Even after being given permission, it took Merdi a long moment to step inside.
Beyond the discomfort of the impending conversation, this was her first time entering Clifton’s office, and she was undeniably nervous.
Though she had lived at Greenfield for five years, her encounters with him had always been brief, formal, and concise.
They were like scenes from a play.
When he briefly returned to Greenfield during the war, his words to her were always the same.
“Have you been well?”
His cool eyes and polite tone were a jarring mismatch.
Nevertheless, as if it were a task to be completed, he never forgot to ask.
After the perfunctory greeting, they would have a meal with Margaret and a simple tea time.
She had hoped he might ask if she had grown taller, or how she was finding life here, or if the food suited her tastes… but the questions never went further.
Still, Merdi had liked him.
She liked him more every time she saw him.
It wasn’t just his handsome face, but the heavy, masculine scent that brushed her nose when she stood close, the pleasing timbre of his voice, the dashing way he wore his military uniform.
Above all, he was her complete opposite.
He was deliberate, meticulous, and flawless.
A man who bore a suffocating weight of responsibility without ever showing a hint of the strain.
Unshakable in any situation, he was a dream-like existence to her.
That was why she could endure.
That was why she could wait.
Even the waiting itself had been a thrill, a time to paint a picture of their future.
‘When the war is over and he stays at Greenfield, we’ll be able to talk more often, won’t we?
We’ll attend social gatherings as a couple, and one day, we’ll have a child and watch side-by-side as they run through this vast garden.
How happy every day would be.’
But the blossom had withered and died.
Thinking of the five years she had spent in the empire, Merdi erased the faded fantasy she had painted in her mind.
“Sit down,” Clifton commanded.
At Clifton’s command, Merdi raised her eyes and quickly took the seat across from him.
A faint, unfamiliar scent of cigarettes hung in the air.
Her eyes darted around, finding only an empty ashtray, but the lingering aroma was undeniable.
He had been smoking.
‘I never knew he smoked,’ she mused.
Though she could hardly claim to know him well, she had long been aware of his obsessive fastidiousness.
His sister, the Grand Dame Margaret, had warned her, and Merdi had witnessed it herself on several occasions.
He never removed his gloves, never wore the same clothes twice, and she had even seen him change into a fresh pair after shaking someone’s hand.
His compulsive cleanliness was suffocating—in truth, everything about him left her breathless.
Perhaps it was his gaze, which always seemed to be assessing some failing in her, or perhaps it was simply her fear of what was to come.
She had never felt so small, not even when surrounded and taunted by the glamorous young ladies of the court.
But somewhere along the way, he had gained the power to choke the very air from her lungs.
To escape the precarious ledge she now found herself on, she had to make her intentions clear today.
There was no avoiding it.
Merdi surreptitiously tightened her grip on the hands folded in her lap.
“I came to see you today, Your Grace, because I felt our discussion was left incomplete.”
His gaze locked onto hers.
“The annulment, you mean?”
Merdi swallowed against a dry throat and nodded.
“Yes.
That day, you refused to listen, saying you would pretend you had never heard me.”
“It was a conversation not worth having,” he replied, his voice smooth, the words autocratic.
A spark of defiance ignited in her chest, a small flame against the cold wall of his arrogance.
Though her mouth was still parched, the words she needed to say formed with perfect clarity.
“I am your fiancée, Your Grace.
Therefore, I have the right to decide on our marriage.”
Clifton let out a short, derisive laugh.
“You have a right to decide, Miss Merdi?”
“Yes.”
“How amusing,” he said, his casual tone laced with mockery.
“To think you possess a right that even I do not.”
Stripped of its usual polite veneer, his voice was as cold as if he were addressing a complete stranger.
It was the first time he had spoken to her with such blatant contempt.
In the past, his scorn would have brought tears to her eyes, but now it was as if her emotions had burned to ash.
It was bearable.
Clifton leaned forward, abandoning the backrest of his chair.
“I did not decide this marriage, nor did you.
