Chapter 190

After returning to the ducal mansion and changing clothes, Cledwyn went straight to his study and shut himself in. He stayed that way until the faint, steady sound of footsteps reached his ears.

That soft, even rhythm—light but unmistakable—was a sound he could recognize anywhere. The steps had their own distinct pattern, and though they were quiet, they rang clearly to the ears of a skilled swordsman. A faint smile touched his refined face.

‘Click.’

“Hello.”

He opened the door first. Standing there, wide-eyed, was his wife—dressed in her nightclothes and a crimson velvet robe. She had been about to knock, her hand still raised awkwardly in midair, caught between motion and surprise.

He found that flustered look adorable. Though truthfully, he always did.

Feeling a little embarrassed, Nerys lowered her eyes and murmured, “Hello.”

“Come in. I still have some work left, but I’ll be done soon. Are you tired?”

They had left the masquerade early, and though it was still quite early in the evening, Nerys looked pale and weary.

Cledwyn welcomed her gently and pulled back the blankets so she could lie down. Nerys stiffly slipped under the thick comforter, her small head peeking out between oversized pillows and bedding.

The sight of her tiny form half-buried in that enormous bed made his heart soften. He bent down, kissed her lips, and sighed.

He wished all the troubles of the world would vanish—so he could have more moments like this with her.

But there was no time for self-indulgence. Even now, there were far too many people eager to see him fall.

He turned back to his desk to finish his remaining work.

A few moments later, he heard the rustle of sheets. Nerys had slipped out of bed and come quietly to his side.

He was about to ask if she wanted to sit beside him when he froze.

Nerys sank down to the floor next to his chair—though there was a perfectly good seat available—and wrapped her arms around his leg, pressing her forehead against his thigh.

Soft, fragile, and warm—like a small creature seeking comfort. The tender heat of her body seeped through his skin. He held his breath for a moment, then gave a faint, helpless smile.

“Do you like sitting like that? I didn’t know.”

“Sometimes sitting upright feels tiring. My chest and stomach… they’re exposed to whoever’s looking at me.”

He stopped again, then looked thoughtful as his hand reached out to stroke her hair.

It wasn’t the touch one gave a child—it carried a quiet, intimate weight—but it was gentle all the same. Nerys closed her eyes.

She knew she was saying strange things—things that made no sense to anyone but her. Shame and self-loathing welled up inside.

“I know that feeling too,” he murmured.

Her shoulders twitched slightly.

“Really?”

“Yes. Ever since the first day someone tried to assassinate me.”

This time, she was the one who went still.

The shadow of a person’s threat, the heat of another’s presence—it all came flooding back. She swallowed hard.

He couldn’t possibly know her truth—that she had already died once, lived another life, and come back again. But he knew of the assassination attempts. Two, at least. That was enough for her to use as an excuse.

Sometimes she thought of telling him everything. He had already heard stranger things from her before. Maybe he deserved to know why she hated certain people so deeply.

He had done so much for her already.

But every time, fear clawed her courage apart. ‘You’ve already made a fool of yourself so many times,’ her inner voice hissed. ‘Why show him more?’

‘You’re broken, pitiful, useless. Why make him pity you further?’

And yet, another part of her whispered faintly: ‘He’s kind to you. He offered you his name. Doesn’t he deserve to know?’

Still, guilt always won.

She felt sorry for him—for marrying someone so full of cracks and scars, someone who couldn’t even be honest. She wished she were stronger, better, braver.

Above her head, she heard him sigh.

“My wife, my lady—won’t you show me your face?”

Like obeying a command, Nerys lifted her head. Tears stained her cheeks.

Cledwyn’s expression twisted slightly as he looked down at her—his brows drawn, his eyes soft and unreadable. Was it pity? Or was he finally tired of her?

She wanted to believe he wasn’t that kind of man, but her mind still leaned toward the crueler possibility. The feeling made her want to hide. It was, undeniably, ‘her’ problem.

Cledwyn gently took her hands from his knee. She thought he was about to leave—and her heart clenched—but instead, he pushed his chair back and sat down beside her.

His strong arms wrapped around her small frame.

“I’m troubled,” he said quietly. “I want to know what frightened you so badly tonight, but I can’t think of what it was. Was it seeing Megara Lykeandros? You’ve been off since then.”

It wasn’t shock—just old memories surfacing.

Nerys gave a soft, bitter laugh. She had remembered too vividly what it felt like when someone she once desperately wanted to be kind simply ‘gave all that kindness to someone else.’

Cledwyn wasn’t Abelus. He didn’t care for flattery or coquettish charms, and Megara was too shrewd to try tempting him again.

