“Are you planning to live with me forever, Officer Amboise?
Do you love me?” Curtis challenged, his brow furrowed.
“No, absolutely not!”
Flustered, Chloe immediately composed herself and denied it vehemently.
Finding her swift denial strangely irritating, Curtis pressed her further.
“If not that, then what?” he demanded.
“It is nothing.”
“Speak.”
“I feel that if I do, my survival may be threatened,” Chloe demurred.
From her tone, he knew to expect a terribly insolent answer.
But at this point, he could not let it pass.
Curtis twisted the corners of his mouth into a sardonic smile.
“Why is your survival discussed so frequently?
I give you my word, I will not harm you.
Now speak.”
“As you command.
I was merely surprised that Your Highness is confident you ‘can’ date,” Chloe answered, her voice laced with irony.
The subtext was clear: ‘You, with that dreadful personality, dare to date?’ A suspicion began to form in Curtis’s mind that his adjutant had agreed to this marriage for the sole purpose of mocking him at every turn.
He was, surprisingly, not far from the truth.
“You think I cannot?” Curtis scoffed.
“Who do you take me for?”
Instead of dwelling on the suspicion, he bared his teeth in a smile.
“It might be awkward for me to say it myself, but the noble ladies who adore this body amount to a whole division.”
“Then why leave that entire division and marry poor me…?” Chloe mused aloud.
Noel choked back a laugh.
Chloe was not wrong, after all.
Curtis was only in this position because he had failed to find a suitable partner among that supposed division of admirers.
The Grand Duke shot Noel a glare before rubbing his temples in annoyance.
“I am human, too,” Curtis grumbled.
“If the Royal Guard were not so utterly undisciplined, I believe I would have been a fairly decent superior officer.”
“And you can say that with a straight face?” Chloe murmured, incredulous.
One of Curtis’s fingers twitched.
Chloe quickly held up the contract.
‘Curtis Sean Berk shall regard Chloe Amboise as a superior officer and treat her with the utmost respect.’
At that, Second Lieutenant Noel felt the need to defend his friend.
“He is telling the truth, Warrant Officer Amboise,” Noel chimed in with a laugh.
“Curtis was an excellent commander on the battlefield where the chain of command was clear.”
‘Chain of command.’ Chloe’s gaze flickered upward.
The navy might have lax discipline, but the Royal Guard was just as chaotic, filled as it was with the pampered children of nobility.
But that was a long story.
Thanks to Noel, Curtis’s mood improved slightly.
He crossed his arms and snorted.
“Your expression is priceless.
I have no intention of demonstrating my charm, so you can wipe that look off your face.”
“Thank you very much,” Chloe replied, her tone dripping with mock sincerity.
Whether he registered the sarcasm or chose to ignore it, Curtis continued his explanation.
“Just know that once I have dealt with His Majesty, I plan to find a bride from a suitable family and remarry as quickly as possible,” he declared.
At those words, her gaze fell once more to the ring finger of her left hand.
The amethyst flashed there, a stark reminder of his proposal.
He had asked her to become the temporary owner of his soul.
She was to be its temporary owner.
“Then, regarding the divorce you will grant me at your own fault—will the grounds for it be adultery?” Chloe asked directly.
Curtis looked at her, a look of newfound fascination crossing his features.
“…Are you not offended?” he probed.
“By what?
The part about a family of suitable standing?” Chloe asked with a shrug.
“It is not as if it is untrue.”
That was true.
But it was still an offensive thing to say.
“Hmm…” Curtis mused.
Chloe seemed to sense his peculiar gaze.
“…I was not worried,” Curtis mumbled, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.
For some reason, Curtis was the one who felt embarrassed.
Regardless of his discomfort, Chloe finished reading the document, then showed it to him and pointed to one spot with her finger.
‘3.
Chloe Amboise shall not trespass into Curtis Sean Berk’s personal space without permission during the term of this contract, nor shall she harbor or display personal feelings.’
“About this clause,” Chloe began, “what extent of personal space are you referring to?
Your room?
Your office?”
“The bed,” Curtis stated flatly.
Chloe’s expression soured.
Curtis elaborated, his face unreadable.
“I detest strangers in my bed.
I also dislike having someone else in my space.
It is not as if we are sharing a barracks during wartime.”
“But we are getting married, are we not?
In unavoidable cases…” Chloe pressed, her voice trailing off.
“Warrant Officer,” Curtis began, his voice firm.
“Let me make this clear.
Any personal feelings you might harbor for me?
Dispel them now.”
“I feel some developing right this moment,” Chloe retorted, a flicker of irritation in her eyes.
“Anger, for example.”
Curtis scrawled over ‘personal feelings’ twice, then meticulously rewrote it: ‘Feelings of love.’
Chloe maintained a perfectly straight face.
“I dare say this is the clause I am most confident in upholding,” she stated, her tone unwavering.
“Don’t be too sure about that,” Curtis drawled, a hint of challenge in his voice.
“As the daughter of a family of unsuitable standing, I am supremely confident.”
“Officer Amboise, you certainly hold a grudge, don’t you?” Curtis remarked, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“In unavoidable cases, it cannot be helped.
But in those instances, tie your hair back if possible.
And wear long sleeves.”
Right, the man was a mysophobe.
Chloe regarded him with a flat, unamused stare.
“I’m genuinely curious,” Chloe pressed, “does Your Highness the Grand Duke not find his ‘own’ hair bothersome?”
“My hair is short,” he replied dismissively.
“Most of the security squad members have short hair.”
“Those men are dirty.
