Chapter 37
Elise’s newly finished dress began to soak through with tea, spilled in a dark stain right in front of the Crown Prince.
“A-Ah, my lady…”
“Your dress…”
The attendants who had been hovering around her, obsessively preening and fussing, gasped in unison.
Even the boutique’s madam, who had personally delivered the gown to the Duke’s drawing room, looked ghost-pale. The dress had been her pride, more elaborate even than the blue gown Kyrie had worn.
But Elise ignored them all. Her gaze remained fixed on Lexion.
“Please, don’t be upset. Isn’t your grace too precious to be wasted on something like this?”
“…Elise.”
“Show me your hand. I need to make sure you’re not hurt.”
Only then did Lexion extend his hand to her. Elise gently stroked it, as if it were made of porcelain.
“You’re meant for greatness. You must take care not to let anything harm you.”
“…You’re right.”
“So calm yourself.”
“Wait, your dress…”
Only now did Lexion notice her knees. Elise smiled serenely, as if it were nothing.
“It was a gown I planned to discard anyway.”
Her calm response made the staff freeze again and glance about uneasily. They knew all too well how much time, money, and care had gone into that gown.
Lexion blinked, confused.
“Didn’t you have it made specially?”
“I didn’t like it. The finish was poor, the embellishments tasteless.”
“……”
“It looked cheap.”
The comment, sharp as a knife, was unexpected from a lady known for her sweetness. But no one dared correct her.
Especially after Lexion casually added, “So this is what the capital’s finest designer has to offer? Disappointing.”
With that single statement, the boutique’s fate was sealed. The madam’s hands began to tremble.
“Really, to think it came from the same place that dressed that woman. Unacceptable.”
Lexion’s expression softened, as if to reassure Elise.
“I told you we should’ve used a royal tailor from the start. It’s not too late, ”
“Your Highness. Elise.”
At that moment, the Duke of Erenberg returned from his external affairs and stepped into the drawing room, only to halt, confused by the chaotic scene before him.
His face, which had worn no expression even when he cast off his own daughter, now showed a flicker of curiosity.
“…What happened here?”
The moment he spoke, Elise smiled and turned toward him.
“About this dress, Father…”
Her voice dropped sweetly between them like syrup.
“I have a favor to ask.”
𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ
Creak…
“Whoa, easy.”
The coachman gently pulled the reins. The carriage slowed to a stop along the avenue.
The streets were clogged with traffic, full of people heading to the same place they were.
The ball to announce the Crown Prince’s engagement, possibly even his marriage. After months of postponement, it was finally happening tonight.
Outside the window, nobles in glittering carriages bustled to reach the grand hall. Some had already abandoned their coaches to walk the final stretch.
Jewels and satin glinted in every direction. Even the moths seemed to forsake the lamplight, drawn instead to the radiance of the aristocrats.
Tap.
Kyrie, staring absentmindedly out the window, felt something nudge the tip of her shoe.
It was the Grand Duke’s, his fine leather shoes, half a size larger than her own dainty pair.
“Good thing I bought you that horse.”
Kyrie turned at the amused tone in his voice.
“…What?”
“The capital always turns into a mess when there’s a ball like this.”
“……”
“In times like this, it’s better to ride than travel by carriage.”
Only then did Kyrie realize he wasn’t talking about this ball. He meant the racetrack, the place they’d last visited before this event.
Her ears flushed.
‘A wild horse. Have you ever been to the track?’
A noble, she didn’t even remember who, had screamed that at her recently.
Dominique had recalled the incident, asking:
“You’ve never been?”
“No.”
“How surprising. The races here are famous. You hadn’t been to a department store either, right?”
“Yes. Which is why you took me to one.”
He’d raised an eyebrow at her breezy reply.
“Then next time, we’ll go to the track.”
That was how it always went.
Even after their first date, Dominique would suddenly whisk her away and ask where she wanted to go.
Despite being so busy, constantly summoned by the royal family…
He still carved out time every weekend just for her. Whenever she admitted she hadn’t been somewhere before, he made a point to take her.
