Chapter Text
“Aren’t you coming to bed?”
She freezes, heart caught in her throat. Her hand stills mid-stroke, brush poised in the air. She doesn’t move even as his footsteps pad softly across the carpet—doesn’t flinch when his arms circle her waist, his breath warm against the nape of her neck.
“You’ve been away from me for too long,” he murmurs, lips grazing her bare shoulder.
She swallows. Her chest tightens.
“I’ve been here all day,” she says, setting the brush down on the vanity. She turns, meets his gaze, violet and hooded in the low light.
“But you didn’t come to see me.”
“I thought you were busy.” Her fingers drift into his hair, automatically, shamefully. Her stomach flips. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”
He smiles. Slow. Lazy. Affectionate. “You’re never a disturbance, chérie.”
She hates how guilty she feels every time he looks at her like this. Talks to her like this. She wonders what she’ll do when this ends—when the spell breaks, and whatever holds him soft and warm like this finally burns off. Wonders if he will cast her out without a second glance.
He’s not cruel. Not really. Or—he wasn’t. Not until she started stealing his choices from him. His will. His right to decide who he’d fall in love with.
“Lumine,” he whispers.
She startles.
“Look at me, my sweet.”
She does. Her heart kicks hard against her ribs. He’s smiling—his hand comes up, cupping her cheek with unbearable tenderness, like she’s made of porcelain. Precious. Fragile.
“You think too much,” he murmurs. “My lovely wife, always worrying that pretty head of hers.”
His voice dips. Low. Seductive. A velvet promise.
“Why don’t you let all those thoughts go and think of me instead?”
She wants to say no. Not for her sake, but his. She shouldn’t keep indulging in a love that was never freely given.
But his hand is already at the small of her back, and he’s guiding her away from the vanity, slow and careful, like she might break. She doesn’t resist. She never really can.
“That’s my wife,” he says, distinctly pleased. “I love it most when you listen to me. When you let me carry your burdens.”
He always knows what to say. Always. That silk-soft voice—so sweet, so persuasive. She’s defenceless against it.
And her guilt? It weighs nothing against the warmth of his arms. Against the way he wants to offer and offer and offer.
So she lets herself fall. Again. Pretends—just for tonight—that this is love. That she isn’t doing something terrible.
And in some quiet, frightened corner of her mind, she wonders how much longer she can keep this up. How many more nights she’ll get to fall asleep beside him. How many more times she’ll feel his fingers twine with hers before she has to run.
The young Duke of Perinheri was Fontaine’s most eligible bachelor.
Lyney Perinheri inherited the title three years ago, after his mother, Arlecchino, retired to the countryside, citing health concerns. Since then, just about every unmarried woman in Fontaine has had their eye on him.
And why wouldn’t they? He was beautiful. Polite. Disarmingly kind. He had a way of speaking that made people feel like the centre of the universe. He always knew just what to say and when to say it. His smile alone was captivating.
The first time she saw him was at a charity salon hosted by the queen.
She could only attend because the event was open to all unmarried nobles aged twenty to twenty-five. Ostensibly, it was for charity—but everyone knew it was also the queen’s subtle attempt to identify a suitable bride for the crown prince, who’d been notably vocal in rejecting all proposed matches.
Not that it mattered to her. She was never a contender. Her family, a run-down noble house vassal to another, lacked the lineage or prestige for any serious consideration. But she’d always been curious—painfully so—about the world of the upper echelons. Eventually, her ailing mother agreed to let her attend.
She wore the best dress she owned. Shabby by comparison, but she hadn’t gone to impress anyone. She only wanted to see. She arrived early, kept to the edges of the room, and spent the next twenty minutes quietly marvelling. The gowns, the light, the laughter. The sheer splendour of it all. Perfumed air thick with blooms, silver trays bearing wine and champagne weaving through the crowd. For a moment, she let herself believe this was enough.
Even if it was the only ball she’d ever attend, that was fine.