‘I’ am clean.”
‘Wow’, that’s truly unfair, Chloe quickly protested, indignation rising.
“I’m clean too, you know?”
But Curtis remained resolute.
“Your hair is black and long.
When it sheds, it’s an eyesore.
Mine is blond, so it’s barely visible.”
“Right…” Chloe mumbled, clearly unconvinced.
Amidst their ceaseless bickering, the contract was eventually finalized.
Gazing at the document, its clauses clearly outlining both parties’ demands, the two shared a singular thought: it was a contract childish and utterly ridiculous beyond measure.
Still, it was a contract that, at the very least, satisfied them both.
Each of them received a copy of the contract, meticulously rewritten by Lieutenant Noel.
Noel decided to retain their original drafts, as he was the sole witness to the agreement.
Accepting the contract, beneath which lay the neat signature of ‘Noel Monfils,’ Chloe let out a weary sigh.
“Thank you, Lieutenant Monfils,” Chloe said gratefully.
“Think nothing of it,” Noel replied with a warm smile.
“Please, feel free to seek me out whenever you find yourself in trouble in the future.”
Noel smiled, then placed a pen in her hand.
As Chloe began to sign, Curtis added one more instruction.
“Noel, I trust you,” Curtis warned, “but don’t breathe a word of this to the outside world.
Especially not to Agatha.”
“That’s ‘my’ line,” Chloe interjected, her eyebrows raised.
Chloe blinked, listening to their exchange.
‘Agatha?
Is that a person’s name?’ Her eyes, wide with curiosity, met Noel’s, and he offered a wry smile.
“I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“She happens to be infatuated with ‘that jerk’,” Noel added, a hint of exasperation in his tone.
“How did she suffer such a terrible fate?” Chloe lamented, shaking her head.
At Chloe’s lament, Curtis, who was in the midst of signing his name, bared his teeth in a smile.
The movement caused ink to splatter onto his finger.
“I don’t think that’s something for Warrant Officer Amboise to say,” Curtis retorted, wiping his finger with a handkerchief.
Chloe pretended not to hear him, deliberately focusing on the contract.
Noel chuckled quietly and tucked the now-signed contract into a leather file.
“This is the authentic one,” he announced, holding up the file.
“And now, for the fake contract.”
As a member of royalty, the prenuptial agreement also required submission to the royal family—the title of Grand Duke Berk itself being a peerage granted by the Ivanes royal family.
Noel began drafting the fake contract with a conspicuously insincere attitude, a stark contrast to his demeanor just moments before.
“The title will be hereditary to the child born between you two,” Noel recited, his voice dry.
“And…
how much should we list for the dowry sent to the royal family?
His Majesty the King will surely insist on receiving something.”
At Noel’s words, Curtis, still wiping ink from his hand with a handkerchief, scoffed derisively.
“What would I get from a woman earning a monthly salary of forty thousand Sings?” Curtis scoffed.
“That would be like squeezing blood from a stone.
Write down that ‘I’ will pay eighty million Sings.”
“Eighty million Sings?” Chloe gasped, utterly flabbergasted.
“The dowry promised by Glintland for sweeping out Pirate King Bartholomew Rogers is precisely eighty million Sings,” Noel clarified softly.
Eighty million Sings.
Chloe reeled, bewildered by the sheer scale of the unexpected expenditure.
Yet Curtis, the one responsible for paying that exorbitant sum, seemed utterly unconcerned by the amount.
“That would also serve as proof of my love for the Warrant Officer,” he added, a smirk playing on his lips.
At his words, Chloe’s mind immediately recalled the statement he had released through the morning newspaper just yesterday:
‘I am not a King, so I have no reason to choose a bride swayed by money or profit.
I chose the path of a soldier to keep the one I love by my side.’
To those unaware of their true intentions, it was a declaration worthy of immense admiration.
But Chloe was suddenly gripped by fear, for she was, at heart, a miser.
It was Chloe’s ingrained habit to meticulously weigh the cost-effectiveness of every situation involving her own money.
This principle extended to others’ funds as well; if someone spent money on her, she felt an obligation to perform her duties commensurate with the expenditure.
But eighty million Sings.
Chloe began to doubt if she was truly capable of earning her keep for such an astronomical sum.
But it was already too late.
The contract had been written, and Chloe had signed it.
Just then, Noel handed her the leather file containing the authentic contract.
“Please accept this for now,” he said, offering it to her.
A leather file, branded with the distinctive seal of the Grand Duke’s house.
Chloe carefully unlatched it.
Inside lay a beautiful contract, its clauses rewritten in high-quality ink on fine paper, also stamped with the Grand Duke’s seal, each detail exquisitely clear.
Though its content was filled with truly absurd clauses, at first glance, it appeared quite plausible.
Noel’s neat handwriting likely played a significant part in that illusion.
‘Though, the original seemed a bit more…
compelling somehow,’ she mused inwardly.
Chloe glanced at the original draft lying on the desk.
Curtis’s hastily scribbled handwriting, oddly enough, lent it a strange air of authenticity.
However, Noel soon gathered it up and tucked it into his breast pocket as well.
‘Why was that?’ A pang of regret struck her as she watched the contract disappear into Noel’s pocket.
Just then.
“Now, with everything written that needs to be written,” Curtis announced, “shall we move on to the main point of the wedding?”
Curtis rose from his seat, extending a hand towards her.
Chloe blinked, her gaze flicking to the man’s hand, where the ink stain had not yet been fully wiped away.
“The main point?” she echoed, puzzled.