And so began the rumors—whispers of the infamous, cold-hearted duke who gifted Lady Yulianna a three-headed dragon. Word spread like wildfire across the Aerion Empire.
Many were shocked. Some refused to believe it. Others burned with envy. Fan clubs even started to form, admiring supporters who hoped, foolishly or not, for a romantic ending between the two.
But for Yulianna, who had no desire to be dragged into anyone's fantasy romance, it only meant one thing: more trouble.
"You what? What do you mean?" were the first words she blurted out the moment she woke up.
Her throat felt dry, her arms sore, and her entire body heavy. But all of that was forgotten when she noticed the man—yet another absurdly handsome human being—standing in front of her, calmly introducing himself as Duke Caspien's assistant.
"You must still be a bit disoriented from the incident, my lady. I advise you to relax and breathe," he said politely. With a gentle smile, he offered her a glass of water. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I'm certain His Grace won't mind you taking your time to rest."
Though Yulianna understood little, she took the glass and gulped it down. Relief washed over her; she felt a touch better almost immediately.
She paused, drew a deep breath, and fixed him with a look. "So, who is this Duke Caspien, and why am I awake in his bed instead of six feet under?"
Theron stood there for thirty seconds, frozen as if the world had paused for him to process the question.
"Oh…" he began at last, searching for a sensible answer. He was more rattled than he liked to admit. Somehow, after watching her, he understood why his liege had taken an interest—the way she spoke, the way she looked, there was something disarmingly unusual about her.
"His Grace found you badly wounded on Mountain Morath," Theron said carefully. "He brought you here and saw to your injuries."
Yulianna's jaw clenched as the memory of Mountain Morath flashed back, how close she'd come to dying. If heaven had a sense of irony, it had delivered a too-good-to-be-true, impossibly handsome duke as her savior.
Anger simmered beneath her skin. "They're that desperate to finish me off, are they? Fine." Her hands curled into fists. "They'd better stay out of my sight if they value their lives. It's about time I hunted them back."
If looks could kill, someone would already be dead in her head.
Theron, witnessing the shift in her mood, scratched the back of his neck, almost as if reminding himself that this lady was built differently. No wonder his liege had gone completely off the grid and caused the current palace-wide commotion.
"Do you have any other questions, my lady?" he asked with a polite smile. "I'd be happy to clarify them for you."
"Right. First, where the hell am I? I've been wondering that since I woke up," Yulianna said. "Also, what time is it? It feels like I've been asleep forever and—oh, wait."
She stopped mid-sentence, eyes dropping to the bandages on her arm. Her brows furrowed. The wound didn't look as deep as she remembered.
"I'm sure it was cut deeper than this. How the heck did it heal so fast?"
Theron let out a small laugh and rubbed his nape again. "Ah, that… His Grace must have used a healing potion, my lady. It healed the worst of it, but you're not fully recovered yet. So, try not to push yourself too much."
Surely, she wasn't going to freak out over a simple healing potion… right?
Still cooked in disbelief, Yulianna nodded in amusement. She took a closer look at her arm—it was almost as if the wound was already a week old. The fact that it had been poisoned and had happened just a few hours ago entirely blew her mind.
"So, you're telling me that icy master of yours went through all that trouble and used a healing potion to fix my wounds and save my ass?"
"You're right, my lady. He's the one who brought you here and made sure you were taken care of."
"Is that so?" Yulianna pondered, growing a little wary of how things had shifted in such a short time.
Not to mention, she'd attracted attention—again. And not just from any stranger, but a duke. A duke, of all people. "He doesn't look like the helpful type, though."
You're right, my lady. His Grace would rather watch someone die than show mercy.
Still wearing that polite smile, Theron glanced at the clock mounted on the wall. The imperial ball will be starting in an hour. He really should inform the lady about the formal announcement that would be made there regarding the hunting competition.
"Well, His Grace is simply… built differently, my lady. But he is merciful in his own way." Just not to everyone. "Take yourself, for example—he chose to spare you," most likely because he finds you interesting.
"Something tells me otherwise," Yulianna replied, giving him a look. "Anyway, let's just move on from it. I owe him for saving my life, whether it was mercy or just curiosity."
"Ha-ha, my lady has a very peculiar way of seeing things," Theron said before he could stop himself. He didn't regret it, though, because she smiled. "In that case, you can thank him in person at the ball later."
Yulianna froze. Surely she heard him wrong. But no, she remembered. Tonight was the final celebration for the Emperor's birthday. The ball where nobles flaunted themselves and where many sought their destined match.
