Sharply dressed gentlemen gathered in a garden where green grass sparkled under the blue sky.
Today was the fifth anniversary of the Duke of Whitby’s company, celebrated with a party at his capital townhouse.
“It has been a long time, Your Grace.
It is an honor to see you.”
When the Duke of Whitby, the host of the garden party, bowed his head to Clifton, the Grand Duke returned the gesture with a short, silent nod.
“A pleasure.”
“I’m glad we decided to establish the company at this time of year.
The timing allowed Your Grace to attend the party in person.
How long do you plan to remain in the capital?”
“About a month.”
Though the answer came readily, Clifton’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if his thoughts were elsewhere.
The Duke of Whitby, oblivious, smiled broadly.
“A month!
That is news that will make the people lining up to meet you clap their hands in joy.”
The young Grand Duke, known as both the Emperor’s nephew and the Hero of the Empire.
The Duke of Whitby felt a swell of pride, imagining the stir Clifton’s presence was causing.
People were likely already fidgeting with excitement for a chance to meet him.
He was particularly pleased that the Grand Duke’s first stop was his own garden party.
The moment the Grand Duke of Greenfield had announced his intention to attend, Whitby had doubled the budget for garden maintenance and fresh floral arrangements.
Looking around now, he didn’t regret the expense one bit.
His spirits high, the Duke of Whitby took a sip of champagne and ventured a comment.
“It is a slight pity that you came alone.
It would have been lovely if you had come with your fiancée.”
At the word ‘fiancée,’ Clifton’s gaze sharpened subtly.
Noticing the perceptible chill that had fallen over the Grand Duke, Whitby fumbled awkwardly with his glass.
He had mentioned the fiancée to test the waters, but it seemed to have been a grave miscalculation.
Just as the Duke of Whitby was inwardly berating himself for his mistake, Clifton lifted a crystal flute being offered to him by a server.
“My fiancée is busy with wedding preparations and could not attend,” he replied smoothly.
“We shall come together next time.”
Clifton swirled the flute lightly, and the blue champagne inside rippled like small waves.
“It would be an honor if you did.”
The Duke of Whitby bowed his head slightly, hiding his flustered eyes.
A faint smile touched Clifton’s lips before he turned away.
“If you’ll excuse me, I believe I should go greet some of the other guests.”
Lifting his gaze, the Duke of Whitby watched Clifton’s retreating back.
‘Damn it…’
Recalling the momentary sharpness in the Grand Duke’s eyes, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had made a terrible mistake.
Left alone, Clifton took a sip of champagne and frowned.
The Duke of Whitby had just dredged up an unpleasant conversation he had been trying to forget.
“I wish to annul our engagement, Your Grace.”
Clifton sneered coldly as the thin, faint voice echoed in his memory.
The thought of those naive eyes, which held the belief that she actually had a choice, brought on a throbbing headache.
“The truth is… the mere thought of holding your hand makes me want to vomit.”
Her tense green eyes had scrutinized his reaction.
He remembered the boiling anger her absurd words had ignited, and then the shift as that fury vanished, replaced by the thought that this discussion was utterly meaningless.
And in that very moment, the terrible retching sound followed.
‘Ugh—.’
For the first time in a very long while, Clifton’s mind had gone completely blank.
Even when a gun he thought held one last bullet turned out to be empty, he hadn’t felt so dazed.
His senses, however, returned faster than expected.
It was the sight of his fiancée, her face as pale as his soiled shirt, that brought him back.
She looked like a tree branch frozen in the winter wind, liable to snap at any moment.
Seeing her in that state, the impulse to immediately strip off the sullied shirt took a backseat.
Clifton reasoned that his mysophobia hadn’t flared only because the ridiculous symptom she’d described—that just imagining holding his hand made her want to vomit—had unfolded right before his eyes.
Otherwise, his behavior that day made no sense.
Clifton swept his tongue over the inside of his mouth, as if savoring the lingering taste of the blue champagne.
He didn’t bother to imagine it, but what if it had been anyone else?
He might have abandoned all dignity and shoved the barrel of a gun into the mouth that had spat such filth.
Clifton downed the rest of the champagne in one gulp.
The stinging carbonation scraped his throat, momentarily alleviating the stifling feeling in his chest.
But soon his mouth felt dry and gritty, as if filled with sand.
His gaze darkened.
He had made it clear to his insolent fiancée that an annulment was impossible, but those eyes—shrinking back yet stubbornly defiant—did not look as though they would yield.
‘It doesn’t matter.
There isn’t much she can do anyway.’
By now, she would have arrived in the Kingdom of Belloc and learned what her father had done.
