The Emperor had invited the young Duke and Duchess of Windmere to a royal banquet.
Officially, the gathering was meant to symbolize harmony among the younger nobles of the Empire. In truth, however, it was a carefully calculated move.
The Duke of Windmere remained in the western territories dealing with a dispute over mining rights, and ever since Lucius’s accident and subsequent seclusion, the balance of power surrounding the family had loosened. Taking advantage of that vacuum, those aligned with Brickwell had begun quietly expanding their influence.
The Emperor needed a symbol to steady the delicate scales once more. He needed people to see Windmere and Brickwell united again.
That was why Celia and Lucius had been dragged here like imperial marionettes.
“Why didn’t you refuse?” Celia asked sharply. “You could’ve easily avoided this by pretending you were still ill.”
They stood before the eastern corridor leading into Hadelion Fortress, crimson carpet spread beneath their feet. Lucius wore a long dark navy cape draped elegantly over his shoulders.
“If I stayed hidden any longer, rumors about my health would only worsen,” he replied mildly. “Besides, moving around this much isn’t difficult. Thank you for worrying about me.”
“It’s not worry—!”
Celia swallowed the irritated retort and exhaled shortly through her nose. Lucius’s eyes curved softly, as though catching the sharp edge of her breath and smoothing it away.
“I mean it when I say you don’t need to worry. The preparations were rushed, but I’ve memorized the essentials of court etiquette. At the very least, I won’t stagger around in front of everyone or make a spectacle of myself and embarrass you.”
Though he added that he was still somewhat nervous, his thumb slowly brushed over the back of the hand resting atop his.
The strangely sensual motion made Celia’s shoulders curl inward.
He really should’ve stayed home claiming he was sick!
By the time she finished silently fuming, they had already passed beneath the great archway.
The atmosphere changed immediately.
The once quiet surroundings became crowded with nobles dressed in extravagant finery. At the sight of the pair bearing the names of Windmere and Brickwell, people instinctively stepped aside to clear a path.
“Oh my, they’ve arrived.”
“Hasn’t it been quite some time since the two of them appeared together like this?”
“I heard the young duke was unwell. I suppose those rumors were exaggerated after all.”
Attention poured toward them from every direction.
Normally, Celia would have ignored such whispers and stares without care. But today, she felt like a knight carrying a live explosive in her arms. Without realizing it, she lightly bit the inside of her lip and forced her expression into composure.
Meanwhile, the man who was that explosive remained absurdly calm.
Lucius walked forward without the slightest hesitation, as if the gazes surrounding him were nothing more than distant raindrops falling far away.
What exactly is he so confident about?
As she stared up at him in disbelief, Lucius casually bent his tall frame slightly toward her.
“What should I do?” he murmured. “Now that I’m actually here… I think I’m finally getting nervous.”
The oddly playful tone tangled Celia’s steps.
“I can manage the etiquette somehow. But if someone speaks to me, I’m not sure I can pretend everything’s normal.”
Because their hands were linked, Celia narrowly avoided stumbling outright. She lifted her head sharply at his shameless words and thought:
Why did he have to lose his memory?
And why had the gods decided that forcing her into marriage with him wasn’t enough suffering already?
At the sight of the two appearing so intimate together, the surrounding nobles inhaled all at once like beasts catching sight of prey. One person’s jaw dropped. Another gripped their fan so tightly their eyes widened.
If there was anyone who didn’t share in the collective shock, it was Lucius alone.
“What if I make a mistake?” he asked evenly.
“Don’t… worry about that.”
Celia’s fingertips stiffened subtly. The hand that couldn’t quite bring itself to shove him away twitched repeatedly.
“But what if people criticize us?”
If anyone gets insulted, it’ll be you, not me.
The bitter response nearly escaped her lips, but years of status and discipline strangled it before it could emerge.
Instead, as they passed a window, Celia glanced briefly at his reflection.
Whenever Lucius learned something unfamiliar, he became unusually cautious. Yet he understood things frighteningly quickly. Perhaps because refinement was ingrained into his very bones, his elegant restraint remained untouched.
Each step flowed seamlessly from ankle to knee to shoulder, flawless and smooth. Even the way he turned his head seemed calculated to catch the light perfectly—slow, sharp, yet gentle all at once.
It felt as though the very air of the corridor quietly reorganized itself whenever his gaze shifted.
And because he was like this, Celia found his worries laughably deceptive.
“If they want to talk, let them.”
She kept her eyes forward as she spoke quietly.
“The words people whisper behind your back are worthless. I’ve never cared enough to give them meaning.”
Lucius turned his head slightly toward her.
His gaze was silent, almost as though he were trying to read her profile.
“The opinions of others aren’t the measure of my worth.”
For a brief moment, Lucius’s steps slowed.
As if savoring every word she said, he tightened his hold around her hand. His long fingers—fingers better suited to holding a musical instrument—closed perfectly around hers.
“You’re right.”
Light deepened the silver in his eyes as his gaze drifted over her expression, tracing her delicate eyes and nose before settling near her red lips.
As though some invisible emotion lingered there, his stare became strangely persistent.
“But I’ll still do my best,” he said softly. “I don’t want my wife to be insulted because of my mistakes.”
The gentle cadence of his voice made something itch unpleasantly beneath Celia’s skin. She stubbornly kept staring straight ahead.
At the same time, she subtly twisted her wrist, trying to free her trapped hand.
Her goal today was simple: help Lucius appear as though he hadn’t lost his memory.
Enduring uncomfortable attention—and especially this kind of physical contact—had never been part of the plan.
“Come to think of it…” Lucius murmured.
Celia didn’t even bother turning her head anymore, focusing solely on freeing her hand.