She never asked for more. Her family was noble in name alone. Her father was dead. Her mother was ill. Her twin brother was drafted two years ago to the northern front, and hadn’t been home since.
She harboured no illusions of grandeur. She only wanted to catch a glimpse of that other world—the one where everyone was beautiful, and no one had to worry about hunger, or sickness, or war.
So when a server offered her wine, she took it. And when the crowd’s noise grew too loud, she retreated to a nearby balcony.
That was when she saw him.
A young man, dressed in black. His pale hair turned silvery under the moonlight. His back was to her, but he turned at the sound of her footsteps. And when their eyes met, she forgot how to breathe.
He was stunning. Easily the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, eclipsing even the other nobles inside. The moon itself looked dim next to him.
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, already half-turning to go. “I thought this balcony was empty.”
“No need to run,” he said. His voice was soft. Melodic. The kind of voice that wrapped around you and made you want to close your eyes. “It’s big enough for both of us.”
She hesitated, unsure if he truly meant it. But then he smiled.
“Why don’t you join me?” he said. “I promise I won’t bite. And I’d welcome the company. It gets lonely, drinking alone under the moonlight.”
After a pause, she approached. He raised his wine glass to her in greeting. She lifted hers in response. His smile widened as he took a sip.
“So,” he said. “May I know the name of my companion tonight?”
“Lumine,” she replied. “Lumine Viatrix.”
“Viatrix?” He tilted his head. “Ah. I remember your brother.” Another sip of wine. His gaze met hers, unflinching. “Didn’t know his sister was so beautiful.”
She didn’t know whether to thank him or deflect. She wasn’t used to this—being noticed, being seen. Most people didn’t even know the Viatrix name.
So she kept it simple. “You know my brother?”
“Aether, yes. He’s skilled. I hear he’s doing well on the northern front. You must be proud.”
“I am,” she said softly. “I just wish he could come home soon.”
His expression shifted. Gently. “I understand. My sister’s at the front too. I worry every day.”
“Your sister?”
“Lynette Perinheri. You probably haven’t met her. She doesn’t care for social events.”
Perinheri.
The name hit her like ice water.
“I-I’m so sorry,” she gasped, suddenly mortified. “I didn’t realise you were—”
“It’s fine,” he said. His smile softened. “I liked that you didn’t treat me formally. It was… refreshing.”
“But I was being so disrespectful—”
“You weren’t.” He shook his head. “If anything, I was the one at fault for not introducing myself properly. But I wanted to speak with you first. Without the barrier of title or name.”
Her heart pounded. She was still cold with nerves.
This wasn’t just any man.
This was Lyney Perinheri, the young Duke of one of Fontaine’s oldest, most powerful houses. The Perinheri name carried wealth, influence, and history. In certain circles, especially among the military and the old guard, it held more weight than even the royal family’s.
“Don’t be nervous,” he said as if sensing her tension. “Right now, where we stand, we’re just two people. Names and ranks don’t matter here, do they?”
The moonlight spilt across his face. She stared, entranced.
He really was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
Violet eyes, pale blond hair. A face so exquisitely sculpted it bordered on unreal. As if some obsessive artist had spent years perfecting the details—his cheekbones, the curve of his mouth, the line of his jaw. Nothing about him felt natural. He was too polished, too perfect.
He looked like a dream, and she half-wondered if he was one.
“For what it’s worth,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving her, “I haven’t spoken to anyone like this in weeks.”
“Why not?”
Something in his expression flickered—wistful, almost sad. “Because most people only speak to me when they want something. You didn’t. You just wanted the balcony.”
Her cheeks warmed. “You make me sound like a recluse.”
“And if I did? What would that make me?” He tilted his head, amused. “Usually, I’d be out there entertaining the crowd. But it wasn’t my show to steal tonight,” he added. “The queen would’ve had my head.”
“Then why attend at all?”
“A good question.” He looked up towards the stars. “I suppose I was feeling lonely.”
“You?” she said, surprised.