So, whatever resolve she had mustered, the scheduled marriage would not change.
Though he knew this better than anyone, Clifton couldn’t erase the unpleasant sensation, as if the contents that cheeky woman had regurgitated were still clinging to his skin.
An unwelcome sense of déjà vu, much like the one he felt now, burrowed into his mind.
Yes, it had been the same back then.
The hail of gunfire, the metallic tang of blood, the rising dust.
After enduring all that, he would return to Greenfield for a brief respite, and she was always there.
“You’ve worked hard…”
The woman standing hesitantly beside Margaret had a flushed face.
Her fingers fidgeted behind the skirt she held so neatly, betraying her unease.
Her green eyes were hidden beneath trembling white eyelids, barely visible.
“…I embroidered this hoping for your safe return.”
Even while shyly handing him the handkerchief she had embroidered herself, she would flinch and pull away like a frightened rabbit when he reached out to take it.
He had to re-evaluate whether Merdi Langlen had ever actually liked him.
Her only signs of affection had never been clear words, but merely that shy demeanor and blushing face.
Was it possible to avoid someone while claiming to like them?
Clifton’s thoughts leaned toward the impossible.
As his deduction reached that point, Clifton clenched his jaw.
When that woman was involved, what was certain became uncertain, and what was clear became blurred.
Just as she had appeared like a stain on his flawless life, the fact that his clear path was becoming obscured was more than enough to displease him.
‘Why must I suffer this uncertainty because of one insignificant woman?’
That the word ‘annulment’ from her mouth had made him feel so foul was part of the same problem.
The fiancée from a negligible kingdom dared to try and create a massive variable in his life.
It was unacceptable.
The command for their engagement, which had descended upon him like a disaster, was a sufficient flaw in his pristine future.
He would not allow anything more.
Whether she retched or spat out every last drop of acid in her stomach, nothing would change.
Clifton quietly placed the empty crystal flute on the catering table.
The movement, as always, was flawless.
That evening, Merdi was able to meet William when he returned to the castle.
Looking exhausted from his day, William spotted Merdi, hesitated for a moment, and then approached.
“Merdi!
Wow, it’s been a while.
You’ve grown taller, haven’t you?”
“I spoke with Father,” Merdi said, her expression glacial.
At that, William scratched the back of his neck.
“…Heard what?”
“That you secretly incurred a debt to the Grand Duke.”
“S-Secretly?
I was going to tell you everything later!”
“When?” she challenged.
“After I was married and completely trapped?”
Startled by Merdi’s chilly attitude, William shouted, “Hey, you were happy about the engagement too!”
“I was,” she conceded.
“I was, but not anymore.
The reason I came here today is to get Father’s permission for an annulment.”
As if suppressing a wave of sorrow, Merdi forced her voice to remain steady.
“What?
Annulment…?”
“Yes…”
“D-Did he do something to you?
Make some kind of mistake?”
Watching William ask so urgently, Merdi stifled a humorless laugh.
If her fiancé had been the sort of man who could make a mistake and then laugh it off, this conversation wouldn’t be nearly so agonizing.
But a mistake?
Hardly.
He was a man so excessively perfect it seemed he would never make a mistake in his entire life, which only made her situation feel all the more bleak and suffocating.
When Merdi didn’t answer right away, William’s face contorted as he raised his voice.
“I don’t know what happened, but you just have to endure it.
Honestly, he’s too good for you.
Where else would you find a husband like that!”
She ‘had’ endured.
For five years, she had endured the scorn of that strange place, trying to make herself worthy of her undeserved fiancé.
But when the retching wouldn’t stop, when she felt as if she would spit out her own stomach, Merdi knew she couldn’t withstand what lay ahead.
“I came because I can’t endure it anymore.
I felt like if I kept living there, I would just die one day without a sound.”
When Merdi spoke with such finality, William’s panicked voice grew loud enough to echo through the castle.
“Merdi!
Why are you being so immature?
Don’t you think about the Kingdom?
Don’t you think about me or Father?”
“Don’t ‘you’ think about me?” she shot back.
“How I lived there…!”
“You went because you said you wanted to!”
“Did I even have a choice back then?
I would have had to get engaged even if I didn’t want to!”
“Th-That’s…” William stammered.
Just as Merdi’s sharp words implied, whether she had liked Clifton or not, her engagement had been a forced choice.
At a loss for words, William stepped back and finally said something he shouldn’t have.
“You really are ungrateful!
Father took you in when you were about to become an orphan, fed you, and put a roof over your head, and this is how you repay his kindness?!”