INWY~61

Chapter 61

“Just this once, and I’m only staying here tonight. That’s it.”

Before the patient’s meal arrived, Riena had to go through an exasperatingly long round of negotiation with Your Grace. She agreed to stay with him only until dinner—after that, she would go back to work.

And later, she’d return home.

Her firm tone made it clear she wouldn’t yield this time, and Dante nodded quietly, appearing to accept her demand.

Still, Riena eyed him suspiciously, as if expecting him to break his word anyway. It was useless—she always lost in the end.

And now, the result of that loss was right before her eyes in the most absurd scene imaginable.

Your Grace, after gently stirring the cooled clear soup with a spoon, brought it to his lips to test the temperature—then, without hesitation, held the spoon out toward her.

He was clearly trying to feed her.

Riena’s eyes widened in disbelief. She frowned, pulling her head back slightly.

“…What are you doing?”

“What?”

He frowned as if she were the one being unreasonable. The audacity of that expression made Riena’s jaw drop.

“I can eat it myself,” she said, reaching for the spoon. Her arm wasn’t even injured!

“Ah, honestly!”

When Dante deftly pulled the spoon away to stop her from taking it, Riena finally snapped. She raised her voice—something she had never done before. Not once, even back in the Behern Palace, had she truly lost her temper.

But lately, whenever she was around Your Grace, she found herself shouting constantly. Their relationship had changed so drastically, it was almost laughable.

“Why are you doing this, Your Grace!”

“I’m trying to help you eat. What’s the problem with that?”

Her breathing grew uneven from frustration. 

“Then why is Your Grace personally trying to feed me?”

Was this some new form of torment? His methods of teasing her evolved by the day!

Her face flushed red with anger, but Dante—as usual—remained unruffled. His brow lifted ever so slightly.

“I told you I’d take responsibility. You were hurt because of me, so I’m taking responsibility now.”

“No, Your Grace! You’ve already done more than enough! Too much, in fact!”

If this was what he called taking responsibility, then she never wanted to be the cause of his “duties” again.

Even while she’d been unconscious, the care he’d given her had been overwhelming—and now, when she was awake and fully aware, it was almost unbearable.

“I’ve always had to repay things twice over before I’m satisfied,” he said lightly, his lips curving into a faint smile. Then he scooped another spoonful of soup and held it near her lips.

“Ah.”

The short sound slipped from his mouth—a clear command to open hers.

Riena just stared, stunned. He was treating her like a child.

But Dante merely gave her that steady, calm look, eyes glimmering faintly, and wiggled the spoon slightly in front of her as if urging her on.

“Come on.”

“…Ha.”

“Don’t tell me you plan to keep this up all day, Riena? Or fine—maybe I’ll postpone work, and you can stay here another night.”

His dry tone echoed in her ears.

Riena remembered then—Dante Venachert was a man skilled in the art of subtle threats.

With a resigned sigh, she shut her eyes and opened her mouth.

The humiliation was so sharp her fingers curled in embarrassment.

Dante glanced at her and smiled faintly before offering her another spoonful.

“Good. You’re eating well.”

Riena tried to ignore the heat flooding her face and took another bite.

This was, without question, the worst.

***

“With Your Grace back here, it finally feels like things are returning to normal. I can even call you ‘Boss’ again!”

“…You’ve grown bold, haven’t you? I suppose you’re comfortable enough to start teasing me now.”

Dante’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“S–sorry!”

Callis immediately lowered his head. The icy gleam in Your Grace’s gaze sent a chill through him.

A year of working under Dante had toughened his nerves, but in front of the Grand Duke, that confidence always melted away. More often than not, his attempts at humor only made things worse.

While scanning through a tall stack of documents, Dante suddenly lifted a brow.

“What is this?”

“Eh? Which one—oh…”

Callis leaned forward to peek at the paper Dante was reading—and his face turned pale. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, eyes darting in panic.

Among the neatly arranged files were marriage proposals.

It was his habit to sort all letters and telegrams for Your Grace’s convenience, so the proposals from various noble families had somehow been included with the official paperwork.

Recently, both in the capital and in Behern, the public mourning for the late Grand Duchess had begun to fade. Naturally, discussions about the reinstatement of Dante’s ducal title surfaced again.

Everyone knew that marriage was one of the conditions for a Grand Duke’s formal investiture, so it was no surprise that proposals from noble families were pouring in the moment the mourning period ended.

Of course, the Duke couldn’t outright reject every one of them—so they were all received, if only formally.

But Callis thought grimly: Wasn’t the supposedly dead Grand Duchess… still alive?

True, the marriage record had been annulled, so technically, they were no longer husband and wife. But still…

Callis wasn’t foolish enough to take that as freedom. Especially when Your Grace had just returned from sharing a suite with her at the yet-to-be-opened resort.

Snapping back to his senses, Callis gave an awkward laugh and hurried to gather the scattered proposals.

“Haha, my apologies! I’ll just seal these in an envelope—very securely—and set them aside for you to review later—”

“Leave them.”

The clipped tone made him freeze.

“…Yes, sir.”

No, Your Grace. Always Your Grace.

When Dante added, “Throw them all away,” Callis swallowed hard.

“Excuse me? Oh—yes. Of course.”

Talking too much around Your Grace was a death sentence. He bit his lip, collected the papers, and quietly shoved them into the disposal bin in the corner.

“From now on, any more that arrive—destroy them immediately. I don’t want to see a single one.”

“Yes, understood.”

He vowed silently never to make that mistake again.

Still, a sliver of anxiety lingered. Those proposals came from powerful houses—ignoring them completely could stir up quite a scandal.

He decided to consult Sir Hudson later and buried the letters out of sight. Then, as if suddenly remembering, Callis looked up.

“Oh—Your Grace, before I forget! A telegram arrived from Behern Palace before you came to the office.”

Dante didn’t look up from his paperwork but nodded for him to continue.

“We’ve made contact with Captain Evan Liams. He said he’ll head here immediately after receiving your message.”

Dante glanced at his wristwatch. Judging from the timing, the man would likely arrive by tonight.

After a brief pause, he said, “Tell him to come tomorrow evening. Book him a room at a nearby inn.”

“Tomorrow? But isn’t this urgent?”

Callis tilted his head, confused. This was urgent. The Grand Duke had been exposed by the Chancellor of the Kingdom—how could he delay a meeting like that?

But Dante merely flipped another page, the soft scrape of his pen marking his signature.

When he finally spoke again, it was calm, almost detached.

“There’s something more urgent right now. How many days until the opening ceremony?”

“Ah… about ten days.”

Callis counted quickly, then let out a small sigh. Right—the opening celebration was almost here. No matter what else was happening, that event had to go perfectly.

His face brightened. “Yes! I completely agree, Your Grace. We have to make sure the opening is flawless!”

“Then call in the dressmaker who used to handle the Grand Duchess’s gowns at Behern Palace.”

“…I’m sorry? The Grand Duchess’s—personal dressmaker?”

“Tell her to have a new gown ready before the ceremony. Complete with shoes and accessories.”

Callis blinked in disbelief. For a moment, his vision blurred. Maybe his glasses were dirty?

But no—he wasn’t mistaken.

He muttered under his breath, pale and dazed.

“This man… has really lost his mind…”