Chapter 32
“My lord, let’s get a divorce.”
Eliana’s face had turned cold, her voice flat and firm.
“Eliana! What are you saying?”
Michalis was gripped by panic, as if she might disappear at any moment. He immediately reached out and grasped her hand.
“No. I won’t allow it.”
His face, overcome with desperation, turned ashen.
“You told me—even after marriage, I could speak to you anytime if my feelings changed.”
Her emotionless tone pierced straight through Michalis’s chest.
“That was…”
He wanted to say something—anything—to stop her. But no words came. Now that she brought it up, he remembered: he had said she was free to leave if she wanted to.
“My heart has changed. I want a divorce.”
As he struggled to come up with a response, Eliana continued without mercy.
“We never even liked each other’s types, remember?”
“That’s not true. I only said that because… I couldn’t handle getting married at the time.”
“But I was being sincere.”
Eliana slowly shook her head, her eyes fixed on his unsteady gaze.
“You still aren’t my type, Michalis.”
One by one, she peeled his fingers off her wrist. Her strength was weak—normally not enough to make him budge—but this time, his grip gave way so easily, it felt almost pathetic.
“No… Eliana, please!”
He couldn’t put any strength into his hands.
Michalis watched helplessly as his fingers slipped away from her wrist.
“Goodbye… my lord.”
She gave a faint smile as she let go. Maybe it was the tears that filled his vision, but her form started to blur.
“No! Eliana—don’t go!”
Reality crashed down on him. He reached out again, desperate to catch her, but she was already slipping through his fingers.
Her image, slowly turning transparent, vanished completely.
“No!”
Michalis jolted upright.
It was a dream.
“Haah… damn it.”
What kind of grown man woke up from nightmares like this?
He sat up halfway in bed and irritably ran a hand through his hair, glancing to his side. Eliana was still sleeping soundly, her breathing calm and even.
“…”
Michalis stared at her quietly. Maybe it was because the dream had been so vivid, but an uncomfortable tension clung to his chest.
He leaned back against the headboard and turned his head—his eyes landing on the two cards resting on the nightstand. One of them was the teleportation card.
“Eliana could leave at any time.”
That’s what made the nightmare so terrifying—it could very well become reality.
“Should I just lock her away?”
A crooked thought began to snake its way into him. Keep her from seeing another magic stone for the rest of her life. Keep her from ever leaving the bedroom.
“You bastard.”
Michalis cursed himself inwardly.
To have such twisted thoughts—how was he any different from his father, a man consumed by obsession and cruelty?
Sleep was no longer an option.
He threw off the covers and rose from the bed. It was just past 4 a.m.—his usual time for personal training.
“Michalis?”
As he was getting dressed, Eliana stirred faintly, her voice groggy as she slowly opened her eyes.
“It’s still early. Rest a little longer before you get up.”
Michalis walked over to her and gently brushed her forehead, speaking softly, tenderly.
“Mmm… okay…”
As her eyelids fell shut again, he quietly picked up the two cards from the nightstand and left the room.
The magic cards were too dangerous to leave in plain sight.
Alone in the training hall at dawn, Michalis drew his sword and took his stance. Soon, the blade shimmered with a brilliant blue aura.
As always, he visualized an enemy before him and began his training. His sword moved too quickly to follow with the eye, scattering streaks of blue with each strike.
Across the entire continent, no new Swordmasters had appeared in seventy years.
Even Michalis, once praised for his natural gift and rapid rise, had been stuck at the same threshold for two years now.
In the navy, where tactics and firepower held more weight than swordsmanship, reaching the level of Swordmaster wasn’t essential. Still, he poured himself into the blade—to quiet the noise in his mind.
“I have to be stronger.”
A desire more intense than ever burned in him. He had to become strong enough to protect what was his—to never lose it, and never let it be taken.
Morning came.
It was the second day of Eliana’s secret archery training. The crisp thud of an arrow hitting the target rang out across the range.
“I’ll adjust the target distance.”
Though different from the stance required for firearms like the arquebus, her fundamentals were so solid that progress was swift.
“Lord Terius.”
Just as he moved to reset the target, Michalis called out, halting him mid-step.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“…I have something to ask.”
Lord Terius tensed. It was rare for his lord to hesitate like this, and it immediately put him on edge.
“Please, go ahead.”
“Between me and the Crown Prince… who’s more handsome?”