“Yes.” He glanced back at her. His smile lingered, but his gaze turned distant, like he was looking past her, not at her. “Even I get lonely. Is that so strange?”
“Not really. I think everyone does.” She took another sip of wine, the bittersweet tang giving her more courage than she expected. “Especially those who are always expected to perform. Always in the spotlight. Always on stage.”
His eyes sharpened. The languor in his gaze faded, replaced by a cool, precise interest. “You think so?”
She nodded. “It must be… tiring. Being expected to live up to what others want. To always be presentable. Charming. Perfect.”
He regarded her for a moment, blinking slow, catlike. “Do you think I’m performing, Lumine?”
The wine made her bolder than she ought to have been. “Aren’t you? You wouldn’t be speaking to me like this if you weren’t. When you said it wasn’t your show tonight… you sounded relieved.”
A pause.
And then something shifted. It was subtle. His posture remained relaxed, his smile easy—but the warmth behind it cooled, just enough to notice. There was a glint in his eyes now. Sharp. Curious.
Like a cat sizing up prey.
She felt suddenly exposed. Like she’d said too much. Like he was reading her, calculating her, slotting her into a space she couldn’t yet name.
Then he inclined his head. “It’s been a pleasure, Lady Viatrix. I look forward to our next conversation.”
He turned, smooth and graceful, and disappeared into the crowd.
She remained by the railing, wine glass cold in her hand, heart still racing.
She thought about the way he’d looked in the moonlight. The way he had studied her—not like a man admiring a woman, but like a puzzle he meant to solve. Something he didn’t understand yet.
She shivered.
It wasn’t that she fell in love with him. Not really.
She just found him… interesting. He didn’t fit into the mould of what she imagined a young duke should be.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected—just not this. Not him.
After that night on the balcony, she started attending more balls. Or the scant few she was invited to, anyway. Her mother was a little concerned, likely worried she’d fall prey to some awful nobleman, but Lumine reassured her it was only curiosity. That she just wanted to see. To understand.
In truth, she was looking for Lyney.
He didn’t attend every gathering. But some, he did. And what struck her most was how different he seemed from that quiet man under the moonlight.
Lyney Perinheri, among a crowd, dazzled. He was kind, charming, impossibly charismatic. Women flocked to him. Men sought his company. He was never alone for long. It made her wonder how he’d ever managed to find solitude on that balcony.
She never got the chance for another long conversation. He was far too in demand to spare her more than a nod or a greeting. But he always acknowledged her. Sometimes they exchanged pleasantries. Once, he asked her to dance.
She still remembered how warm his hand was at her waist. How he guided her through the steps with smooth, easy confidence. How he leant in, just a little too close to be proper. She didn’t know what he was trying to get out of that. Maybe it was a test. Maybe he was trying to rattle her.
Whatever it was, she didn’t think she gave him what he wanted. After the dance ended, he left without a word, but she could feel his gaze on her for the rest of the night—curious, thoughtful, edged with something unreadable.
She wasn’t foolish enough to think he liked her. Who was she? Just a minor noble with no wealth, no influence, no connections. A burden, not a prize. She had nothing to offer.
But maybe—maybe he felt some kinship. Their siblings were both at war. Maybe that was why his gaze found hers again and again across crowded rooms.
It wasn’t fate. Nothing so grand. It wasn’t even attraction; she was neither the prettiest nor the most interesting girl there. She didn’t linger at his side, didn’t try to draw attention to herself. She couldn’t bring herself to be that shameless.
Still, he noticed her. Not enough to act on it. But enough.
She didn’t know what she wanted. Not really.
At least, not until the day her mother coughed up blood.
She’d rushed her to the doctor, only to be told it was a mana deficiency illness—treatable, but expensive. Thousands of mora expensive.
She didn’t have thousands of mora. She barely had a hundred.
Her mother told her to let go. Said it might be better if she passed—at least then Lumine would be free to forge her own future. To stop carrying the weight of a dying woman.
