future leader. And now, receiving such unexpected acknowledgment from someone outside her circle, she felt a renewed sense of confidence in her identity as a mage. With a bright smile, she replied, “The Mage Tower is always open to those eager to learn. That won’t change when I take over.”
“Fantastic! That’s wonderful news!” Noah let out a hearty laugh.
Bound by their shared passion for magic, the two continued their lively conversation as they danced, their rapport evident even from a distance. To an onlooker, they seemed perfectly in sync.
Which, of course, meant that to a certain jealous husband, the sight was utterly maddening.
Why, of all times, did this particular song have to be longer than usual?
Damian stared at Aracila and Noah, his eyes unblinking, his jaw tight. What could they possibly be talking about to keep smiling like that?
Damn it. I should’ve refused his dance request.
He ground his teeth in regret, but it was too late to change anything. Each time Aracila’s eyes crinkled with laughter or her lips curved upward, a spark of jealousy flared in Damian’s chest, threatening to ignite into a full-blown blaze. Leona’s earlier comment—that Noah was interested in Aracila—only fanned the flames. True, Leona had tried to clarify that it was because Aracila was a mage, but Damian’s expression had turned so menacing she hadn’t dared elaborate.
Who could blame her? When a man a head taller than most radiated such a murderous aura, who would risk saying more?
I thought dancing with someone so handsome was a stroke of luck, but now… he’s a bit too much of a devoted husband.
Leona cast a wary glance at Damian from a few steps away. She’d been momentarily charmed by his striking looks while they danced—purely instinctual, of course, as she had no intention of harboring feelings for a married man. But watching him now, his eyes burning with jealousy as he fixated on his wife, any trace of attraction melted away like snow. His handsome face, growing darker by the second, was frankly terrifying, prompting her to keep her distance.
Oh, Your Highness, please wrap this up and come back before things get worse…
Leona sent a pleading look toward Noah, silently urging the future monarch to tread carefully.
As people nearby instinctively steered clear of Damian’s intimidating presence, someone approached him without a hint of fear.
“Well, well, Damian. How’s the old body holding up?”
It was Oscar, one hand holding a champagne flute, the other casually tucked into his pocket, his demeanor dripping with provocation. He was clearly trying to get a rise out of Damian, but his timing couldn’t have been worse.
Just then, Damian caught sight of Noah gently placing a hand on Aracila’s waist as they spun together. His mood, already sour, plummeted into a volatile mix of anger and frustration.
“Get lost, Oscar,” Damian snapped.
“…What did you say?”
“I said, get lost.”
There was no trace of Damian’s usual calm restraint as he bit out the words, his tone sharp as a blade. The air around him was so charged with hostility that Oscar flinched instinctively. But, aware of the curious glances from onlookers, he squared his shoulders, unwilling to let his younger brother outshine him in public. After all, he was destined to lead the Vandemir ducal family one day.
“Hey, watch your tone with your elder brother! If you act like this at tomorrow’s banquet, Father will—”
“Then don’t wait for the banquet. Go tattle to Father now, like you always do. It’s what you’re best at, besides chasing women.”
Damian’s lips curled into a mocking sneer. Oscar’s face flushed crimson, humiliated by the public jab. Desperate to salvage his pride, he leaned forward, his voice low and threatening.
“You little—”
“Listen carefully, Oscar Vandemir,” Damian cut him off, his voice low and dangerous. “My patience ends here.”
To Damian, Oscar was as insignificant as a buzzing fly—utterly inconsequential. His brother’s posturing held no weight. With a chilling edge, Damian added, “So get out of my sight. Even without a sword, I could handle you with ease.”
Realizing he’d picked the wrong moment to provoke him, Oscar’s bravado faltered. His pride stung, but he knew he’d come out worse in any physical confrontation. With a reluctant step back, he slunk away, the whispers of another Vandemir brotherly clash already rippling through the crowd.
Just then, Aracila finished her dance with Noah and returned. Having witnessed the tense exchange between Damian and Oscar, she approached her husband and asked in a hushed voice, “Damian, what happened? Did your brother do something awful again?”
Damian’s gaze lingered on her, his eyes a storm of complex emotions, before he turned his head and answered stiffly.
“…It’s nothing,” Damian said curtly.
“Nothing? It’s obvious Oscar Vandemir was stirring trouble again,” Aracila pressed.
“Please, don’t worry about it,” he replied, his tone clipped.
