Once again, Lilian found herself trapped in those mesmerizing amber eyes… sharp and slanted like a Phoenix's, their intensity made even more striking up close.
Her own eyes narrowed.
Were they even human?
Realizing she was still caught in that awkward embrace, she pushed herself back, quickly putting a proper distance between them. Annoyance flared inside her, both at him, at herself, and at the way she kept getting distracted. This man was not to be trusted. Whatever he was doing, it had to be some kind of mind game.
"And what are you staring at?"
Lilian stiffened at the sudden sharpness in his tone, but he wasn't speaking to her.
When she lifted her gaze, she saw he was addressing the maids behind her. Their panic at being noticed by him was immediate and unmistakable.
"L-Lady Constance… said to bring her downstairs for breakfast," one of the maids managed to respond.
"Leave. You can wait for her downstairs."
The maids immediately bowed and hurried off. When their footsteps faded down the corridor, only then did Lilian realize she was completely alone with the Duke. The dread from last night returned, especially after the door closed behind her. However, she mustered up the courage to face him.
"What happened last night?" she asked.
"What do you think happened?"
He turned his back to her and walked deeper into his chamber with unhurried steps. Lilian followed, frustration knotting in her chest at his indifference.
"This morning, a palace matron showed up and– she said the marriage was valid."
He remained silent.
Lilian couldn't contain her impatience. "I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. There… was blood on the sheets. Where did it come from?!"
"Oh, that?"
His brows lifted slightly as if the realization only just hit him. He clicked his tongue before sitting at the edge of his bed.
Lilian's heart drummed painfully. "Did you do–"
"I've said it before," he cut her off smoothly, "I prefer my women with a bit more meat. Sure, I carried you to the bed cause you wouldn't stop shivering where you laid, but I'd never force myself on you. I can do a lot of things, but not that."
Lilian didn't believe him.
"So… the blood?"
"Your knee," he replied. "They were bleeding last night. And to think you never told anyone you had a knee injury. I was going to clean it up, but then I realized that I could use it as a cover for when the Matron showed up."
"But that… can't be."
She stared at him, uncertain, but he only gave her a calm, logical, almost bored look that silently asked if she was going to argue with basic facts.
Of course she could not do that.
His words made sense.
He had not touched her as she had feared. But what sort of mind game was this?
"If I've cleared your doubts, your servants are waiting for you downstairs," he rose to his feet, his fingers already moving to undo the clasp of his uniform. "Unless you want to watch me undress. If you're into that kind of stuff?"
Lilian refused to dignify that with a response.
She simply turned on her heel and left his chamber, not granting him so much as a backward glance.
****************
Lilian descended the staircase with measured steps. The servants stationed along the walls pretended to be busy by polishing what had already been polished. Yet, their eyes followed her like she was some defective ornament paraded on display for them to judge. Naturally, their brittle silence only lasted for a minute.
"Didn't she show up wearing that same mask last night?" one of the servants whispered.
"I heard from Lady Constance's guards that she is ugly beneath it," another murmured. "So deformed that they had to cover her. Can you imagine?"
"Poor Duke," someone sighed. "A man of his stature deserves a proper Northern beauty. Not… whatever this is meant to be"
Their hush voices pricked her back like fine needles, but Lilian kept her posture straight. It's not like any of this felt new or unfamiliar. But she refused to be shaken. She refused to let their barbed whispers claim a reaction, even as they trailed after her all the way to the dining hall.
"Jobless hypocrites," she muttered to herself.
When she entered, Lady Constance was already waiting at the head of the long carved table, positioned as though she were presiding over a throne room rather than a meal.
To Lilian's unexpected surprise, the table was occupied with faces, some she vaguely remembered seeing at the wedding, and the rest entirely unfamiliar. The servants attending her gave a subtle nudge for her to move forward, and she forced her feet to carry her until she was finally noticed.
"She's finally here," Constance announced with a smile that sharpened rather than softened her expression.
Lilian stepped forward to greet her, observing the proper formalities so it would not be used against her. But to her bafflement, Constance lifted her hand and signaled a servant before a single word of courtesy could escape Lilian's lips, literally dismissing her with elegant efficiency.
"Please," Lady Constance said, her voice laced with pleasant malice, "sit, Lady Lilian. Over there. This seat is reserved for the duchess– the Duke's true bride. You cannot assume it belongs to you."
A servant pulled out a chair near the far end of the table, deliberately distance away from the Duke's place. Far from dignity. Practically exile.
A ripple of amusement stirred amongst the nobles, some even giggling poorly behind their goblet. The humiliation was intentional and practiced. The only one not entertained was the steward, whose eyes flickered with discomfort. But without any direct orders from the Duke, he too, was powerless to intervene.
Lilian kept her expression still, even as the entire hall watched to see whether she would finally break.
They seemed to forget she had faced far worse punishment under her uncle's roof. A seat at the far end of the table was nothing compared to the years she spent swallowing humiliation until it turned tasteless. As long as they did not starve her for it, she truly did not mind where she sat.
She kept her chin high, ignored the waiting smirks, and took the seat they offered without complaints.
"The Vales could have done better than this," one of the nobles muttered, irritation slipping through his attempt at decorum. "Imagine presenting such a bride to the Morvanes. What exactly can she offer the North? She seems useless!"
"You must let it go, Lord Simpson," Lady Constance replied sweetly, her eyes glittering. "She may be the daughter of our enemy, but we should still welcome her into the Northern household. After all, we now control the majority of what her father once owned in the southern borders."
A soft, theatrical sigh followed. "Poor Duke. Truly. The sacrifices he makes for us all. May he truly be blessed by the saints."
The conversations resumed about her, around her, but never at her. Every word was spoken as though she were deaf and invisible.
Lilian's fingers fisted into her dress. Her throat tightened, and she was already losing appetite even before the meals were brought. They sound super proud of what they did to her and her father, super proud of the multiple ashes they left behind.
Barbarians. Every last one of them.
She wasn't going to let them get away with everything they've done.
But then the hall doors swung open, and a sweet voice followed.
"Hello, everyone. I hope I'm not too late."
All heads turned as a young woman stepped inside, her smile warm and luminous enough to brighten the entire hall. She was undeniably beautiful– the very description of a Northern jewel. Her fair skin glowed beneath the chandeliers, her golden hair cascading in soft waves down her back. Her irises sparkled with gentle mischief, and her gown flowed around her like liquid ivory, soft and ethereal, as if she had stepped straight out of a painter's idealized dream.
Lady Marianne.
Every noble in the room straightened in admiration.
Even Constance smiled shifted, this time laced with genuine warmth.
If Lilian had been a smudge on the Northern canvas, Marianne was the masterpiece they all wished to display.
"Oh, Marianne, my dear," Constance cooed as she rose, sweeping forward to embrace the girl with open affection. "You're just in time."
Lilian felt the shift instantly – the atmosphere bending, tightening, and gathering like a stormcloud rolling in behind that radiant smile.
Was she the Duke's true bride?