Well… except Yulianna.
Sighing, she pushed the bedding off her legs and stood. "Right. The ball is tonight. Judging by the darkness creeping outside the window, I probably have an hour left to prepare." She smoothed down the dress she was wearing and offered Theron a small smile.
"Thank you for watching over me while I was asleep. And for lending me such an elegant dress—though I don't know who changed me into it, and I don't want to know either. I'll be sure to express my gratitude to your master. For now, I really need to get moving."
"That won't be necessary, my lady," Theron replied quickly, scratching the back of his neck again.
He really was making a habit of that.
"His Grace already made sure everything you need for the ball has been taken care of. All you have to do is prepare yourself."
"Oh? He went that far?" Yulianna muttered. "I don't know if I should be relieved or concerned."
"May I ask what troubles you about His Grace, my lady?"
"He's too calm and cold at the same time. And I don't like his face at all."
"My, and what seems to be the problem with his face, my lady? I am a man myself, and even I can't help but admire His Grace's appearance."
"That's exactly the problem. His face is too beautiful," Yulianna said, expression darkening as she recalled their encounter at Mountain Morath. "And from what I know, beautiful things always have something darker buried beneath them."
I really hope he can hear this right now. It's probably the first time a woman has disliked him for being too handsome. I'd love to see his reaction.
Theron inwardly rejoiced. Moments like this were his only escape from the endless pile of work he dealt with every day. He'd never felt so refreshed just by listening to someone speak. He, too, was starting to take an interest in what Lady Yulianna would do next.
"You look like you're enjoying this. Am I missing something?" Yulianna asked, narrowing her eyes.
Chuckling, Theron cleared his throat and straightened his expression. "Not at all, my lady. I was simply impressed by the way you carry yourself. Please forgive me. Is there anything else you wish to request or ask? I'd be happy to assist."
Yulianna paused. The wound on her arm still throbbed from time to time, especially when she moved too quickly. Still, she was well enough to return to her chamber and prepare for the ball. The only issue was—how? She had no idea where she was in the imperial palace. The original owner of this body might have known, but she certainly didn't.
"Would it be possible for you to escort me back to my chamber? I'm still a little dizzy to walk on my own," she said with a faint smile.
"The noble ladies' chambers are on the opposite side of the palace, my lady. It would take some time to get you there, and you might not have enough time left to prepare for the ball," Theron explained politely. "May I ask what you need from your chamber? I can take care of it for you."
"Oh? Is that so?" She sighed. "My personal maid must be worried sick. I haven't seen her since at the capital, she's probably losing her mind wondering where I am."
Theron blinked. My lady is more worried about her maid than herself.
He kept himself composed, polite as always. "I'll see to it that she is informed that you are safe, my lady. However, you need to prepare for the ball. Everyone must be anticipating your arrival," especially his liege.
"It's just a ball. Why make it sound so special?" Yulianna retorted. "It's not like I'm the emperor or something."
Smiling, Theron cleared his throat. "Indeed, my lady. But tonight, the winner of the hunting competition will be announced and introduced to everyone at the ball."
"And?" She frowned, still not understanding.
"His Grace, the duke, won the competition."
"Oh. Good for him," Yulianna replied flatly.
"And he chose to give you the privilege," Theron added, watching her expression shift into confusion.
"What privilege?"
"To march in the holy hall."
"What?! Why would he do that? I don't want to! Can't I pass it down to some other noble lady?"
Theron had expected this reaction. "That would be impossible, my lady. You're out of options."
Yulianna's mood shifted from decent to utterly annoyed and dumbfounded. "I'm starting to think your master is doing this on purpose, don't you?"
"I can't say, my lady. His liege has never done something for personal pleasure." Until now.
"Fine. If you say so. It's just a march, right? I'll make it quick."
"Indeed," He replied, inwardly amused. He had never seen someone so annoyed at being given the honor of marching in the holy hall—let alone speaking with the saint. My, I can't wait to see his reaction.
"But before that, you'll be introduced first at the ball."
"I can deal with that," Yulianna said, trying to convince herself it was just a ball with a little introduction. However, she missed something.
"And you'll have your first dance with His Grace as part of tradition–"
"Wait, what?!" she exclaimed, blood rushing through her veins. "I didn't sign up for this! Let alone dance with that icy man! This is not the ending I want!"
"Out of options, my lady."
Smiling inwardly, Theron watched her panic. It was his first time seeing someone dislike his liege this much, and so desperately avoid him like the plague.