But he was still a man she would one day lose.

And when that day came—when he gave his affection to another—she would feel that same unbearable pain again. Just imagining it now made her chest ache so much she could barely breathe.

It wasn’t just an expression. It ‘physically’ hurt.

She wanted to curl up and forget that future altogether. But wasn’t it ‘she herself’ who had set those conditions?

So she didn’t know how to answer. After a moment’s hesitation, the words slipped out of her mouth on their own, slurred and trembling—like a drunkard’s mumbling, though she hadn’t had a drop of alcohol.

“…Why… don’t you?”

“Hm?”

“Why don’t you… finish what you start? Is it because I can’t have children? Because it doesn’t mean anything? But even if I can’t have a child, men still have their desires. Am I that unattractive?”

Cledwyn’s arm froze around her shoulders. She stopped breathing. Regret struck instantly. What kind of childish question was that?

He released her and stared straight into her face.

She hated the reflection she saw in his eyes—her foolish, desperate expression. When he spoke, her shoulders flinched again.

“Sometimes I wonder what you think I am. You used to look at me like some emotionless stone. Now it feels like you see me as some kind of bastard.”

He sighed, then without warning, scooped her up. Instinctively, Nerys wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Meaningless because you can’t bear children? I’m sure I told you before—I don’t give a damn about heirs.”

A faint smile touched his lips, though it was anything but cheerful.

He carried her to the bed again. But this time, instead of tucking her in, he laid her on top of the covers and removed her robe.

His warm hands slid under her thin nightgown—neither rough nor hurried, but enough to make her tense and shiver. That touch awakened sensations she had only recently begun to understand.

A strange heat unfurled inside her. Maybe this time he really would go all the way. A part of her—no, most of her—wanted that. Fear and longing tangled together.

But when his lips met hers, it wasn’t the deep, consuming kiss she expected. It was soft. Gentle. Almost sorrowful.

Neither of them closed their eyes. They could see each other’s trembling gazes. Then he withdrew his hand and sat up.

“See? You’re scared even now. How could I keep going?”

His broad back looked slightly slumped. Without thinking, Nerys sat up and hugged him from behind.

“So… you stopped because I was scared?”

“Of course. You were exhausted from the journey. I didn’t plan to do anything that first night—I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want you thinking I only saw you as an object. The next night, you still looked terrified.”

His answer stunned her. Her heart pounded painfully.

“Then…”

“I don’t know what kind of marriage you expected, but I never imagined one where I’d drag you into bed whenever I pleased and walk away when I was done. I want you to want me.”

Nerys froze.

That simple line shattered something inside her. (T/N: Fk her trauma! Go to hell you bastard Abelus!!)

Because her first marriage—everything she’d known about being a wife—was ‘exactly’ the kind of life he was describing as unthinkable.

An unattractive wife was only sought for duty—and discarded when that duty was done. “If you’re not happy,” Abelus had said more than once, “go find yourself a lover then! Don’t lecture me about decency!”

Cledwyn reached up and grasped her arms tightly where they circled his neck. And suddenly, she felt anchored—held down not like a witch bound for execution, but like a drifting cloud that had finally found ground to rest upon.

‘You know…’ she whispered inwardly. ‘You must be winter itself. The long winter that comes to your land.’

‘And I… I’m the cloud. Without form, always drifting, breaking apart in the wind… until winter comes, and I fall as snow.’

‘Only then do I take shape—only then can anyone see me.’

It was foolish and sentimental, but for some reason, the thought felt true.

Cledwyn’s voice was low and steady.

“When you feel lonely like this, I don’t want you to provoke my desire. I want you to tell me what happened. Because, you see—you’ve been deceived.”

“…What?”

He loosened her grip on his neck and took her wrist gently, rubbing it with his thumb. Nerys stared up at him, bewildered.

“I’m not what you think. I lie easily. I’m no saint. But one thing’s true—I never planned to bring another woman into my life.”

Her eyes widened.

“But you said—”

“I said I’d find someone more suitable if I had to. But there isn’t anyone. The only woman fit to be my duchess is the one I love.”

No one in noble society spoke of marriage like that. Nerys’s breath hitched.

“If you want,” he said softly, “I can prove it. That I desire you. That we don’t need any other reason but that.”

In his narrowed gray eyes flickered a raw, unguarded hunger—so clear she wondered how she had never noticed it before.

“I’ll never do anything that makes you uncomfortable. But if it does—say no. And if I still can’t stop… then hit me. Hard.”

Nerys hesitated, then slowly nodded.