The Duke's face turned to stone the moment the door handle clicked.
"Come in."
"Hello. Young sir... Lord Gerald."
Marin stepped into the study, certain she would find the Duke alone at his desk. Out of habit, she'd nearly blurted out *"Duke"*—but catching sight of Olive and Butler Sebas standing nearby, she stumbled over the word and hastily corrected herself.
*"Young master."* The archaic address slipped out before she could stop it—a term reserved for young noblemen of the highest aristocratic families.
"'Young master,'" the Duke echoed. "I haven't heard that in quite some time."
He never missed her slips. *Never.*
Marin's lips pursed in frustration, but she kept one eye on Olive and Sebas and forced a tight smile.
*Affectionate bride mode—activate!*
"You just look so yoo—"
"Pfft."
"*Ahem.*"
Both men's shoulders shook visibly as they fought to contain their laughter.
*That's not it either? What's wrong with me?* Playing the role of a woman in love was proving far more difficult than she'd anticipated.
*You'd have to actually fall in love at least once to know how it's done.*
Her fingers itched to grab fistfuls of her own hair, but she only clasped her hands tighter together.
The corner of the Duke's lips twitched—barely, but unmistakably.
"So, what do you need from me? The one who, according to you, looks so... *young*?"
*He's mocking me again.*
"I came to work," Marin muttered under her breath, then explained aloud: "That's why I'm here."
"Work?"
"Yes. Although I am your fiancée, Lord Gerald, I am *also* your assistant."
She glanced at Olive, still standing beside the Duke, and continued:
"I stopped by the assistant's office first, and they directed me here."
"Is that so?" Olive's expression shifted to something unexpected—almost uncomfortable. "You don't need to trouble yourself with that anymore."
"Am I being fired?"
Marin stared at him, her face falling into an exaggerated expression of sorrow.
The truth was obvious: the Duke was no longer so sensitive to sounds, which meant she was no longer needed to read reports aloud to him.
The money from the contractual engagement was already enormous—life-changing, really.
But working as an assistant on the side? That was *additional* income. Why not earn from both?
Olive gazed at her with evident confusion, but the answer came from an unexpected direction.
"Do as you wish."
The Duke's voice cut through the silence.
"Thank you!"
Marin's face brightened instantly. She cast a sideways glance at the papers in Olive's hands.
"Should I read those aloud for you?"
"Ah, these..." Olive awkwardly shifted the folder behind his back. "No, that won't be necessary."
Beside him, Butler Sebas went utterly still.
*Secret papers?*
Marin suppressed her curiosity before it could show on her face.
"You're dismissed," the Duke said, turning his head toward the two men.
"Yes, Your Grace."
"I'll return later."
The door closed behind them, and silence settled over the study like a held breath.
"Your Mightiness."
"To avoid further confusion," the Duke interrupted, "settle on *one* form of address and stick to it."
"Yes. Understood."
"It seems you have something to discuss?"
"Em..." Marin hesitated. "Did you know that your nephews are staying in the outbuilding? The same one where I live?"
"I know. They requested to be moved there themselves."
"Ah..."
Marin faltered. The nephews probably hadn't realized someone was already residing in the outbuilding when they made that request.
"Does it make you uncomfortable?"
"No, I'm fine." She spoke honestly. "But your nephews will probably feel awkward once they realize."
"It was their choice. Don't concern yourself with it."
*And yet I* am *concerned*, Marin thought but didn't say. Instead, she changed the subject.
"Then when should I begin lessons? Should I tutor the third young lady and the youngest?"
"...It seems I'm placing too much on your shoulders."
*What's with that guilty expression?*
Marin studied his face—the slight furrow between his brows, the tension at the corners of his mouth.
*I've reached the level where I can read emotions on his usually impassive face.*
*Bravo to me!*
"Hmm, actually—yes," she said brightly. "In the mornings I assist Olive, in the afternoons I serve as governess, in the evenings I read to you, and in between all of that, I perform the duties of an adoring bride." She held up a finger. "Oh, and I must insist that the governess's salary be allocated separately. That's *not* part of the bride contract."
Her confident tone drew a soft smile to his lips.
"Do you intend to strike the jackpot from this arrangement?"
"Of course." Marin's voice carried a note of deep satisfaction. "A chance like this probably comes once in a lifetime."
The Duke lifted his head, angling it as though he were looking directly at her.
*If he could see*, she wondered, *would he stare without blinking? Would those beautiful eyes open, even just a little?*
She wanted to see them again—those striking eyes she'd glimpsed only once before.
