Chapter 33
Even thinking about it again made her laugh in disbelief.
She had torn up the letter before bothering to finish it, there was no value in reading the rest, but it had at least confirmed one thing, the rumors were spreading.
So it hadn’t been difficult to deduce the source of the hostility surrounding her.
“Because everyone thinks the Grand Duke is the victim.”
A man who rarely came to the capital, who was more at home in the military than in salons.
A sharp-minded commander, yes, but clueless about women. So, when the mad dog set her sights on him, he’d fallen quickly, helplessly.
“Clueless about women, they say.”
Kyrie scoffed as she recalled the Grand Duke described in those rumors.
Her gaze drifted to Dominique Roman Haswell, so brilliant, so composed, so utterly undeserving of the lie.
The same man who, even now, seemed to take an infuriating pleasure in dressing her in only the most lavish and extravagant gowns.
Kyrie had nearly slapped one of the boutique attendants who had handled her too roughly, scraping her skin as they fitted her, but had held back.
Because of the Grand Duke.
If she reacted, he would only find it more amusing.
“I’m the one exhausted from changing into all these dresses.”
The Grand Duke slowly raked his gaze across her entire figure. Then, without sparing a glance at the boutique staff, he spoke.
“Next one.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“We’ll serve you with the utmost care, Your Grace!”
The madam and her staff dashed out to fetch another gown. Kyrie sighed and looked down at herself, then asked,
“Don’t you think this is a bit excessive?”
“I’m aiming for exactly that.”
“If I show up to the Empress’s banquet dressed like this…”
“She’ll probably leave in outrage.”
Dominique took a sip of the champagne the boutique had offered, his tone as unbothered as ever.
“Perfect.”
Kyrie gave him a look of disbelief and lifted the hem of her current dress with her fingertips.
Chrrrk.
Pearls sewn into the fabric clinked lightly as they slid and collided. The bodice shimmered with gold embroidery.
Even at a second glance, the dress was garishly opulent, attention-grabbing to the point of vulgarity.
It would draw more eyes than even the true star of the banquet, Elise Ehrenberg, the Crown Prince’s betrothed.
“If I show up wearing something like this…”
The whispers would begin immediately. The mad dog is at it again. That she dared try to steal the spotlight at a banquet thrown by the Empress herself to celebrate the Crown Prince’s engagement.
Kyrie turned to Dominique, who was sipping champagne with the same smug expression as before.
“So it wasn’t just a whim to bring me here after all.”
Of course. He had his own plan.
And for now, she had no choice but to play along.
As if to mark his satisfaction, Dominique stepped closer and reached for her hair ornament.
It was woven with fine silver strands and adorned with exquisite pearls, anyone could see it was a piece of the highest quality.
“We’ll have to pierce your ears again.”
As his fingers pressed gently into her earlobe, her shoulders gave a small twitch.
Just as he said, Kyrie hadn’t worn jewelry in quite some time. Her piercings had long since closed. Even on her wedding day, no accessories had been permitted.
Held between his fingers, her earlobe felt soft and warm.
“Sapphire might do. Something with a large stone.”
“Isn’t this already flashy enough?”
“The more over-the-top, the better.”
His answer came without hesitation.
He then casually stroked the rim of her ear, gaze lowering again.
The boutique staff had pulled her hair tight and left faint scratches along her neck and shoulders, marks that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Dominique.
Wherever his gaze fell, goosebumps rose on her skin.
As his scrutiny deepened, Kyrie spoke quickly.
“Maybe it’s better to choose a gemstone that clashes with the dress. It’ll look more bizarre and attract more attention.”
“Yes. Something deliberately mismatched. Not a bad idea.”
“….”
“I’ll have to think very hard about what kind of jewel would look worst on you.”
On the surface, his words sounded sweet, playful, even. But Kyrie knew better.
He’s mocking me again.
Dominique’s expression turned thoughtful. He reached out and brushed the delicate line of her throat, as though truly weighing which necklace would suit, or not suit, her best.
Kyrie had never once had a proper chaperon in her life.
And yet, oddly enough, Dominique was starting to feel like one.
“You don’t strike me as the type to care about dresses and jewelry,” she said.
“Of course not.”
“Then why not bring in a lady from a proper family to act as my chaperon, ”
She stopped mid-sentence when his reply cut in.
“She’s my wife. Why would I have someone else do it?”
“……”
“It wouldn’t be right to leave a wife’s duties to another.”
