"Would you believe me if you bore my child? If you knew that I wanted only *you* to be the mother of my heir and my successor?"
Asella's blue eyes widened with intense emotion.
"Why?"
For the Garmanian nobility, a successor was not merely an heir—it was a sacred position. Although each family maintained its own private inner life, hidden from prying eyes, most valued their lineage above all else and took fierce pride in the glory of their ancestors. Furthermore, the spouse designated as the successor held a position of extraordinary significance. Such a person ruled the family as an *equal* to its head.
But to become a successor, one first needed an heir.
Suddenly, her voice fractured into something close to a sob:
"*Why?* Why are you doing this to me?"
It was the same question she had asked moments ago.
*Why?*
She already understood that this man was trying with all his might to keep her close. He was so obsessed that he had refrained from locking her permanently in that secret room.
But surely this was nothing more than the desire to tame a disobedient pet—or to possess a favorite object.
That was why his words shocked her so completely.
What he had just spoken was entirely at odds with his actions. In essence, he was offering her full rights and autonomy—the freedom to control her own fate as a person whose opinion would command respect from *everyone*, including the Grand Duke himself.
*"You are my wife."*
Did this mean he truly considered her his wife? Not a decoration, not a commodity—but a *wife*?
Asella's fingertips trembled.
*No. It can't be.*
Without realizing it, she lowered her gaze and stared at her hands. It was too sweet a delusion. Like throwing oneself into a barrel of honey, intoxicated by its fragrance—only to become trapped and drown in that golden quagmire.
*Don't let him deceive you, Asella. You cannot trust him. Beware of him, Asella.*
She repeated this to herself over and over, her gaze fixed on her trembling fingertips. Unconsciously, she dug her nails beneath her cuticles, using the sharp pain to refocus her scattered thoughts. She didn't even notice that her face had flushed crimson with confusion.
Finally, she could bear it no longer.
She rose abruptly from her seat.
"Forgive me, Your Highness, but may I be excused?"
She felt that if she remained here another minute, she would lose control completely. It was *dangerous*.
Her lips twitched with the tension she could no longer contain:
"I don't feel very well. Please—let me go."
"...?"
"Thank you for your concern. I'm truly sorry."
"Shall I summon a physician?"
"No, it's not that serious. I believe I'll be fine after some rest. That's all."
Calix stared at her in obvious confusion.
She had to bite the inside of her cheek to prevent her rising panic from spilling over:
"Good night."
When no answer came, Asella turned and began walking toward the exit. But before she had taken more than a few steps, his voice stopped her:
"Asella."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"If I asked you to walk with me again... would you agree?"
*He enjoys tormenting me with his presence so much that he wishes to do it again and again?*
Asella felt no joy at the prospect. His company left her awkward and deeply uncomfortable. But there was no way to refuse.
She froze for a moment, carefully selecting her response:
"...Very well."
"Then I'll see you soon."
This time, Asella had no intention of hesitating. She nodded briefly, turned on her heel, and hurried away.
She felt the weight of his gaze on her back, but forced herself to ignore it. However, as she practically fled down the immaculate garden path, confusion flickered across her flushed face.
---
## — Before Dawn —
Early in the morning, his bedchamber was cool as always.
Calix stoked the fire until the flames leaped and danced furiously, desperately straining to escape the cavernous maw of the ornate antique fireplace. Outside the windows, the world remained shrouded in pre-dawn darkness, but the firelight cast enough illumination to reveal the room's elegant furnishings.
While waiting for the air to warm, Calix settled at the head of the bed and sank into deep contemplation, replaying their recent encounter in the greenhouse.
He had no intention of ever letting his wife go. And he believed he had made this abundantly clear—she would remain by his side for the rest of her life.
But there was a problem.
Until now, Calix's method of controlling and subjugating people had been remarkably simple: give the other person what they wanted. But what Asella wanted, he could not give her.
He had managed to keep her close for the moment, of course—through blackmail and threats. But the harder he pressured her, the more distant she became. She feared him so intensely that her own existence had become a form of torture. Using Mariel Loctrin as leverage would work for a time, certainly. But it was only a matter of time before she shattered completely.
He had quickly realized that fear was not the way to keep her.
So he had decided to change tactics.
*"Your wife needs to feel protected, Your Highness. Once she's confident that Benvito Castle is safe—for both herself and Miss Mariel—she will naturally become attached to this place."*
Last night's events had been his attempt to implement Lady Margot's advice. He had hoped their walk together would give Asella a chance to calm herself. And although he still didn't know how to prove his innocence in Adele's death, he had wanted to at least demonstrate that he had no intention of harming her or her sister.
He had also wanted to accustom her to the idea that he would never take another woman.
*But it seems I overdid it again.*
It had been too impulsive to mention an heir.
Yes, he wanted an heir. The matter had become more pressing than ever. But his desire was driven by necessity rather than any deep affection for children. Every generation of Benvito was obligated, first and foremost, to ensure the continuation of the bloodline.
And yet...
*What if?*
He found himself wondering what their child might be like.
He felt he might actually be *interested* in Asella's child. Perhaps he might even give it more than cursory attention. And if it resembled its mother...
*That wouldn't be unpleasant at all.*
*Asella...*
His gaze drifted toward the bed.
She slept peacefully now, so quietly that even her breathing was nearly inaudible. Only the gossamer blanket covering her soft form moved slowly—rising, falling—with each gentle breath.
He noticed a scented candle near her headboard. Margot always lit candles infused with calming herbs when the princess was overly nervous or anxious. Having burned throughout the night, only half remained.
Satisfied that she was deeply asleep, Calix leaned forward and extinguished the flame with a soft breath. Then he simply... looked at her.
