Chapter 196
Another late morning came, one too many to count.
Nerys noted, somewhat dryly, that her waking time was finally beginning to resemble what it had been before marriage. Well, surely, she’d get used to it soon enough… even if she still had to nearly beg for sleep. (T/N: If you know, you know. HAHAHAHAHA.)
Even Cledwyn, who moved several times more than she did, didn’t wake up at dawn anymore.
Still, she wasn’t completely used to it yet—the feeling of opening her eyes lazily not to the cool dawn air, but within the warmth of another person’s body.
At some point while she was asleep, her arms had wrapped tightly around a firm waist, and now, above that, was the sight of a broad, bare chest. The faintly tanned muscles gleamed softly, smooth like satin.
“You’re awake?”
The moment his wife’s eyes opened, Cledwyn pressed three quick kisses to her forehead and asked. She smiled without meaning to, then quickly smoothed her expression when she realized it.
It embarrassed her to show how pleased she was when he looked so calm.
Though, at night, even he sometimes lost that calmness…
The thought made her blush even harder. Nerys mumbled back,
“I’m awake.”
“Go back to sleep. You woke earlier than yesterday.”
Apparently, he’d noticed that her waking hours were becoming more regular. Nerys slowly sat up.
“I should get up. There’s a lot to do today…”
She knew very well how much work accumulated daily in White Swan Castle. And it had already been some time since the Grand Duke had left that place behind.
Even though they only received reports on the most urgent matters through ‘Shadow’, there was still a mountain of things to handle. Managing this mansion in the capital alone was already complicated enough.
At her practical remark, Cledwyn sat up as well, then wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his face into her shoulder with a groan.
“Damn it. Isn’t that why I hired capable men? Why is there still so much work?”
“Because they’re capable, it’s running this smoothly.”
Nerys had handled many subordinates herself. From what she could tell, the issues that reached them now were only those that required the Grand Duke’s judgment. Everything else, judging by the reports, was progressing surprisingly well.
“My wife is so cold. I’m exhausted and tired, and I need comfort from my partner.”
“If you’re tired, go back to sleep. Why did you wake up so early?”
“…Because there’s something I want to do.”
She could feel his hand slowly wandering where it shouldn’t, and Nerys sighed inwardly—but didn’t push him away.
Moments later, Cledwyn looked thoroughly content as he pulled his wife close again. She spoke in a faint, sleepy voice.
“Am I disappointing you?”
“Huh? Why would you say that?”
“I don’t really know what to do with men. I’m not very perceptive either. So… you do so much for me, but I’m still clumsy…”
She tried to speak as though it didn’t matter, but a faint crease formed between her brows without her noticing. The ache of holding back emotion couldn’t be hidden.
‘What if he gets disappointed? What if he learns more about me and then decides to leave?’
Only now did she clearly see that fear inside her. Before, it had been so strong that she mistook it for mere resignation to reality.
‘Of course he’ll be disappointed, of course he’ll leave. So I should prepare myself for it…’
Wasn’t that the same mindset that nearly ruined things with Diane?
Cledwyn rubbed his cheek against hers and chuckled softly. There was no trace of disappointment—just as always.
“Men don’t care much about being good at anything. What matters is whether my wife’s happy. And you’re not clumsy. You’re perfect.”
Then he kissed her again, and when he pulled away, his eyes lingered tenderly, as though he wanted to engrave every detail of her face in memory—from her forehead to her eyebrows, eyes, nose, lips, and chin.
A sigh of awe escaped his lips, filled with pure reverence.
“You’re so beautiful…”
Nerys’s heart thudded violently. For some reason, her eyes welled up, and she quickly turned her gaze away.
Cledwyn hugged her tightly once more, then slowly rose.
“Let’s wash up and have breakfast.”
“Alright.”
When he let go, she felt a chill. Nerys slipped back under the blanket, secretly watching her husband’s back as he ordered a servant outside the door to prepare the bathwater.
❖ ❖ ❖
“You’re still not back at school?”
The tone in Natasha Grünehals’s voice, when they met in the dressing room, hid a sharp hostility beneath its polish. Megara smiled radiantly and answered as if nothing was amiss.
“No, sister. There are still a few things left to take care of.”
“Are you really just sitting around instead of studying? Wouldn’t it be better to go back, graduate, and return afterward? You’ll only cause trouble if people start saying you’re getting special treatment.”
When Megara had first submitted her leave form under the pretext of family business, she’d written one month—the maximum the academy allowed.
Being absent longer made it hard to catch up, and as Natasha said, could stir resentment among the other students. Especially since the imperial family, which had forced noble children into the academy, disliked absences.
Megara had originally planned to return right after the engagement ceremony anyway. She hadn’t expected things to drag out like this.
But Natasha wasn’t being considerate. She must have heard something—about how Megara and Abelus had been meeting alone more often.
If Natasha was bristling because she feared something of hers might be taken, there was nothing to be afraid of. Megara met her gaze calmly and replied with poise,
“It’s fine. I have enough time. I’ll finish everything before I go back.”