Sometimes, while she wandered curiously through unfamiliar places, he would disappear, only to return shortly after conversing with various figures who gathered around him.
“Your Grace.”
“I’ll be right back, my lady.”
She would simply wait for him, still and quiet. He often smiled when he returned, as if pleased by her patience.
“You stayed right here?”
“Yes?”
“Good girl. You might’ve gotten lost otherwise.”
“…Do you think I’d get lost that easily?”
“It’s possible. You said this is your first time here.”
“……”
“It’d be troublesome if you lost me, wouldn’t it?”
It had struck her as absurd. At times, it felt like he took her to unfamiliar places just to provoke that very reaction.
“Does he find it amusing to see me flustered like some country bumpkin?”
She had assumed their racetrack outing would be no different. That he’d leave her in the stands while nobles swarmed her with gossip and questions. That he’d wander off to chat and return later.
But instead, when she furrowed her brows at the crowd, Dominique had taken her straight to the stables.
Perhaps it wasn’t about avoiding the nobles. Maybe he’d simply come for the horses.
“Have you ever ridden?”
“No. I’m not very good at horseback riding.”
“Then you’ll learn.”
“Must I?”
“In Haswell territory, horses are essential.”
The way he said it, it sounded like he intended to take her there.
Kyrie tamped down the odd stir of emotion.
“Of course, it’d be strange for the Grand Duchess not to visit the duchy.”
At the stables, what caught her eye was a massive black mare.
“Milady, that horse…”
“Is she expecting?”
“Yes, she is.”
The mare, belly swollen, looked at her placidly as she munched on feed.
While Kyrie’s eyes darted between the mare’s belly and her calm gaze, Dominique approached.
“We’ll purchase her. And the foal she carries.”
“…What?”
“You’ll need a horse if you’re to learn riding.”
“But the foal…”
“It’s a gift. For our child.”
Kyrie flinched, eyes drawn to the mare’s belly. His words pierced her like thorns.
The bitter taste of crushed nellion flowers, the ones she chewed to suppress certain consequences, seemed to flood her mouth.
‘He’s a strange man.’
He spoke of wanting an heir mired in disgrace, yet here he was, buying the foal that heir would someday ride.
He treated her like a trophy wife, yet lavished her with gifts as though she were precious.
Kyrie swallowed hard, suddenly aware that everything she wore, everything that adorned her, had come from him.
From the crown of her head to the soles of her feet, there was nowhere he hadn’t touched.
And it struck her.
‘He’ll always be like this.’
He would lavish their child with the finest things, teach them everything he could.
As if he were a good father.
But if the world turned cruel, if that child was mocked, Dominique would simply watch. He would likely welcome the insult, just as he did now.
Even though the child may never come to exist.
As she sat in the carriage lost in thought, Dominique stroked the horse’s neck, back at the stables.
“She’s gentle. Perfect for a beginner like you.”
Like a man who truly wanted to care for his wife.
That day had ended with the purchase of the horse and its unborn foal.
Even now, seated in the carriage on the way to the imperial ball, that same quiet confusion lingered in Kyrie’s chest.
“It’s not as if I was chosen because I’m cherished. It’s not love that drives him to want a child.”
And yet, every time they went on a date, he paraded her around like a prized possession.
He’d hold her hand. Buy her sherbet or fruit punch.
And when cream clung to the corner of her lips, he’d pause as if to wipe it away, only to lean in and kiss her.
He never once cared what others thought. If anything, he seemed eager for people to see.
She remembered the feel of cold sherbet trickling down her fingers under the afternoon sun. The touch of chilled droplets running down her bare skin.
“Does he want to play at being lovers?”
That same man who had said so clearly he would use her, why was he always so… gentle?
‘He’s a scoundrel.’
Kyrie settled on that. She gave her head a small shake, as if to dispel the thought.
But even as she tried to clear her mind, Dominique was watching her quietly.
Smiling.
As if he could read every word of her thoughts.
And somehow, that made her all the more uneasy.