But Lumine couldn’t accept that. Not from the woman who had sacrificed everything to raise her and her brother. She couldn’t.
So she began to think. What was the fastest way to earn that kind of mora?
It wasn’t war. It wasn’t trade. It wasn’t begging.
It wasn’t even selling her body, though the thought had crossed her mind.
No. After eliminating every other path, she arrived at one option: marriage.
Her family name was all she had. Destitute though they were, they still held noble status, and under Fontaine law, that meant she could marry into a more powerful house.
The question was, who would want her?
And then she thought of Lyney. Of his eyes under the moonlight. The curve of his smile. The way his warmth had cooled when she said he wasn’t what he seemed.
Some instinct told her to stay away. That she was brushing up against something dangerous.
But she knew what power meant. Secrets. Scandals. Skeletons in the closet.
And in a family like the Perinheris, she only needed one bone.
She’d expected it to be difficult. But it was still staggering, just how clean the Perinheri family appeared to be.
Everywhere she looked, there was nothing but praise. The Perinheris were beloved. Revered, even. They took in war orphans, donated regularly to the elderly and infirm, built hospitals, churches, libraries. In every corner of their domain, people spoke of their kindness with stars in their eyes.
Too perfect. Far too perfect.
She didn’t believe it. Couldn’t. Not after seeing the way Lyney looked at her sometimes—sharp and unreadable, with something too clever glittering behind his smile.
She knew what true benevolence looked like. Her brother wore it plainly: honourable to a fault, self-sacrificing in a way that hurt to watch. Lyney wasn’t like that. Not at all.
No, Lyney had the gaze of a man with secrets. Of someone who could drape a whole city in velvet and light while quietly cutting out the rot beneath. She was sure of it.
So she began digging.
She went to the town council. Requested access to the public archives—ledgers, census records, old reports. The Perinheri entries were immaculate. Scrubbed clean. Not a blemish in sight.
But when she changed tack—when she started looking into the Perinheris’ vassal families—that was when she began to find the cracks.
Small things, at first. Things most readers would miss. But she wasn’t most readers. She was desperate. Careful. She noted every accounting discrepancy, every unresolved incident, every vague reference to a tragedy quietly swept aside.
The Perinheris’ records were spotless. But the records of those beneath them? Patterns began to emerge.
Dissidents who vanished. Distant relatives who died abruptly—illness, accident, war. Suspicious amounts of mora transferred between vassals, always written off as investments or loans, never paid back or accounted for.
She made notes. Wrote down the names of servants who “retired” and were never seen again. Advisors who left the country with just enough capital to start entire enterprises. Trade routes that shifted with no explanation. Transactions labelled only as reserves—a vague term that appeared more often than it should.
Magical stones. Weaponry. Enchanted goods with no clear origin.
It took her a week to comb through everything the town hall had to offer. By the end of it, she had more questions than answers, but she also had something else: a thread.
A theory. A shape. A conjecture that wasn’t quite proof, but looked enough like it to hold weight if delivered with conviction.
She just needed to string it together. Make it coherent. Sharp enough to wound. Undeniable enough to make someone like Lyney listen.
It wasn’t the full truth. Not even close. The Perinheris were far too careful to leave the real story lying around in public record.
But still—this was enough.
Her bone from the closet. She’d finally found it.
“So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
She sat stiffly in the parlour of the Perinheri family’s town manor, trying her best to appear nonchalant when she was anything but.
The place was magnificent. Not gaudy, but steeped in understated luxury. Tasteful, elegant. The kind of home that whispered wealth, not screamed it. Her house, by comparison, was shabby. Still technically aristocratic, but barely.
She’d written to him. Requested an audience. She hadn’t expected a reply—not from someone like Lyney, not when he likely received dozens of letters a day—but he did respond. Quickly, too. His reply arrived just two days later.
She’d honestly been considering planting herself outside his gate and refusing to leave. But in the end, she hadn’t needed to.
He invited her to his manor the very next day.