Of course, Megara wasn’t confident she had fully captured Abelus’s heart. At best, she had his considerable interest.
But she was certain of one thing: Abelus preferred her looks. More than Natasha’s.
Knowing her long-time lover’s taste, Natasha’s eyes narrowed. When she got angry, her sharp, elegant features turned intimidating—but unfortunately, Megara was one of the few who didn’t flinch.
They faced each other in the quiet reception room, while the staff pretended not to listen. Natasha glared fiercely, and Megara smiled angelically, refusing to back down.
At last, Natasha lifted one corner of her lips.
“I suppose that’s fortunate. Colin Ganielo isn’t going to be the next duke anyway—he’ll barely be a knighted lord. You’re really wasting your time. A pity, you’d think someone like you could do better.”
It was a jab at Megara’s engagement to Colin, a sneer that she’d been reduced to marrying below her worth. Megara covered her mouth and laughed softly.
“I’m sure our elders have their reasons. It’s frustrating, but there’s nothing I can do. Since it’s been arranged between the families, it’ll happen sooner or later.”
The retort stung—what right did Natasha have to brag when her own engagement to Abelus wasn’t even official yet? Natasha’s crimson brows furrowed.
“Seems the Duke of Ganielo thinks little of you, dragging it out like this. If things get difficult, you can tell me. There’s friendship between our houses, after all.”
The threat was clear: ‘You’re just a marquis’s daughter, and I’m a duke’s.’
Megara kept smiling.
A mere difference in rank? Compared to the absolute divide between the imperial family and other nobles, it was nothing. Natasha had nothing else to flaunt, so she resorted to such lines.
“Thank you for saying so. But who knows what the future holds? If you ever need my help, please tell me too, sister.”
Just then, the head designer entered. Natasha raised her chin, and the designer, of course, greeted her first.
“Honored Lady Grünehals, the gown you ordered has just been completed beautifully.”
“Good. Bring it here.”
“Yes, my lady. And Lady Lykeandros, another designer will attend to you shortly.”
After finishing with Natasha, the designer finally turned to Megara. She smiled.
“No, I want ‘you’ to handle it. I heard you have an excellent eye, and I’d like to order a new dress.”
Natasha’s brows arched.
By rank and future status, it was obvious that the ‘head’ designer’s attention belonged to Natasha. She’d already been greeted first and given priority.
Yet Megara was brazenly insisting otherwise.
“Megara, I have business with this one. You should speak to another designer. Don’t you know what order means?”
Her tone was icy, but Megara only lifted a shoulder slightly.
“Your gown’s already done, isn’t it? Anyone can bring it out for you. But I’m ordering something new—I need a consultation. Don’t you understand the difference in priority?”
The designer froze, caught in the middle. Natasha’s patience snapped. She’d never been particularly patient to begin with.
A moment later, the water glass that had been set earlier found its way into Natasha’s hand—and then its contents splashed right into Megara’s face.
“Who do you think you are, lecturing me!”
“Ahhh!”
Megara’s maid screamed.
It was cold water, only a glassful, so Megara wasn’t hurt. But her carefully styled hair and makeup were now embarrassingly ruined in front of the staff.
Megara’s smile twisted.
This was why she despised uncultured people. Brutish, stupid Valentin Elandria, reckless Natasha Grünehals…
And Nerys Truydd, who dared to marry beneath her station yet carried herself as though she were above them all.
‘Well, let them do as they please.’
Let’s see how far this story spreads—how the “sweet, polite angel” Megara Lykeandros was humiliated by the “arrogant” Natasha Grünehals.
She’d find out soon enough, the next time she met Abelus.
❖ ❖ ❖
By the time Natasha arrived at the First Princess’s Palace, she was nearly senseless with rage.
She’d felt satisfied at first—thinking she’d put Megara in her place—but as time passed, the things Megara had said kept replaying in her head.
Her words about Abelus and Natasha’s engagement being nothing more than a family arrangement were half true, half not.
Everyone across the continent knew about them. Even the Emperor and Empress treated Natasha with particular favor. So wasn’t that as good as official?
And yet, it wasn’t formally announced. She was still merely ‘the duke’s daughter’, not ‘the Crown Prince’s fiancée.’
That difference shouldn’t have mattered, but after Megara’s taunting, it suddenly did. It felt small. Trivial. As if she were on the same level as that idiot Valentin.
Especially now, when the whole social world buzzed with talk of the low-born lady, Nerys Truydd, marrying the Grand Duke of Maindulante.
The odds of Abelus marrying another woman were extremely low—but not impossible. He was, after all, pathetically weak to pretty faces.
That was why Natasha had to act, to make sure.
All those shallow girls before—vulgar, uneducated, all beauty and no breeding—every one of them who dared to dream of surpassing the Lady of House Grünehals…
Not one of them had remained.
Now, it was Megara’s turn.