It was entirely the will of His Majesty the Emperor.”
Merdi released the lip she had been biting.
“His Majesty did not command our marriage; he proposed it.
That means I do have a choice.”
“You fail to comprehend,” he retorted.
“A proposal to a vassal state is no different from a command.
The Empire showed you magnanimity by allowing you to keep a final shred of pride.
It is a pity you see it otherwise.”
“…That is a lie.”
For the first time, Merdi met his gaze head-on.
“I know the Empire faced criticism for occupying the Kingdom of Belloc.
If my family had not accepted this marriage, the Empire’s honor would not be what it is today.”
‘Hah.’ A laugh of pure disbelief escaped him as he adjusted the knot of his loosened tie.
“Honor.
Do you truly believe you have any right to utter that word?
Not after leaving such a stain on mine.”
“A stain…?”
“You know precisely what I mean.
Accepting you was a sacrifice I made for the Empire.
If not for you, I would never have had to face the shame of the Greenfield bloodline being tainted by a half-breed.”
‘Half-breed.’ The blunt, cruel word sent a hot flush across Merdi’s face.
The Belloc royal family was known for its vibrant green eyes and red-gold hair, and Merdi was no exception.
The coloring made her stand out among the ladies of the Empire—an unavoidable mark of her bloodline.
People pointed, calling her a foreigner, whispering that she was muddying the pure waters of the grand ducal house.
She had grown used to it, even numb.
But to hear the word from his own lips was a shock of a different magnitude.
As she reeled from the humiliation, Clifton continued without mercy.
“How long do you imagine your people will live in prosperity?
Until our railways plow through your wheat fields and the smoke from our factories smothers the scent of your flowers?”
Merdi fell silent.
“Brilliant,” he sneered.
“Incompetent, irresponsible, with nothing left but pride.
It seems blood will out, after all.
You are just like your father, believing his kingdom will somehow muddle through on its own.”
The thorny words poured out, relentless.
When he finished, he exhaled a long breath.
“If you wanted to demand an annulment, you should have refused the day the engagement was proposed.
Not now, with the wedding just around the corner.”
The flicker of anger in his eyes had subsided, leaving them cold and placid once more.
“In conclusion, there is nothing for you to decide.
Nothing at all.”
His long fingers retightened the knot of his tie with sharp precision, and his gaze was once again calm and clear.
Merdi fell silent, crushed by a dogmatic tone that sounded like a final verdict.
She bowed her head, and for a moment, it looked as though she were crying.
One of Clifton’s eyebrows began to arch in irritation, but just as it did, she snapped her head up.
Thankfully, there were no tears.
“You are not even going to ask, are you?” she challenged.
“Ask what?”
“Why I want to end the engagement.”
His indifferent gaze drifted over her flushed cheeks.
“Do I need to know?”
Merdi fought to swallow the bitter emotion rising in her throat.
“You know that I used to adore you, do you not, Your Grace?
But at some point, even the thought of you became agonizing.”
‘Used to adore…’ Clifton unconsciously mulled over the phrase.
“The symptoms only grew worse,” she pressed on.
“Just thinking about facing you made my heart pound as if it would leap from my chest.
I would break out in a cold sweat.
But we are to be husband and wife.
We will have to… share a bedroom.”
As she spoke, Clifton’s expression grew steadily darker, but she refused to stop.
“My request to annul our engagement is not some childish whim, Your Grace.
It is an absolute necessity.”
Clifton was silent, his expression unreadable.
“What I mean is…”
She hesitated, her lips parting and closing several times before she could force the words out.
The sound of her swallowing was lost in the heavy silence.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, as if on the verge of some momentous act, she finally spoke.
‘What I’m trying to say is…’
“The truth is… the mere thought of holding your hand makes me want to vomit.”
At the word “vomit,” one of Clifton’s perfectly composed eyebrows arched questioningly.
Yet Merdi’s eyes, though filled with a helpless desperation, were utterly clear, holding not a single trace of deceit.