“Huh?!”
The one question soldiers never wanted to hear. Terius’s mouth clamped shut, caught completely off guard.
‘Your Grace… why are you doing this to me?’
He was ready to lose his mind. One wrong word, and the rest of his life in the knights would be pure hell.
“Well, um…”
Was it worse to insult royalty—or to risk his lord’s pride? He had to craft a diplomatic masterpiece.
“You’re both very good-looking.”
“…”
It was the safest, most neutral answer possible—and Michalis’s face twisted ever so slightly in response.
“…But if I were a woman, I would choose Your Grace.”
Panic flashing in his eyes at Michalis’s displeasure, Terius scrambled to deliver a properly flattering response.
“Why?”
“Because… strong men are my type.”
That much was true. Terius had always held admiration for Michalis.
As Duke of Ascher, Michalis was expected to master everything from strategy and tactics to foreign languages and courtly manners. Just being passable in swordsmanship would’ve sufficed.
But his lord had pushed himself harder than anyone. He trained with relentless discipline, showing up at the training hall earlier than any knight. By twenty-five, he had become the strongest swordsman in the South.
“A man like this… I’d entrust my life to him.”
It wasn’t just loyalty—Michalis was respected from the bottom of every knight’s heart.
“So, it’s a matter of taste…”
Michalis didn’t think of himself as unattractive. After all, Eliana had told him he was handsome.
Maybe it was that nightmare from earlier—but something still unsettled him. Maybe his sharp, slightly rugged face wasn’t her type after all.
“I see.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
His lord still looked conflicted, but the air between them had softened a bit.
“I have… another question.”
Michalis fixed his gaze on Terius.
He was, without a doubt, a handsome man—with chestnut-brown hair tinged with gold and deep gray eyes.
Joel Terius, second son of Count Terius—one of House Ascher’s most loyal families. Known as “The Star of the South,” he was a promising knight and a favorite of southern society.
“Yes, please ask anything.”
Terius stiffened again. That intense stare was never a good sign.
“How does one win a woman’s heart?”
Michalis felt heat rush to the back of his neck. In the end, he couldn’t stop himself from asking something so humiliating.
He had spent his whole life avoiding social circles and romance. But if anyone had the answer, it would be Terius—the man who had southern nobility wrapped around his finger.
“…”
Terius was now simply stunned.
“Is it… hopeless?”
“Your Grace. With all due respect, may I ask something first?”
“Go ahead.”
“The lady whose heart you wish to win… is it Her Grace, the Duchess?”
“It is.”
Michalis answered without hesitation. He had to be different from his father.
This was his choice—the method to keep Eliana from ever wanting to leave:
[Step One: Win her heart.]
Michalis planned to take it one step at a time.
‘Why are you doing this to me, Your Grace…?’
Clearly, his lord had chosen him as the day’s torment target. Terius was at a loss. Marital affairs were delicate. Meddling was risky. At least it wasn’t some random woman, but the fact that they were already married made it even harder.
“Do you love her, Your Grace?”
Terius ventured another cautious question.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Eliana was the most beautiful, adorable, and captivating woman in the world. How could he not love her?
“Your Grace… have you ever actually told her that you love her?”
“Yes, I have.”
He had expressed his feelings plenty—yet he still wanted to win her heart.
“Has Her Grace… rejected him?”
Terius couldn’t help but wonder. He cautiously asked another question.
“May I ask how you expressed those feelings?”
“With my body.”
With his eyes, his lips, his hands—and so on.
Michalis was confident Eliana had understood him clearly.
“I mean… not through physical affection, but with words.”
“Words? Besides kissing, what else is there to say?”
Terius nearly passed out.
“Good grief.”
What his lord needed right now had nothing to do with archery.
“Your Grace… may I speak a bit bluntly?”
For the first time ever, Terius felt a strong urge to scold the man he respected. He sought permission before giving in to the urge.
“You may. I won’t punish you for anything said in the course of this conversation.”
“Your Grace! Just because you’re married doesn’t mean you can start with the body right away!”
The words burst out the moment he had permission, laced with frustration.
“Surely… surely you didn’t… ahem, cross any boundaries without Her Grace’s consent?”
“Terius. I do know at least that much.”
Michalis flinched slightly, the heat of last night’s memory rushing to his face. At the same time, a faint irritation stirred in him.
What kind of knight thought of their lord as some kind of beast?