He admired the delicate architecture of her face—the graceful line of her jaw, the sweep of silver lashes against pale cheeks. His long fingers reached out almost of their own accord, brushing gently across her smooth forehead. They traced lower, feather-light, skimming her closed eyelids, the curve of her cheekbone, the impossible softness of her lips.
He loved the feel of her skin. His movements were slow. Lingering.
A considerable time passed before he could tear himself away from this enchanting occupation.
Carefully, silently, he left the bedchamber.
---
The place where he now settled was far simpler than his formal offices.
It was a small study just off his bedroom—a space he sometimes used for late-night work. The room lacked the imposing grandeur of his official chambers, but it contained everything necessary: a solid desk crafted by old masters, adequate lighting, and a large, comfortable sofa.
He sat at the desk and pulled open one of the drawers. His fingers felt along its innermost recesses until they found the hidden mechanism. He pressed the secret lock.
With a barely audible click, a concealed compartment slid open, revealing a small wooden box.
He withdrew it, placed it on the desk, and lifted the lid.
Inside lay something so ordinary that it seemed absurd to keep it in such a secret place.
A neatly folded handkerchief.
---
She had dropped it the first time he ever saw her.
For reasons he could not explain—even to himself—Calix had kept it. For quite some time now. He didn't know why. Moreover, he had taken it out on many occasions. Sometimes, when an inexplicable, tormenting desire overcame him, he would press the cloth to his face and inhale deeply.
Its scent had long since faded.
And yet, in those moments, it felt as though his wife were right there beside him.
---
## — That Winter Night —
He had seen Asella only once before their wedding.
As mentioned in the romantic article published the day before their union, it had been a banquet in honor of Victory Day at the Emperor's own palace.
Fernando had been advertising his achievements with particular enthusiasm that year. The Emperor had done everything possible to make a lasting impression on his subjects—pardoning criminals, hosting a lavish celebration at his summer residence despite the winter cold.
As the crowning jewel of the evening's program, Archduke Calix Benvito had been obligated to attend.
But dealing with a crush of fawning nobles proved exhausting. Brushing aside the intrusive attention, Calix had grabbed a glass of whiskey from a passing tray and retreated to the summer terrace.
The moment he opened the door, a wave of frigid winter air washed over him.
He found it rather pleasant.
He had finally escaped the stifling atmosphere of the banquet hall. His nervous tension eased instantly, his mind clearing. Without hesitation, he closed the door behind him.
It was unusually quiet out here. The cold had discouraged other guests from venturing outside. But the view was magnificent—a snow-shrouded garden stretching into the velvet darkness of night, its bare branches encased in delicate frost that caught the distant lamplight and shimmered with quiet, mysterious beauty.
He leaned against the railing and lifted the whiskey to his lips.
*Not bad.*
The strong drink warmed his throat pleasantly. Combined with the ethereal atmosphere of the winter garden, it created a wonderfully bracing sensation.
Calix admired the view a moment longer, then drained the glass in a single swallow. He toyed with the empty crystal, swirling it idly, watching a piece of ice spin within.
*This isn't enough.*
He straightened, deciding it would be far better to simply acquire the entire bottle—
Movement caught his eye.
*Oh. This place is becoming popular.*
His gaze lingered on the space beneath the terrace parapet. A soft rustling sound reached his ears, and then a fragile female figure emerged into the dim lamplight below.
*Who is that?*
Long silver hair cascading to her waist. Blue eyes that glittered like glass beads in the darkness.
Calix knew who she was the instant he saw her.
The girl was extremely fragile—almost ethereal. But in every other respect, she was the perfect image of her mother.
*Asella Charts.*
He had heard rumors that the elder Charts daughter had only recently made her debut in society. And indeed, she had. The girl still looked quite young—barely more than a child, really.
And she seemed... tired. Unusually melancholy for a young woman who had just left a banquet at the height of its festivities.
She glanced around—probably to ensure no one was watching—then settled onto a small stone bench. For no apparent reason, a long, mournful sigh escaped her chest. A warm breath slipped from her scarlet lips and dissolved into the frozen air as a small white cloud.
And that was all.
She made no sound after that. She didn't move. She simply sat there, staring into the dark depths of the garden as though searching for something she had lost long ago.
But Calix couldn't tear his gaze away.
Not for a single second.
It was as though some unknown force had bound him to her—invisible threads he couldn't see or understand. Without realizing it, he held his breath and watched her sit motionless on that bench in the cold, flickering lamplight.
Time passed.
The ice in his glass melted completely.
He didn't notice.
Suddenly, as though sensing something, the girl shuddered. Her head turned in his direction.
Calix instantly retreated behind the nearest column.
Only after he had concealed himself in its shadow did he realize what he had just done.
*Why am I hiding?*
There was no reason to avoid her. He was the Grand Duke. A distinguished war hero. The star of tonight's banquet.
Calix laughed softly at the absurdity of his own behavior and resolutely returned to his former position.
But the bench was empty.
He approached the railing. Without pausing to consider his actions, he vaulted over it and dropped lightly to the ground below. He strode quickly to the bench and noticed small footprints in the snow, leading back toward the palace.
*She returned to the banquet hall?*
Of course. It must have been unbearable, enduring the cold in such a thin dress.
He smirked at his own foolishness.
But then—
Something white caught his eye.
Near where she had been sitting, half-buried in the fresh snow.
A handkerchief.
---
The master of Benvito Castle gazed at the cloth lying in his palm.
A small trace.
Left by that woman.
On that distant winter night.
For reasons he still could not explain, he had kept it ever since. And for reasons he understood even less, on that night—and on countless nights since—he could not tear his eyes away.
---