Her hair blazed red like autumnal blooms.
Cerulean blinked as he stared at the girl before him. His senses were fading—this was the first time in ages he had seen such a vivid red.
He didn’t know why he was captivated by her. She simply smiled, then offered him a large crimson flower, the shade perfectly matching her hair, and said softly:
“Isn’t its fragrance beautiful?”
“…I’m not sure.”
Scent had been the first of his senses to falter.
She tilted her head in gentle perplexity at his cool response, then lifted his hand into hers.
“You’re unsure? Then bring it closer—breathe it in, look upon it. Focus on its vibrant hue, and its sweetness will surge toward you.”
“That can’t be…”
It was like magic. At the moment her fingers brushed the back of his hand, warmth rushed through his skin. Color flooded the gray world anew, and he reeled from the sensory resurgence.
I’m spinning.
A tremor seized him, and she steadied him. Her green eyes, soft as spring buds, looked at him with concern. As their gazes locked, the flower’s scent overwhelmed him—just as she had described.
“Are you okay?”
It was the sweetest, most enchanting fragrance he had ever known.
Cerulean’s face remained stoic and his voice cool, yet the way he held her shawl was gentle, almost delicate. Had I been in her place, my heart would have raced.
A man of such striking beauty, yet so gracious—how could I not be drawn to him?
But the problem was—he’d whisked me off so abruptly!
My fingers curled into a fist as I called out:
“Lord Luc!”
He remained unchanged, serene as ever.
“Call me Cerulean, Idel.”
“Y-yes,” I stammered—his name still lodged uncomfortably in my chest.
But names weren’t the issue now—
“I haven’t had breakfast! And now you say we’re going to a tailor’s?”
As if he’d misunderstood my intent, Cerulean replied with utter sincerity.
“Let us have breakfast first.”
“That’s not what I mean!”
He cocked his head, as if puzzled, then folded his arms and shrugged.
“We’ll stop by the tailor just for measurements; I’ve sent instructions—won’t take long. Meanwhile, I’ll find a proper breakfast spot.”
“…”
What on earth was with him?
He truly has no sense of small talk.
Is he a golem, really? I squinted at him. He frowned in return, then slid open the carriage window.
“I’ll open the window a bit. The scent is too strong.”
His remark—spontaneous yet oddly perceptive—made me frown.
“Like last time… Is there a scent emanating from me?”
He often reacted strangely when I drew near—always at our first touch.
Even at home—he jumped back the moment he stepped inside.
Perhaps my aroma had lingered too strongly in that place.
But Cerulean shook his head and said quietly, with a sudden concern for propriety:
“It’s better to say aroma, not scent. You shouldn’t call it a ‘scent’ for a lady.”
Yes, Professor.
I wanted to laugh but restrained myself. So whether aroma or scent, something was definitely emanating from me.
“Fine—let’s say aroma. Then, what exactly is this aroma?”
“That…”
He hesitated, then spoke softly:
“I’m not sure. It’s an aroma only you have. I don’t know how to describe it.”
“Really? In over twenty years, no one’s ever told me I had a unique aroma.”
“…Please, forget I said anything.”
“Huh?”
What did he mean?
By now, I seized control of the awkward moment, folding my arms.
“So—by your own words—does that make us married now?”
“Yes.”
According to high-society gossip, his marriage had been delayed indefinitely.
Strange. He seems so utterly calm.
If he’d finally been approved for marriage after so many years, one would expect joy—
When will that impassive mask slip?
As I searched his handsome features for a sign, strange thoughts surfaced. His beauty was a paradox all its own.
What if he’s bound by some curse that freezes his emotions, thawing only for his true love… how romantic.
And what if that face, sculpted yet stoic, smiled only for one woman—
Of course, that woman would never be me.
I banished the thought and asked, voice cool and practical:
“How long will this contract last? Should we stipulate in writing that we’ll separate once you become Duke?”