Now here she was, ushered in by a retinue of quiet, efficient servants, seated in an armchair far too plush, with tea and delicate pastries laid out before her. She waited for fifteen minutes, fidgeting, until she’d started rising—distracted by the paintings along the hall, which she suspected were originals by a master artist she admired—when Lyney walked into the parlour, and she promptly sank back down like she’d been caught doing something wrong.
And now, he was seated across from her. Smiling. Calm. Perfectly composed.
She cleared her throat. “I have… a proposition for you.”
He blinked, slow and feline. “Is that so? Do tell.”
He sounded faintly amused. She didn’t like that. It didn’t feel like he was taking her seriously at all.
“Marry me,” she blurted.
Lyney didn’t even flinch. He just sipped his tea, unbothered. Like they were chatting about the weather.
“Why would I?” he asked, finally setting his cup down.
She swallowed. Her grip on the dossier in her lap tightened. “If you don’t, I’ll tell the king what your family has done.”
He raised a brow, his smile widening. “What my family has done? I’m not sure we’ve done anything that warrants the king’s attention, Lady Viatrix.”
“Is that so?” Her voice shook. “Then explain this.”
She passed him the dossier.
His eyes flicked down to it, then back up at her. A beat passed before he reached for it, flipping through the pages. As he read, she saw it happen—the slow shift in his face, the light fading from his eyes. His expression grew still. Sharpened. Something distant, unreadable, started to settle in.
He looked… cold.
Not the charming duke she’d met at a party. Not the man who’d once looked at her like she was intriguing. Just cold, calculating quiet.
“This is well-documented,” he said, voice smooth and even. “I can tell you’ve spent quite some time on this. Though it only scratches the surface.”
Her stomach turned. He didn’t sound angry. Didn’t sound anything. But the air in the room had changed. The pleasant civility from earlier had vanished. Now, there was only precision. Professional detachment. A hint of something darker beneath the sweetness.
“I know your family has secrets,” she managed. “And I don’t mean to expose them. But I need this marriage. And if you don’t—”
“I’ll marry you,” he interrupted, mild as ever. “If that’s all you want. When would you like the wedding?”
She blinked. “Really?”
“There’s no reason for me to lie, is there?” His smile was courteous. Empty. “You’re the one with leverage. I’d rather not stir up trouble. And it’s no real loss to me, either way.”
She hesitated. This was too easy. She’d expected resistance. Negotiation. Something. But not… this. Not a man who agreed like it didn’t matter.
“I… as soon as possible,” she said, voice small.
He leant back, fingers steepled. “Then we’ll aim for next week. I’ll need to inform the palace and get the royal family’s blessing first—”
“What?” She stared. “The royal family?”
He tilted his head. “You didn’t know? The Perinheri line is an offshoot of the royal bloodline. I’m sure the king won’t object, but I do need to notify him. Formalities, you understand.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. She hadn’t anticipated this—hadn’t thought it would spiral this far. In her mind, this was supposed to be a short-term arrangement, just long enough to save her mother. Then they’d separate quietly, no fuss, no spectacle. Certainly nothing that required the attention of the royal family.
“I thought… I thought we’d marry for a year. Then divorce.”
“What for?” His smile curled, slow and wolfish. “In for a penny, in for a pound. Why relinquish the position of Duchess Perinheri? Most would kill for it.”
“I don’t want to be a duchess,” she whispered. “I just need—”
“I don’t care what you need, Lady Viatrix.” His voice dropped. Cold. Final. The kind of voice that could silence a room. Her breath caught. He flipped back through the dossier with idle grace, utterly unbothered. “You came to me with this. You’ll follow through.”
Then—just like that—the moment passed.
Lyney stood, tucking the dossier beneath his arm. The pleasant mask slid back into place. “You’re very meticulous,” he said lightly. “You’ll make a fine duchess.”
He walked to the door. Paused. Looked back. Smiled. “See you at the altar.”
Then he was gone. And she remained frozen in her chair, heart thudding, trying to understand what she’d just done.
