Chapter 91: Warning
“You wretched thing—!”
The Duchess, unable to contain herself any longer, raised her hand. But Aracila swiftly caught her wrist, stopping the slap mid-air.
The Duchess thrashed violently, her voice erupting in a furious shout. “Let go of me! Are you going to let go or not?!”
“I’ll let go.”
With those words, Aracila released her grip abruptly. The Duchess, flailing with all her might, staggered for a moment before stepping on the hem of her own dress.
“Kyaa!”
With a scream, she toppled to the floor in an ungainly heap, her white-hot glare fixed on Aracila. “Have you completely lost your fear? Do you think you can do this to me and get away with it?!”
“What have I done?” Aracila retorted, her tone laced with derision as she bent slightly to look down at the Duchess. “And honestly, that’s my line, Duchess.”
The Duchess flinched, startled. After two failed assassination attempts, she was well aware that Aracila was a skilled mage, capable of dispatching mercenaries and assassins with ease. Her face drained of color, and she stammered, pointing an accusatory finger at Aracila. “Y-You! Are you threatening me?! How dare someone like you even think of touching me—!”
“Duchess, raising your voice isn’t the answer here,” Aracila interrupted, her voice soft but cutting.
“You’d do well to apologize quietly or keep your mouth shut. After all, if I were to accidentally break one of your bones with magic, who would know?”
With a faint smile, Aracila swiftly lifted her foot and brought it down toward the Duchess’s ankle.
“Gah!”
The Duchess gasped, squeezing her eyes shut in panic. But Aracila hadn’t crushed her ankle—only the delicate heel of her shoe snapped under the force.
“You could just say you got injured when your heel broke,” Aracila said lightly.
“…Ha.”
The Duchess clutched her chest, exhaling heavily as the tension drained from her body. Aracila gazed at her impassively. There was something pathetic about the way the Duchess callously toyed with others’ pain while recoiling at the slightest threat to her own comfort.
“You’re such a coward,” Aracila said, her voice blunt with truth. “You hurt others without a second thought, but you’re utterly unprepared to face any pain yourself. Do you really think you can live like that and find happiness?”
The Duchess’s face twisted at the raw honesty of Aracila’s words. Her eyes, flickering with rage, betrayed a faint glimmer of shame. “What do you know to speak like that?!” she spat venomously. “Who do you think you are to interfere?!”
“Who am I?” Aracila replied calmly. “I’m Damian’s wife. I’m on his side. He’s not alone anymore, you know. So let me make this clear—”
Her eyes locked onto the Duchess’s, each word deliberate and unwavering. “Don’t touch my husband. I’m not exactly the patient type, especially when someone crosses me.”
“…”
“And, of course, don’t touch me either,” Aracila added with a bright, almost playful smile.
The Duchess could only glare in silence, her words caught in her throat. Aracila took a slow step back, raising her hands to her mouth in mock concern. “Oh dear, what a shame. With your heel broken, walking must be quite difficult.”
“You’re the one who—!”
“Please, take a seat for now,” Aracila interjected smoothly, cutting off the Duchess’s indignant cry. “I’ll let someone know that you tripped, broke your heel, and can’t move. I’ll send help.”
The Duchess’s lips twitched in stunned disbelief, but she had no retort. She couldn’t exactly make a scene over a broken heel when no bones were harmed. All she could do was watch as Aracila turned and sauntered back toward the ballroom.
With light, graceful steps, Aracila glided down the corridor, intending to find a maid and send her to fetch the Duchess. But as she rounded a corner, someone appeared before her.
Aracila’s eyes widened slightly as she looked up at the handsome face above her. “…Damian?”
“Let’s go, my lady.”
Without warning, Damian appeared as if it were the most natural thing in the world, gently taking her hand and placing it on his arm to escort her. His movements were smooth, effortless, as if they had planned this all along.
Caught off guard, Aracila followed his lead, then said with a hint of unease, “Um, Damian, I just ran into the Duchess…”
“I know.”
“What?”
“I’ve already sent someone to handle it. We can just go.”
Wait, how did you know? Aracila shot him a look that demanded an explanation, but Damian merely continued walking in silence, his expression unreadable.
It wasn’t by chance that he had seen the Duchess chasing after Aracila. Damian had been watching from a distance ever since Aracila began speaking with Yona. Sensing something amiss in the Duchess’s heated expression, he had followed her.
As a result, he overheard every word of the exchange between Aracila and the Duchess, from start to finish.
Not a single syllable was missed.
Damian’s mind lingered on the words Aracila had flung at the Duchess with quiet menace: “I’m Damian’s wife. I’m on his side. He’s not alone anymore, you know.”
It was the first time.
The first time someone had claimed to be wholly on his side, declaring that he was no longer alone.
His hand clenched into a tight fist. For some reason, his palm tingled, as if the sensation were creeping up to his heart, stirring something deep within.
“Damian, have you been drinking? Your ears are red,” Aracila said, noticing the flush that seemed to burn at the tips of his ears as she glanced up at him.
He turned his face slightly to the side, answering, “…I haven’t had a drop.”
“Then why are they so red? Did something get you worked up?”
