"She probably just exaggerated," Adelina chuckled, observing how readily Sophie had believed such an incredible tale. The maid pouted in response.
"Even if that were true, all the warehouses we visited were completely **empty**. Lady Pembroke has definitely removed everything of value."
"Sophie," Adelina said quietly, glancing around and cutting the maid off mid-complaint. "At this late hour, it may seem as though no one is about—but you must still remain on your guard. The first virtue of a good servant is **discretion** in speech."
"But—" Sophie was about to object when the sound of approaching footsteps reached her ears. She fell silent immediately.
Adelina shot her maid a meaningful look. Sophie, feeling appropriately chastened, cleared her throat and raised the lantern, directing its beam toward the source of the sound. The darkness retreated beneath the bright light.
"Who's there?" The footsteps halted abruptly. Sophie squinted, trying to identify the figure. "Oh my **God**!" the girl exclaimed as recognition dawned. "Your Excellency—the Duke!"
"Duke?"
Adelina peered toward the far end of the corridor, where Alexio did indeed stand—his dark attire rendering him nearly indistinguishable from the shadows. The moment their gazes met, his footsteps resumed. As he approached, his figure grew increasingly distinct. Perhaps owing to his long legs, he arrived at Adelina's side almost instantly.
The girl caught an unfamiliar scent mingling with the cool night air. Adelina frowned slightly and studied her husband. Moving a fraction closer, she inhaled deeply and detected something sharp yet strangely sweet beneath the surface.
"You smell of alcohol."
At his wife's observation, Alexio raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest.
"You're familiar with the scent of alcohol?"
"Of course I can recognize it. I'm not a child, after all." The girl knew the smell well—not because she enjoyed drinking, but because Prince Arthur frequently brought "important business partners" to the mansion, where they would throw riotous parties that lasted until dawn. Adelina had always wondered how anyone could discuss serious matters while so thoroughly intoxicated. Eventually, she'd concluded it was merely an excuse for revelry.
"I haven't had **that** much to drink." Alexio sniffed his own clothes with evident surprise. The scent of alcohol, though faint, lingered unmistakably. "I needed to persuade someone to sign a contract. Alcohol is the most effective means of loosening tension." The words sounded suspiciously like an excuse, and the man apparently realized this only after speaking aloud. He had no reason to justify himself—yet, strangely, Alexio found himself watching his wife's reaction with unexpected attentiveness.
"I see." Adelina blinked and regarded the Duke. "So you've been occupied all these days because of this contract? Did everything proceed well?"
"Yes." Alexio released a heavy sigh and raked his fingers through his hair. The man appeared somewhat disheveled now—a stark departure from his usually impeccable presentation. "If things had gone poorly, I'd still be trapped there. Everything needed to be resolved before midnight."
"I'm glad it all worked out. Congratulations—you did an excellent job."
The Duke fell silent at these simple words of praise.
He couldn't recall the last time he'd heard such **genuine** congratulations after completing a difficult task. Usually, his achievements were either taken for granted or met with envy—sometimes even thinly veiled condemnation. Whenever anyone offered congratulations, he automatically assumed it was mockery or some subtle form of derision. But Adelina's words sounded utterly sincere, and that produced a strange, unfamiliar sensation in his chest.
_It's probably the alcohol._
"Is something wrong?"
The gaze Alexio directed at Adelina differed subtly from his usual expression, causing the girl to shiver involuntarily. Noticing this, the man's brow furrowed.
"Your clothing is too thin—you're trembling all over." Alexio removed his coat and draped it carefully over his wife's shoulders, casting a reproachful glance at Sophie as he did so.
"I'm not cold. Pembroke Manor is always exceptionally warm," Adelina added hastily, rushing to defend her maid. Her words weren't a lie—at Pembroke Manor, even outside the winter season when heating wasn't strictly necessary, the warming systems would activate the moment the sun dipped below the horizon and the air grew cool. This allowed both masters and servants to move about the estate in light clothing. The contrast with Roche Manor couldn't have been sharper, where—to economize on heating costs—everywhere except Prince Arthur's private chambers and the library remained perpetually frigid. Winters there had been **especially** brutal.
Despite her explanation, Alexio appeared unconvinced. Understandably so, since he'd witnessed her body tremble with his own eyes.
"It's not the cold, it's just..." Adelina sighed and regarded her husband with an expression bordering on accusation. "I feel a little **strange**. Duke of Pembroke—do you have a habit of staring at people like that when you've been drinking?"
"Have I been looking at you intently, Princess?"
"Yes. You're **still** looking at me without glancing away."
"Really?" The man narrowed his eyes, his gaze remaining fixed on his wife. The alcohol seemed to be dulling his awareness of his own behavior.
"You appear completely normal..." Adelina examined the Duke with growing curiosity. His complexion remained unblemished, and his speech was clear and precise. And yet, something about him felt **different**. Several buttons on his usually immaculate shirt hung undone, and his hair—normally so meticulously arranged—fell naturally disheveled, partially obscuring his eyes. He kept attempting to tame it, running his hand through the dark strands repeatedly. "Alexio, are you drunk?"
"Perhaps just slightly. I consumed more than usual." Tilting his head as if mentally tallying his intake, the man conceded Adelina's point readily enough. "However..."
Alexio suddenly leaned forward, bringing his face close to his wife's neck. As she flinched in surprise, the coat resting on her shoulders slipped.
"**Ah!**"
"Oh."
Unlike his startled wife—who scrambled to catch the falling garment—Alexio reached out with languid grace and caught it mid-descent. Draping it back over her shoulders with unhurried care, the Duke smiled.
"You smell of alcohol too, Adelina."
"That's impossible. The scent must be coming from your coat," the girl countered quickly. She had never tasted alcohol in her life. At social gatherings, wine or champagne was naturally served—but Adelina had remained sequestered at the Roche mansion throughout her years of eligibility.
"Is that so?" The Duke studied his wife closely, as though attempting to verify the truth of her words. Wrapped in his oversized coat, she looked so **small**—so unexpectedly fragile—that a peculiar sensation washed over him. His wife was both amusing and... **endearing**.
"Why are you smiling?"
Alexio came to his senses abruptly at this short question.
_He was smiling?_
Covering his mouth with one hand, the man realized the corners of his lips were indeed curved slightly upward. But he hadn't even noticed. He had been certain his expression remained as impassive as always—the practiced mask he wore with every interlocutor.