The wedding captured public imagination.
Her mother was the first to hear of it. Lumine stumbled back, dazed, and told her she was getting married to Duke Perinheri next week.
Her mother grilled her for two hours.
Lumine lied. Said she and Lyney had been seeing each other in secret (lie), that he had courted her earnestly (bigger lie), and that she’d kept it quiet because she wasn’t sure until he went down on one knee (absolute fabrication). The lies weighed on her, but she couldn’t tell the truth. Not without letting go of the lifeline that was the Perinheri name.
Her mother remained suspicious, but Lumine didn’t crack. Eventually, she sighed. “Do you really love him?”
Lumine nodded.
That was all it took to receive her mother’s blessing.
A letter from Lyney arrived the next day. Polite. Formal. He asked her to prepare for a palace visit over the weekend. It came with a full outfit—dress, accessories, shoes. The fabric was thick and expensive, the gemstones real, the tailoring precise. Burgundy, black and silver. The Perinheri colours.
She tried it on. It fit perfectly.
It also felt like a chain.
Still, she couldn’t complain. Not when she’d forced his hand. Not when she was the one who’d demanded this marriage.
On the day of, Lyney came to fetch her himself.
He entered their residence, greeted her mother, spun a flawless tale of their courtship. Her mother practically swooned. Lumine’s stomach churned at how easily he could charm his way through her life.
He smiled at her. Offered his hand. She took it.
They said nothing during the ride to the palace.
She couldn’t read him. Couldn’t tell if he was angry, resigned, indifferent. He was so quiet. Detached. But that was better. She preferred her own guilt to whatever he might’ve said.
At the palace, they were ushered in to see the king, who was positively beaming.
“It’s high time for Lyney to get married!” he announced. Lyney simply laughed and reached for her hand, rubbing soft circles into her skin with his thumb.
It was terrifying how good he was at this.
The king asked questions—where they met, how long they’d been seeing each other, why the rush. Lyney answered all of them without hesitation.
“At one of the queen’s charity balls. I’ve been courting her for months now. And I want to marry her as soon as I can. She’s the love of my life. I don’t want to wait another second before I can bring her home.”
She shivered.
It was too smooth. Too perfect. When she glanced at him, he looked like he wanted nothing more than to be here.
And she—she probably looked like she was about to bolt. No wonder the king kept asking if she truly understood what she was marrying into.
“The Perinheri legacy is no small matter,” he said. “Our nation’s sword. Its shield. They’ve long kept the northern barbarians at bay. You’ll carry quite a burden as Duchess. Bearing an heir notwithstanding.”
Her stomach twisted. Bearing an heir.
She looked at Lyney again. He simply smiled, expression unreadable.
“I understand,” she said softly. “I’ll do my best not to disappoint Your Majesty.”
The king laughed. “I like your spirit, Lady Viatrix. We’ll see how you fare after the wedding!”
With that, the king gave his blessings, and Lyney handled the rest.
Days later, Lumine stood at the altar—dressed in white, holding a bouquet of lilies, carnations and bluebells—still struggling to believe she was watching him walk down the aisle towards her. He looked, by all appearances, like a man in love.
It was too much. Too fast. Too neat.
Her grip on the bouquet trembled as he took his place beside her.
The ceremony was beautiful. Tasteful. There weren’t many guests—she’d asked for it to be small, and he’d agreed without question.
On her side, only her mother was present. She’d written to Aether, but he was still stationed in the northern territories. It would take at least two weeks for any letter to reach him, and he was nowhere among the guests. The empty space beside her mother made her feel just a little more alone.
On Lyney’s side sat the king, the queen, and the crown prince—along with Arlecchino, his mother. She watched Lumine with a calm, curious detachment. Like someone observing a creature in a cage.
Lyney noticed. “You don’t have to be afraid of her,” he said lightly, his gaze following hers. “She doesn’t do anything to people who mean our house no harm.”
Then he smiled.