*Open up. Eyes, open...*
"What are you thinking about now?"
"Oh!" Marin startled. "Did I say that out loud?"
"You did. Whenever you fall silent, you always mutter to yourself."
"I do *not*."
She sighed internally and waved the accusation away. Luckily, she hadn't said *that* part aloud—she hadn't been caught.
"There's one more matter."
"Yes, go ahead."
"The youngest—Perido—suffers from mutism." The Duke's voice grew heavier. "He was with my sister almost until the very end. The blow seems to have struck him particularly hard."
"Ah..."
Marin remembered the boy from last night's reception: small and pale, constantly trying to hide behind his sister's skirts, his face gaunt with exhaustion.
"Therefore, beginning lessons immediately may prove difficult."
"Then I'll approach him gradually. Gently."
"Do as you see fit."
"I will."
"...Is there anything else?"
He asked the question with a strange hesitation—as though bracing himself for something he feared.
Marin tilted her head, mentally reviewing everything. There didn't seem to be anything more.
"No, that's all."
"Good."
"The fact that I have nothing more to say is... *good*?"
"Yes."
Gerald's shoulders straightened, and something in his posture eased—as though he'd been holding his breath and only now released it.
*There's no room in her head for that bastard*, he realized. The thought loosened the invisible tie that had been choking him since morning. Relief spread through his body like warm water.
And then, catching himself in that feeling, he stiffened again.
*Why?* What was she to him that her thoughts—or lack thereof—could bring him such relief?
Gerald turned his head toward her. He couldn't see her, and somehow that made her presence all the more vivid: the fresh, clean scent that always clung to her; the sweet clarity of her voice; the soft, steady rhythm of her heartbeat.
"Lord Gerald... am I perhaps being too talkative?"
After much deliberation, she asked the question with a faintly wounded note.
Gerald's frozen posture gradually began to thaw, and a smile curved his lips unbidden.
*And is it worth tormenting myself over who she is to me?*
She would always be right here. Right beside him.
"Did it just now dawn on you?"
"It *did* just dawn on me. Am I really such a chatterbox?"
Her grumbling mutter sounded like the ringing trill of a small bird.
Gerald leaned back in his chair and let her voice wash over him.
---
## — The Outbuilding —
Perido scooped up a spoonful of soup, held it suspended for a moment, then let it fall back into the bowl.
"Perido, please—eat a little more." Rubiena's voice was gentle but worried. "You didn't eat anything yesterday either."
The boy shook his head without looking at her. His gaze remained fixed on the window, flat and empty.
"The food in the West is mediocre," Garnet grumbled. She tore off a piece of bread, chewed it without enthusiasm, and shoved her plate away. "I can barely stomach it."
"It's delicious to *me*," Rubiena countered. She cut off a soft piece of bread, spread it generously with butter, and popped it into her mouth with obvious pleasure.
"Then eat more yourself." Garnet slid her untouched steak onto Rubiena's plate.
Daya had been struggling to pick at her soup for several minutes now. Finally, she set down her spoon as well. Every bite tasted like sand in her mouth.
"Why does everyone eat so poorly?" Rubiena looked between them with growing alarm—at Daya's sharpening cheekbones, at the shadows carved beneath Garnet's eyes, at Perido's jutting collarbones.
"*Haaah.*" Garnet yawned so deeply her jaw cracked. The dark circles under her eyes looked like bruises. "I told you—Western cuisine just doesn't suit us."
"Garnet, you're exhausted. Go take a nap."
Garnet rolled her eyes, glanced at Daya, and shook her head stubbornly.
"I'm fine."
"You're *not* fine. I'll stay with Perido—you go sleep."
"*You've* been awake just as long. I'll stay with Perido. *You* rest."
Perido, despite his sisters' competing arguments, continued staring out the window. His eyes held nothing—no recognition, no response.
"Actually," Rubiena spoke up boldly, "both of you should go to bed. I'll sit with Perido."
The older sisters ignored her completely.
Rubiena sighed.
---
Emerging from the Duke's study, Marin had barely set foot on the path to the outbuilding when she came face-to-face with His Lordship's nephews.
They were out for a walk—or perhaps just escaping the confines of their rooms. All four still wore mourning black, the fabric stark against the winter-pale landscape.
"Hello."
The encounter caught her off guard. Marin quickly dipped her head in greeting, her heart beating faster than she would have liked.