Honestly, he was revoltingly—
“You’re beautiful today.”
Lucius Windmere.
Celia faltered mid-step.
A tiny breath slipped through her lips, quiet enough that no one else could have heard it.
“You’re so beautiful I don’t want other men seeing you,” he continued. “I want to lock you away in my arms and keep you there all day.”
His eyes curved gently.
The crescent shape of them reminded her of a dimly lit painting—light touching only the upper half while subtle shadows pooled beneath.
And the nature of those shadows revealed itself in his whisper.
“How did I endure this before?”
His voice lowered instantly.
The sweet, teasing tone that had spun around her like silk suddenly deepened, pulling the surrounding air along with it.
“Do you know what kind of eyes those men have when they look at you? It makes me feel disgusted. Those gazes make me want to—”
“S-Stop. Wait!”
Celia grabbed him quickly, lowering her voice as much as possible.
Without realizing it, she had completely abandoned trying to pull away and was now clutching his hand tightly instead, staring up at him in horror.
“No. Absolutely not. Lucius Windmere would never say things like that!”
Until now, she had been appalled at the idea of having to babysit a fully grown man just because he had lost his memory.
She took that thought back immediately.
“So listen carefully,” she hissed. “Never—ever—say things like that in front of other people.”
The man before her was a patient.
A pitiful fool who had lost every memory he possessed and somehow convinced himself he loved her.
“You hate it?” he asked.
“I hate it. Completely. I hate it so much. So stop.”
Celia deliberately stomped hard on the top of his foot, but Lucius showed not even the slightest sign of pain.
Instead, he calmly wrapped an arm around her waist.
Damn it.
The burning stares against her back were definitely not her imagination.
“If you dislike it, then I won’t do it.”
His low voice brushed against her ear like the deep notes beneath an organ’s melody, and his expression turned obedient.
The wild edge that had briefly surfaced moments ago disappeared without a trace, replaced by something vast and calm—an ocean-like gentleness that spread quietly around him.
And all of it was directed solely at her.
Just as Celia twitched like an insect caught in a web, the imperial chamberlain approached them hesitantly. Rumor claimed the poor man had shed enough tears over the chaos those two caused in the imperial palace since childhood to fill an entire lake.
“It is nearly time for your entrance.”
For perhaps the first time in her life, the summons sounded like salvation to Celia.
One could never openly voice hatred toward the Emperor.
But if Celia were forced to judge him honestly in private, then to her, the Emperor was not merely unpleasant.
He was the absolute worst.
“You two still appear as close as ever!”
While several newspapers were jointly controlled by Brickwell and Windmere, some remained firmly under imperial influence.
Which meant many of the absurd rumors printed about their marriage had undoubtedly originated from the imperial family itself.
“It is thanks to Your Majesty’s grace,” Celia answered smoothly.
She concealed the sardine-like venom swimming beneath her eyes with perfect composure.
Apparently pleased by her polished reply, the Emperor burst into laughter.
“Ha ha! A harmonious marriage is the foundation of a strong house. Especially for those who bear names important to the Empire. Come now—raise your glasses!”
Centered around the Emperor and Empress seated at the head of the hall, nobles lined the banquet tables according to status, merit, bloodline, and honor.
Celia sat among them as one of the many sacrificial offerings.
Surrounded by people who wore flattery at the corners of their lips and decorated every sentence with excessive etiquette, she was forced to raise her glass alongside them.
“Come to think of it, Count Autran. Why are you attending alone? Where is your wife?”
“My wife recently conceived, Your Majesty, so she was unable to attend tonight. She wished dearly to receive your blessing in person, but… I ask your forgiveness for her absence.”
“Oh? A child! There is no happier news than that! Nothing is more important than producing an heir.”
The Emperor laughed heartily, but for some reason, the sound filled Celia with dread.
As expected, the Emperor’s gaze slowly shifted toward Lucius and Celia.
The instant she saw it, Celia knew exactly what was coming next.
“So then,” the Emperor said, “you two have been married for over three years already. Is there still no good news?”
It’s been two and a half, you bald idiot.
Apparently the man lacked not only hair, but also any sense of time.
If locking two hostile beasts inside the same cage automatically produced children, that would be magic.
…What would happen if I flipped this table over?
She vaguely recalled hearing that one councilman had slammed a desk during the last assembly and lost three generations’ worth of family honor for it.
In the end, Celia swallowed her thoughts and answered politely.
“It simply feels a little early still, Your Majesty. We have not yet seriously considered children, so your question leaves me somewhat embarrassed.”
She chose each word with painstaking care.
At this point, she had nearly abandoned rational thought altogether and was functioning purely on instinct.
“Even so, children should come first. Once you have one, your heart changes. You’re simply too young to understand yet.”
Clicking his tongue with the meddlesome air of an old man disguising criticism as wisdom, the Emperor soon brightened again.
“Ah! Right. Young Duke, what about you?”
Beneath lowered lashes, Celia’s eyes sharpened dangerously.
He and I are the same age.
In fact, her birthday was three days earlier.
“Wouldn’t you also like an heir as soon as possible?”
The Emperor pointed directly at Lucius.
At the arrival of the worst possible moment, Celia nearly bit down on the tip of her fork as she turned toward Lucius with tense eyes.
Lucius neatly set down his cutlery, then lifted his head toward the Emperor as though he had been waiting for the question.
“Thank you for Your Majesty’s concern,” he said calmly. “However…”
The sound of glasses settling, the soft scrape of silverware against crystal plates—
Lucius’s voice quietly overtook all of it.
“For now, I simply don’t wish to have my wife stolen away by a child.”
Silence fell across the banquet hall.
Even wrapped in perfect etiquette, those were not words the old Lucius ever would have spoken.