His smile curled at the edges, too proud, too deliberate.
Kyrie couldn’t argue. After all, she had been the one to insist on being treated as a proper wife.
“I’ll give it more thought,” he added, still focused on her.
His hand, which had lingered at her throat, now glided slowly downward, over her collarbones, along the curve of her ribs, and finally clasped her hand.
Her ring finger, where the wedding band sat, was gently held.
He was likely measuring her for a ring to match the banquet dress.
And yet,
Even though it was just that, just a practical touch, the mere feel of their hands intertwined sent shivers down her spine.
It reminded her, sharply, of their first meeting.
That same sensation of being toyed with.
Now, however, Kyrie knew.
She understood that part of the disquiet she felt was rooted in desire. Ever since they had shared a bed, it had become impossible to deny.
She was, somehow, being trained, tamed, to respond to this man.
It was infuriating.
“All done,” he said at last.
He turned her ring finger gently, then slowly released her hand.
The faint sheen of sweat on her palm caused their skins to cling, briefly, before parting.
“Next dress.”
Just then, the madam swept back into the room, her staff trailing behind her with arms full of gowns, each more absurdly extravagant than the last.
It seemed they had caught on to Dominique’s taste and had deliberately selected dresses so gaudy that the wearer would appear almost comical.
Kyrie noticed with some amusement that the attendants who had scratched her earlier now wore the faintest traces of glee on their faces.
“We’ve brought the most splendid ones, Your Grace! This one, and this, and, ”
No need for a court jester at this banquet.
Kyrie laughed under her breath, imagining how ridiculous she would look in some of those gowns.
Just as the madam was energetically laying out options, Dominique’s finger pointed toward the last dress in the line.
“That one.”
“Yes, of course. That’s, Oh!”
The madam’s face twisted awkwardly, and the attendant holding the chosen dress glanced down at it in surprise.
“That one? But…”
“I’m sorry. It must have gotten mixed in with the others by mistake.”
The madam leaned close to the staff member, whispering urgently.
Dominique, meanwhile, looked utterly unconcerned.
The dress he’d picked was strikingly different from the rest. Much more understated.
It was a deep sapphire-blue, designed to expose the neck and shoulders. The color shimmered like the southern sea, clear and radiant.
Aside from a subtle row of pearls at the waist, there were no embellishments.
It was quiet. Elegant. Genuinely beautiful.
Even Kyrie found herself momentarily breathless.
“Your Grace… that gown is…”
“Is there a problem?”
Dominique tilted his head slightly, sipping his champagne.
“Does it already belong to someone?”
“No, not exactly…”
The madam was clearly flustered.
The dress was her pride, one she had designed personally, with the highest of clients in mind.
Certainly not someone like her.
A mad dog? In this?
The madam shot a glare at the staff member who had brought it out.
But as if he could read her thoughts, Dominique, who had moments ago looked almost pleased, spoke in a chillingly flat voice.
“If it doesn’t have an owner, why not use it?”
“W-well…”
“And even if it is precious, your staff are likely to ruin it anyway.”
At his words, everyone turned to stare.
The staff began to glance at each other nervously.
The madam looked stricken.
“I, I’m not sure what you mean, Your Grace…”
“They’ve already left scratches on my wife’s body. Are you saying they’ll treat the dress with more care than they treat her skin?”
The staff collectively flinched. Kyrie glanced at Dominique, startled.
How did he even notice that?
It hadn’t been that obvious, just a few scratches from fingernails, a bit of tugging on her hair.
But he had seen it.
And somehow, that made her skin crawl more than the wounds themselves.
Dominique gave a low, cold laugh.
“If your employees are that careless, the dress will tear before long regardless. Don’t you agree?”
“…We’re terribly sorry!”
The madam, face pale, bowed deeply. The attendants followed suit, lips trembling.
“It’s our fault. Our staff are still inexperienced and made some mistakes, ”
“Mistakes.”
Dominique slowly set down his champagne glass.
The rim trembled on the edge of the table.
“Mistakes, you say.”
Tink.
He tapped the base of the glass with one finger.
It tipped.
Shatter.
The sound of glass breaking rang sharp through the boutique.
A tense chill swept the room.
Into that silence, Dominique spoke again.
“Leaving marks on a noblewoman’s body while fitting her for a dress… what a mistake.”
Crunch.
The broken shards cracked under his polished shoes.