Too sweet. Too innocent. It made her skin prickle.
“Do you, Lyney Perinheri, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the priest now asked. “To love and cherish her in good times and bad, in sickness and health, for better and for worse, so long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” he said, soft but clear.
The priest turned to her. “And do you, Lumine Viatrix, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love and cherish him in good times and bad, in sickness and health, for better and for worse, so long as you both shall live?”
She hesitated. Looked at the priest. Then at Lyney.
He smiled again—that smooth, pleasant smile she was beginning to recognise. The one he wore when he was being polite. When he was playing a role. When nothing behind it was real.
But that was fine. She didn’t need it to be real.
She glanced towards the first pew, where her mother sat with folded hands and hopeful eyes. Her chest tightened.
She would do anything to protect her. Anything to lift her family out of this slow decline.
“I do.”
The priest nodded. “Then I pronounce you husband and wife,” he declared. “You may now kiss the bride.”
She looked at Lyney, and he moved towards her without hesitation.
His gloved fingers brushed her cheek, tilted her chin up, and then he kissed her. Gently. Deliberately. His eyes fluttered closed, and hers widened in surprise.
She hadn’t thought he'd actually do it. Not like this. Not when he clearly didn’t want her. Not when this was just a means to an end.
But he kissed her anyway, and she stood frozen beneath his mouth, her mind blank. When he finally pulled away, she inhaled like she’d been underwater.
“Shall we go, my wife?” he murmured.
She stepped back, her gaze catching on the band around his fourth finger. Their wedding rings. They’d been wearing them since before the ceremony.
Why wait for that? he’d said coolly, slipping the ring onto her hand in private. We already know how this ends. Might as well leave them on. Saves the trouble.
She lowered her gaze. “Sure. Whatever you want.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his lips curve.
“Then let’s go,” he whispered, leaning down, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. “There are many things the new Duchess Perinheri must grow accustomed to.”
They slept in separate rooms.
It wasn’t surprising. She hadn’t expected more. Hadn’t wanted more. She married him for his name, his power, his reach—the lifeline he offered her mother.
She desired nothing else. And it seemed Lyney didn’t either. He simply showed her to her chambers—lavish and vast beyond anything she was used to—and left without comment.
Fine by her. The less she had to see him, the less she had to feel like a fraud.
The guilt still came in waves, choking and persistent. Being near him only made it worse. So if he wanted to pretend she didn’t exist, she’d oblige. She’d live like a ghost in the Perinheri estate if that was what it took.
But he wouldn’t let her.
Barely an hour after she finished unpacking her meagre belongings—just a few dresses, some books, and modest accessories—there was a knock at the door.
It wasn’t Lyney. It was the butler. “Duchess,” he said, with a polite bow. “The Duke expects you for dinner.”
She blinked. “It’s barely evening.”
“The Duke eats early,” he replied.
She swallowed back any protest. She wasn’t in a position to argue. So she followed him down to the dining room, where two sets of place settings waited on the long, gleaming table. A servant pulled out her chair. She sat, tense. Her stomach twisted. She couldn’t imagine eating a single bite with Lyney seated across from her.
And yet she waited. Silent. Still. She half expected him to leave her there for an hour—make her stew in nerves, guessing at his mood—but he arrived within ten minutes, all effortless charm.
“Apologies,” he said, settling in. “Some reports to sign. Vassals hovering like flies.”
She nodded, unsure why he was bothering with this. Why have dinner together at all? It would’ve been easier to keep avoiding each other.
As if sensing her discomfort, he smiled. Steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Why?” he said. “Does my new duchess find my company unsettling?”
“No,” she muttered. “I just don’t know what you want from me.”
“Want from you?” he echoed, all silk and teeth. “Nothing at all. I only ask that you do your part. Keep the household running. I assume a woman clever enough to dig through the Perinheri archives can manage that much.”
She inhaled sharply. Bit back her reply. Didn’t rise to it.
“We should talk about how we’re presenting ourselves in public,” she said instead. “How we act around others.”
