Chapter 12
And what Cerulean had in mind matched mine exactly. He nodded lightly and said,
“If you show up wearing this, the Duchess will be quite upset.”
Upset? She’d probably collapse from high blood pressure!
I snickered under my breath.
“…You, with that angelic face, really don’t have a very nice personality.”
“You seem to have a talent for making compliments sound like insults.”
Cerulean narrowed his eyes slightly and added,
“Let’s be honest. You also immediately pictured the Duchess fuming, didn’t you?”
“I suppose this is what they mean by a match made in heaven.”
Husbands and wives were said to share the same thoughts and hearts. For us to think so much alike before even being properly married—it must mean we’d get along.
Saying so, I waited for Cerulean to brush it off. After all, it was a contract marriage. A match made in heaven, really?
“……”
But Cerulean only closed the box again, as if uninterested. His indifferent reaction doused my mood.
‘I’d like to see him laugh more, frown more, just… show some variety of emotions.’
The only time he ever twitched was when our hands brushed.
‘Is his only reaction to me triggered by my scent? That’s depressing.’
Pouting, I let out a sigh through my nose. I could still see the dazzling yellow glow lingering in my vision. Propping my chin on my hand, I asked,
“To be honest, I only said that to put on airs in front of the Duchess… but at this point, I wonder if His Grace truly does favor me.”
At my words, Cerulean looked up as if to ask what I meant. I shrugged.
“The man who usually sits back and does nothing suddenly stamped the betrothal contract without so much as a word to his wife.”
Cerulean looked down at the box again, face unreadable.
“Perhaps he does.”
His blank expression made it clear that wasn’t the right answer. So then, why had the Duke suddenly agreed to our marriage? I tried to come up with a plausible reason.
“Was it because I’m a commoner? Did he think I’d need at least this much of a push to stand a chance against the Duchess?”
But if that were the case, he never would’ve chosen a commoner as his bride to begin with.
‘Ugh… I really can’t figure it out.’
Since I knew nothing about Duke Luc, I couldn’t reach a conclusion. As I agonized, Cerulean rose to his feet and replied,
“His Grace isn’t one to think that deeply. He’s equally indifferent to everyone but you.”
“But he’s doing things he never did before, isn’t he?”
“That’s…”
A flicker of confusion crossed Cerulean’s face before it vanished. That fleeting expression told me plainly—he too had wondered about it, but hadn’t found an answer. In a stiff tone, he said,
“Whatever the reason, it certainly isn’t me.”
“Hmm.”
So why had Duke Luc agreed to this marriage? The more I thought about it, the more mysterious it became.
Cerulean’s blue eyes fell on Edel. Resting her chin on her hand with a tilted head—her expression was oddly cute.
‘…Cute?’
Cerulean startled at his own thought.
He had never harbored any feelings toward anyone. Entering the ducal household, he had never resented the Duke, nor particularly disliked the Duchess. He simply lacked emotions altogether.
But Edel was different. From the start, she had been special.
‘Is it just me, or does her sweet fragrance keep growing stronger?’
The first time they touched, the sudden rush of sensation had nearly thrown him off balance.
But the more they came into contact, the less resistance he felt, and the sharper the sensations became.
‘Why is that?’
As he exhaled slowly, drunk on the deep rose scent, Edel beamed at him.
“Cerulean.”
“…!!”
She had only called his name with a smile, yet why did his chest twinge like this?
‘She’s special.’
Whether because they had met in childhood, or simply because of her own nature, Edel was undeniably special to him.
Gazing at her curly hair, a thought flashed through his mind.
‘What if His Grace knows it too?’
He had always thought the Duke’s indifference toward him, unlike with Vanerin, was because Cerulean had never demanded anything.
But what if the Duke knew Edel’s uniqueness? What if that was why he treated her with unusual leniency?
‘That would be…’
Unpleasant.
Startled by the foreign feeling, Cerulean widened his eyes.
What exactly was unpleasant? That the Duke knew about her? Or that he wasn’t the only one aware of her specialness?
Unfamiliar with emotions, Cerulean couldn’t answer. His heart only grew more tangled and restless.
Rising from his seat, he said,
“I think it’s best I take my leave for today.”
He needed time to sort out his thoughts.
In the carriage home, I sneaked a sidelong glance at the man across from me.
‘What’s with him all of a sudden?’