Aracila studied him, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. Something had clearly happened—his expression, now rigid and unyielding, was proof enough, a stark contrast to earlier in the evening. But Damian remained tight-lipped for the rest of the banquet, refusing to elaborate. No matter how much she prodded, he only shook his head, offering nothing.
At first, Aracila’s concern for his sour mood overshadowed her frustration, but as his silence dragged on, irritation began to simmer within her. If something was wrong, why wouldn’t he just say it? Why was he bottling it up like this?
It’s so obvious he’s upset!
Even Marquis Hugo and his wife had noticed, cautiously asking if something was amiss. Finally reaching the limits of her patience, Aracila waited until they returned to their quarters. She dismissed Audrey, their attendant, and, with her hands planted firmly on her hips, confronted Damian.
“Alright, it’s just us now. Tell me—what’s bothering you?”
“…”
“Damian, you’re acting like this because something’s upset you. Spit it out. Now.”
Despite her insistence, Damian’s lips remained stubbornly sealed. He couldn’t bring himself to admit that jealousy had unraveled his composure. His continued silence only deepened the furrow in Aracila’s brow, her voice rising with exasperation.
“Are you seriously going to keep this up? You were perfectly fine when you were dancing so cozily with Lady Cordell, so why the sudden mood swing?”
“…”
“What, are you sulking because you only got to dance with her once?”
Her sarcastic jab, laced with a childish edge, sparked the beginning of a petty argument. The image of Aracila laughing so freely with Noah still lingered in Damian’s mind, and her accusation pushed him past his breaking point. His lips twisted as he shot back, “I’m not the one who enjoyed dancing with someone else, am I? You seemed awfully happy laughing with that prince from the Kingdom of Kent.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Aracila’s voice rose, incredulous.
“You were beaming at His Highness like… like I thought for a moment you two were secretly in love.”
Aracila’s jaw dropped, her hand raking roughly through her hair in disbelief. He’s got some nerve saying that! She hadn’t forgotten how effortlessly Damian had danced with Leona, their chemistry gnawing at her despite her efforts to dismiss it.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…” she muttered under her breath before her tone sharpened. “And you looked like you were enjoying yourself with Lady Cordell. What, have you already picked her out as your next wife if we divorce?”
“Hah! Don’t be ridiculous,” Damian snapped. “I have no interest in Lady Cordell. I only danced with her for your sake.”
“Oh, really?” Aracila raised an eyebrow, skeptical.
“Yes, really. If we ever part ways, I won’t be with anyone else. I’ll never build a family again in this lifetime.”
Damian let out a heavy sigh, his declaration resolute. Oddly, Aracila felt a subtle wave of relief wash over her at his words. But that same relief irritated her, and she crossed her arms, throwing out a defiant retort. “How can you be so sure? You never know when someone new might catch your eye.”
“That’s because…”
The words she’s already here, standing right in front of me rose to the tip of his tongue but faded unspoken. He couldn’t lay bare his feelings for Aracila—not now. Clenching his fist, Damian redirected the conversation. “What about you? If we divorce, will you remarry some other man?”
“Are you insane?” Aracila’s reaction was almost visceral, her voice laced with disbelief.
She had already resolved to part ways with Damian to keep her emotions from interfering with her ambitions. Remarrying would defeat the entire purpose of their separation.
“Even if Prince Noah proposed, you’d turn him down?” Damian asked, his tone probing. “I heard he’s quite taken with you.”
“Of course I’d refuse,” she shot back without hesitation, her expression incredulous. “And for your information, his interest was in me as the future master of the Mage Tower, not as a woman. He’s a mage himself.”
“…Is that so?”
The realization that Noah’s interest was purely professional softened Damian’s expression almost instantly, the tension in his features melting away. He sank onto the sofa, dragging a hand down his face as he muttered, “That’s a relief.”
“A relief?” Aracila echoed, baffled.
“Everything,” he said simply.
“What’s that supposed to mean? What’s so relieving about everything?” she grumbled, her tone tinged with exasperation. But her own expression had softened, the sharp edges of her frustration dulling.
With their mutual misunderstandings cleared, the argument fizzled out. Still, the lingering awkwardness from their spat hung in the air. After washing up and slipping into bed, Aracila closed her eyes, but sleep eluded her. Instead of rest, a torrent of thoughts flooded her mind.
I shouldn’t have acted like that today.