A flicker of confusion crossed his features, and he paused before replying softly:
“…As you wish.”
Oh? Did I hear that right? I smirked.
“So what if I decide to leave the position unfilled indefinitely, refusing to give anyone the duchess title? What would you do then?”
“That would be acceptable, too.”
I thought he might be giving me serious counsel—but he answered as calmly as ever. I frowned.
“Is everything in your life handled this way? Even private matters, just brushed aside without emotion?”
“I suppose that’s true.”
Cerulean looked at me. His blue eyes lingered a moment longer than usual, as if he found nothing strange about it.
When I met his untroubled gaze, unease stirred in me. That feeling—was it…
“If this bothers you…”
“Bravo!” I interrupted and applauded him. Cerulean’s expression shifted—something like mild annoyance flickered on his face, though barely noticeable.
I chuckled with satisfaction.
Princess Barinen must have seethed with fury at this composure.
They say the greatest revenge is indifference—and inadvertently, Cerulean was giving the coldest revenge of all.
I pictured Barinen silenced by his icy calm and felt a secret thrill. I praised him again.
“Well done. Excellent. Stay on your own path.”
“A strange experience. I feel insulted despite the praise.”
“Oh, that’s just your imagination.”
Of course it was.
When I learned that Cerulean treated everyone with the same stoic distance, my heart warmed. And when I imagined our atmosphere growing warmer—perhaps purely in my head—the carriage slowed abruptly.
“Sir, we’ve arrived.”
Feeling lighter, I rose, excitement bubbling.
“Alright—let’s go. And you promised me a delicious breakfast.”
“Wait. I haven’t finished speaking yet.”
I opened the carriage door, ready to leap out—only to have Cerulean gently grab my gown.
He seemed momentarily surprised by the gesture, as if he hadn’t intended to stop me. Then he met my gaze with a rare hesitation, as though words lay heavy on his tongue.
“As long as we remain married, if there is anything you desire, tell me.”
“Excuse me? Me?”
“Yes. I’ve already gained much from this marriage. It isn’t fair.”
“Ha! You truly are a strategist.”
His ice-blue eyes were impossibly clear—no hint of reflection within them.
I made the proposal—he could have simply dismissed me.
I studied him for a moment and smiled softly.
“Just… talk to me for fifteen minutes every day.”
“You want conversation?”
“Yes. Every day, with no interruptions. That’s enough for me.”
“……”
Even if you are as stiff as wood, seeing my face daily might inspire you to speak… about Luar, even.
I shrugged nonchalantly. Cerulean considered this and slowly nodded.
“I promise, Idel.”
Hearing him use my name—my name—delivered with such elegance—it made me feel like a princess from a distant realm.
And so, accompanied by Cerulean, I stepped into the bustling streets of the capital.
But no sooner had I stepped down than a wave of tension washed over me.
What is all this crowd at this early hour?!
Walking beside him, sharp gazes fell upon us relentlessly.
They’re looking at me. They stare at Cerulean in wonder, then at me.
I couldn’t bear the scrutiny. I drew closer and whispered:
“Haven’t you met anyone all this time? Even if you didn’t marry because you were busy, surely you had at least one suitor.”
“……”
He didn’t respond, simply continued walking, unflinching.
No way…
I smiled tensely, my heart contracting.
“Truly—no one? Not even one?”
I’d assumed this marriage was a light contract for convenience. Suddenly, everything felt more serious.
I placed a hand on my chest to steady my racing heart. Finally, Cerulean spoke in a low voice:
“If you mean brief affairs, there were not none.”
Thank heavens.
But I soon realized it was too early to breathe easy. His next words froze me in place.
“I do not know if I could call it a relationship. Only… someone sent me a letter of confession.”
So it wasn’t even a real relationship!
What’s the point of classifying it? I asked quickly:
“You mean—the other party just confessed, and that was it?”
“……”
Cerulean fell silent again.