Cerulean sat silently, staring out the window. His face was as expressionless as always, but perhaps because I’d gotten used to him, I felt I could read his mood a little.
‘He’s been in a bad mood since a little while ago.’
But no matter how I replayed it, I couldn’t figure out what had triggered him. I tilted my head.
‘Maybe I’m imagining things?’
But he was definitely talking less.
I looked at him again—at first to gauge his mood, but then my eyes were caught by how the sunlight through the window shimmered on his hair.
Next, the sharp bridge of his nose, fine enough to cut paper. And his eyes, cold yet somehow lonely.
On his chest glinted the striking black badge of a sword. I bit my lip.
‘The mark of a Lore Hunter.’
There weren’t many who could fight on the front lines against the Lore. And one of them was sitting right here—Cerulean.
I felt instinctively this was the moment I had sought when I proposed a contract marriage. Pretending nonchalant, I tilted my head and asked,
“Come to think of it, you always wear that badge. After dropping me off, are you heading back to work?”
Cerulean shook his head.
“I’m on leave right now.”
“What? Leave?”
“With such a major life event ahead, I couldn’t very well keep working, could I?”
“…?”
I think we have different definitions of “taking it easy.”
‘Working leisurely? Who works leisurely?’
Work was work, no matter how much you liked it. And his reason?
“…Don’t tell me you took leave because of the wedding?”
At my question, Cerulean nodded matter-of-factly.
‘Ugh, that’s so unlike him. Wedding leave?’
Then again… I had applied for it too. But still, somehow it felt different with him.
Arms crossed, Cerulean added,
“Even during leave, depending on the situation, I may be called to the field. I don’t wear this badge out of pride.”
“To be prepared for emergencies?”
“Something like that.”
It was a professional, dutiful answer. But his face was so impassive it didn’t look like duty at all.
“Is that because of the Lore’s nature?”
This time, unlike his usual prompt replies, Cerulean fell silent. He stared at me for a moment before answering slowly,
“…Who knows.”
If you were going to be that curt, why take so long to answer?
I wanted to shake him by the collar for a proper answer, but seeing his face, I knew he wouldn’t say more. I bit my lip and saved the question for later.
I hugged the box with the yellow sapphire and sat in silence.
Watching the scenery blur by outside the window, my heart churned with thoughts. But of all those thoughts, one stood out.
‘Princess Vanerin.’
The woman who still remembered me, still hated me, still wanted to see me ruined.
‘I can’t let her win again.’
Tightening my grip on the box, I lifted my head and said firmly,
“Excuse me. Since we’re already in the carriage, could we make one more stop?”
“Where to?”
“Well…”
Where was the battleground against Vanerin? For a journalist like me, there was only one answer.
“To our newspaper office.”
I would fight with my pen.
Past working hours, only the editor-in-chief was still in the office. He blinked between Cerulean and me.
“What on earth is going on? And with this companion…”
“Good to see you again.”
“Ah, the honor is mine.”
The editor bent at a ninety-degree bow toward Cerulean, then whispered to me,
“But why are you two together?”
“Chief, I have something important to tell you. Let’s go inside first.”
A journalist’s basic principle was confidentiality. So with the editor and Cerulean, I stepped into a small side room and locked the door tight.
Dust flew up in the cramped space. Cerulean frowned.
“What is this place?”
“The archives. Pretty filthy, right? Plenty of people use it, but nobody thinks cleaning is their job. Myself included.”
The editor jabbed my side, as if to say—did you really have to be that blunt?
Anyway, once inside, the three of us stood facing each other. I crossed my arms and lifted my chin.
“I told you I’d be taking leave for my marriage.”
“You did.”
“This is my fiancé.”
“…What?”
The editor’s jaw dropped. Then he flailed his arms, panicking.
“W-Wait! I have to write this down. An interview!”
I raised my hand and cut him off coldly.
“I haven’t yet promised to give Newcastle Times the exclusive rights.”
“What?”
I explained clearly,
“I came here to negotiate exactly that—the exclusive coverage of our marriage. You already know how high the value will be.”
“W-Well, of course! How much do you want? Should I fetch you a blank check?”
His hand trembled. A blank check was tempting, but that wasn’t why I had come.
“I’ll be reasonable with the price. What matters isn’t money—it’s the condition I’m about to set.”
Speaking each word firmly, I said,
“No matter what the content, no matter what outside pressure comes, you must print exactly what I give you. That is my condition.”