She shouldn’t have let jealousy over Damian and Leona’s dance consume her. She shouldn’t have used it to lash out at him. And she definitely shouldn’t have felt relieved by his insistence that he’d never love another.
Her goal had always been to suppress her emotions, to erase them entirely. But her heart, as always, refused to obey. The feelings she thought she’d buried kept building inside her, unyielding and unresolved, leaving her chest tight with frustration.
Can I really let go of my feelings for Damian like this?
The question surfaced in the darkness, unbidden. Aracila clutched the blanket tightly, her fingers digging into the fabric.
Even his small comment about dancing with Leona for my sake made me happy… Is it really okay to keep going like this?
She wished the New Year’s festival would end already. Sharing a room with Damian, spending every moment together, wasn’t cooling her emotions—it was keeping them at a steady simmer. If anything, she hoped for some decisive moment that would force her to cast these feelings aside for good.
Turning away from the sofa where Damian slept, Aracila let out a silent sigh. It was a restless night, one where sleep refused to come, her heart too unsettled to find peace.
* * *
The Vandemir family had been assigned a suite with two bedrooms: one occupied by the ducal couple, the other by Oscar. After the banquet, Oscar returned to his room and immediately reached for a bottle of wine, drinking alone.
That damned Damian, humiliating me in front of everyone like that?!
He was still seething, unable to shake the memory of Damian telling him to “get lost” with that mocking sneer. His resentment toward his younger brother burned fiercely, and any thought of sleeping early was long abandoned. He poured himself another glass, downing it with reckless abandon.
There’s a limit to how much you can disrespect someone, you bastard… But Father’s no better.
Duke Vandemir had berated Oscar harshly for clashing with Damian at a banquet attended by the emperor himself. He’d accused Oscar of airing the family’s dirty laundry, his anger amplified because Oscar had been the one to provoke the confrontation. The duke had scolded him for picking a fight unnecessarily, his rage bordering on excessive.
If His Highness the Crown Prince hadn’t intervened, Father would’ve thrown me out right then and there.
Thankfully, Frederick had stepped in, offering a kind smile and taking Oscar’s side, which saved him from being sent back to his room mid-banquet. Oscar couldn’t help but feel hurt by his father’s harshness. The duke never acknowledged his own mistakes, and Oscar resented being treated so coldly.
He’s always yelling like that, and it’s why I can’t do anything properly—because he crushes my confidence.
Nursing his wounded feelings, Oscar filled his glass to the brim with wine. He gulped it down in one go, then popped a piece of cheese into his mouth as a makeshift snack.
At least His Highness believes in me. That’s something.
A smug smile crept onto Oscar’s face as he thought of Frederick, with whom he’d grown closer recently. In truth, Frederick had played a role in Oscar’s decision to confront Damian at the banquet. The crown prince had suggested that showing brotherly harmony would be wise, encouraging Oscar to take the first step as the elder sibling. Perhaps feeling guilty for the outcome, Frederick had sought Oscar out as the banquet ended, clapping him on the shoulder.
“I believe you’re destined for great things, Lord Oscar,” Frederick had said.
“Gasp! Th-thank you, Your Highness!”
“No need for thanks. Have a good night.”
Frederick’s parting smile had been oddly enigmatic, but Oscar, overwhelmed with gratitude, hadn’t noticed. He only resolved to repay the crown prince’s faith in him, a trust that felt stronger than even his parents’ support.
“Ugh, did I drink too much? I’m feeling dizzy,” Oscar muttered, pressing a hand to his forehead as the wine’s effects hit him. Deciding it was time to collapse into the plush comfort of his bed, he staggered to his feet.
Whoosh.
A sudden, chilly breeze brushed against him. Oscar, sensitive to the cold and meticulous about locking doors, turned his head in confusion.
Did I leave the balcony door open…?
He redirected his unsteady steps toward the balcony. Behind the fluttering curtains, a dark shadow loomed.
Am I so drunk I’m seeing things?
Rubbing his bleary eyes, Oscar raised his head just as the curtains parted. A black silhouette lunged at him. He thrashed, struggling to break free from the iron grip clamping over his mouth.
“Mmph…!”
Thud, thud.
His body collided with furniture, the dull sounds echoing in the room, but it was late, and the rest of the household was fast asleep—no one heard. Despite his desperate resistance, Oscar couldn’t even manage a scream before his body went limp.
The next morning, Oscar was found dead.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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