“Stop asking questions and let’s just go,” Damian replied, his tone brisk as he gently took her hand, which rested on his arm, and quickened his pace.
His ears, though, remained vividly crimson.
***
The day after the Duchess’s birthday celebration, the ducal estate was eerily silent, as still as a graveyard. Typically, after such a festive occasion, the atmosphere would buzz with excitement for days. But now, it was startlingly quiet, almost subdued.
Aracila and Damian prepared to return to the capital immediately. The ten days the ducal family had proposed had been meant to cover the birthday festivities, and there was no reason to linger any longer. As they packed their belongings and made their way to the carriage, not a single member of the ducal household appeared. It was no surprise—they had already anticipated that no one would see them off.
Even the butler and head maid failed to show, citing the cleanup from the party as an excuse. But that, too, was expected. They were loyal to the ducal family, after all. In the eyes of the household, Aracila and Damian were likely unwelcome guests, and the staff had wisely made themselves scarce.
Only a handful of servants bowed as the couple departed. Aracila and Damian climbed into the carriage without delay.
“It feels like we’re being chased out as unwanted guests,” Aracila remarked dryly. “And to think, they’re the ones who invited us in the first place.”
“They didn’t get a single thing they wanted,” Damian replied. “They must be fuming. Probably lying in bed, sick with frustration by now.”
Though it was Aracila and Damian who had been treated poorly, it was the ducal family who seemed to be nursing their wounded pride. As the carriage rolled away from the estate, the faces of the two passengers were bright and refreshed, free of any lingering resentment.
Aracila, watching the scenery of the ducal estate fade into the distance, drew the curtain closed and turned to a question that had been nagging at her. “So, did you find your grandfather’s will?”
“No,” Damian answered. “I searched everywhere, even my father’s study, but it wasn’t there.”
Throughout their stay, Damian had discreetly combed through the estate, searching for the document. Yet, no trace of his grandfather’s will could be found. Was it hidden somewhere outside the estate? Or perhaps carried on someone’s person at all times?
After considering several possibilities, Damian arrived at a conclusion. “It’s possible they don’t have the will either.”
“What do you mean?” Aracila asked, tilting her head.
“The moment you and I married, Grandfather’s will became their greatest obstacle. It would’ve been easier for them to destroy it.”
After all, the previous Duke had passed away long ago. If the will were accidentally misplaced or destroyed, there would be no one to contest it. And yet, their persistent efforts to drive a wedge between Damian and Aracila suggested the will still existed.
Which meant they hadn’t been able to dispose of it.
“But seeing how they’re still scrambling to deal with Grandfather’s will, it’s likely stored somewhere they can’t touch.”
“Hmm, that makes sense,” Aracila said, nodding thoughtfully.
Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, she reached for a bag beneath her seat. It had been placed in the carriage by Audrey beforehand. Inside was Monica’s jewelry box, smuggled out in secret.
“Remember, Damian? I told you I took your mother’s jewelry box.”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Have you ever seen it before?”
Though she had mentioned taking the box, this was the first time she was showing it to him. Aracila carefully pulled it out and held it toward him. Damian studied it closely, recognizing the eagle emblem etched into its surface, and nodded.
“Yes, it’s a spare jewelry box my mother used to take out from time to time.”
“Do you think there’s any chance the will could be inside?” Aracila asked. “It was hidden under a bed, which makes me think it’s something important.”
Damian considered it for a moment before shaking his head. “How would Grandfather have known about this box to hide the will in it? Besides, my mother passed away before him, so there was no one to pass it along to her.”
“Really…” Aracila murmured, a touch of disappointment in her voice. Still, her curiosity about the box’s contents lingered.
After a moment’s hesitation, she spoke carefully, glancing at Damian. “I tried opening it earlier, but it’s sealed with a strong locking spell. If it’s not too much… could I, very carefully, examine it?”
“Do as you wish,” Damian said, granting permission more readily than she’d expected.
Aracila’s eyes widened in surprise. After the incident with the dress, she knew how much he cherished his mother’s belongings and had been cautious, leaving the box untouched until she could ask for his approval. Yet, unlike before, Damian showed no sign of the sensitivity she’d anticipated. It was the same at the birthday party, when he’d casually told her to wear Monica’s dress without hesitation.
Even if the effects of the Markus herb had worn off, his response seemed almost too relaxed. Aracila blinked, a little bewildered. “You’re okay with that? Don’t you mind someone else touching your mother’s things?”
“You’re right,” Damian said calmly, glancing at her before correcting himself. “But it’s fine if it’s you.”
“…Only me?”
Aracila felt a strange flutter in her chest. Being singled out as an exception, especially by her contract husband, was… unexpected. It wasn’t unpleasant, but she wasn’t sure if it was something she was allowed to feel pleased about either. Fidgeting, she ran her hand over the jewelry box and said, “I promise I won’t damage it. I swear.”
“I know,” Damian replied, his expression softening with quiet confidence, as if he had no doubt she would treat his mother’s keepsake with care.
It wasn’t the first time someone had placed their trust in her, yet Aracila felt a swell of warmth and pride. A faint smile curved her lips.
The carriage carrying the two rolled toward the capital, enveloped in a gentle, peaceful atmosphere.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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