Lyney leant back, appraising her with languid interest. “Why, like any blissfully married couple, of course. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I don’t need you to fake being in love with me.”
“But I do,” he said lightly. “I can’t afford to let the aristocracy get the wrong idea. Nobles seize on weakness. If word gets out that my wife isn’t devoted to me…” He gave a mock sigh. “Disastrous.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“No. You’re just naïve.” His tone turned indulgent, condescending. “You’ve been sheltered. Your mother worked hard to keep you from this world for a reason. It’s knives and whispers, not wine and roses.”
“You think anyone could damage your reputation over something so minor?”
“They’ve done worse with less.” He waved a hand. “There was a young noblewoman who changed the colour of the ribbon she wore daily. One day it was red instead of white, and by evening there were rumours of bankruptcy, betrayal and a failed elopement. She had to hide in the countryside for a month.”
Lumine stared. That couldn’t be real.
“You don’t believe me?” He laughed. “Ask your mother.”
She shook her head. “Fine. Let’s assume you’re being honest,” she said. “Then what would you like us to do?”
Lyney tilted his head. “What would you like me to do, my dear wife?” He rested one hand on the table, fingers tapping lazily against the polished surface. “You’re the one with the power here.”
She stiffened. Was he toying with her again? Saying whatever would throw her off balance just to watch her flounder? He was the one who’d insisted they maintain appearances—yet now he was handing her control? None of it made sense.
“I don’t want to be the duchess forever,” she said finally.
“I hear you,” he replied smoothly. “And I’m afraid I can’t agree to that. Like I said—” he smiled faintly, “in for a penny, in for a pound. You asked for this, so you’ll see it through.”
The genial tone didn’t disguise the edge beneath it. The finality in his words made her skin prickle. She knew better than to push further.
“Fine,” she said. “Then… while we’re inside the manor, I don’t want to pretend we’re in love. I’m sure you don’t want that either.”
He hummed. “If that’s your preference, I’ll abide. We only need to play the part in public. Though I would prefer if you weren’t too cold around the staff.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It can be uncomfortable, you know. Working for a household where the master and mistress loathe each other.”
She glanced at the servants lining the room—silent, impassive, watching. She nodded once.
Lyney’s voice dropped. “I take it this means you’d rather not consummate the marriage, either?”
The question hit her like a slap. She flushed, warmth rushing to her cheeks. Consummate? She hadn’t thought that far ahead. Didn’t want to think that far at all.
“I—um—” Words failed her. Her brain scrambled for an answer, but before she could fumble through one, the dining room doors opened and two servants entered with trays.
Saved. She exhaled as a bowl of steaming soup was placed in front of her—rich, fragrant, impossibly warm.
Her stomach growled on cue. She bit her lip and lifted her gaze. Lyney was watching her, amusement flickering in his eyes.
“You don’t have to be polite,” he said. “Go on. Dig in.”
She hesitated, suddenly hyperaware of every movement, every breath. Was this another test? Another game? But the scent was overwhelming—hearty chicken, fresh leek, sweet onion—and hunger won out. She picked up the spoon and tasted it.
It was so good she nearly moaned. Creamy. Comforting. The best thing she’d eaten in weeks. The kind of food you got at noble banquets, and only if you were lucky.
Still, Lyney hadn’t touched his bowl. He was just watching her eat.
A cold thought flickered through her mind. Was the food poisoned?
“It’s not,” he said, and she flinched. “You’re surprisingly easy to read, ma chérie. I can see your thoughts before you even voice them.”
He lifted his spoon and took a sip. “See? Perfectly safe.”
She flushed again, frustrated by how easily he saw through her. She didn’t reply—just focused on eating, ignoring him as best she could. They finished dinner in silence.
Afterwards, they retreated to their respective rooms. She was grateful for it.
But lying in bed that night, staring at the ornate ceiling above her, wrapped in silks softer than anything she’d ever owned, she realised something—
She’d never answered his question.