Everything I Desire Is Here

But Laila shook her head almost at once. It wasn't me. He was the one who said he would look for a way to annul the marriage first.

In truth, it had been the Ervan from before she rewound time who had spoken of seeking a way to dissolve the marriage. Because Laila had turned the clock back to the very day their marriage talks were underway, the Ervan of the present had said nothing beyond promising to do as the Grand Duchess wished. And yet Laila dwelt on those words more than anything else, as though he had spoken of "a way to annul the marriage" just yesterday.

That must be what he truly thinks.

The thought left her feeling strange. She knew she was picking at her own wound, yet she could not stop.

When the song ended, Laila released Ervan's hand and stepped back a pace, gracefully lifting the hem of her skirt and bending her knee in a curtsy. The music changed soon after, and the young ladies and lords attending the banquet streamed into the center of the hall, pairing off to dance. The two of them withdrew to a corner.

"Ah, Viscount Ervan. Congratulations on your engagement. And to you as well, Grand Duchess."

As if they had only been waiting for the dance to end, middle-aged noblemen closed in on the pair. Ervan's brow creased faintly. Never before had he drawn so much attention at a banquet. Most nobles had simply kept a step back, watching him and murmuring behind their hands—as though an invisible wall stood between them. But that had changed now. The Emperor had granted his official recognition, and those hoping to forge connections with the man who would become Esdelheim's son-in-law pivoted in an instant.

"I hear my wife was discourteous to you both a short while ago. She hasn't attended a banquet in ages, and it seems the wine got the better of her. I beg your forgiveness."

It was the husband of the Marchioness whose fan Ervan had picked up earlier. The Marquis aimed his apology more at Laila than at Ervan, carefully reading her face as he spoke. Ervan stole a glance at Laila; she was watching the Marquis with a perfectly blank expression, as if to say the matter was his to handle.

"There is no need for apology, my lord. Though it does seem the Marchioness has rather poor habits when she drinks—I imagine you must have your share of worries on that account."

At Ervan's words, the Marquis's face flared scarlet.

"This is an occasion arranged by His Majesty the Emperor himself, after all. Should one display such unseemly conduct here, one might well incur His Majesty's displeasure."

Laila bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep from laughing out loud. Ervan was putting to use, word for word, the lesson he had learned on the terrace only moments ago. The Marquis, publicly shamed by a commoner-born viscount of far lower rank, turned red and blue by turns.

"Hahaha! Now that I look at you, Viscount, you're quite the smooth talker."

From behind him, a middle-aged man in red formal dress spoke up with a laugh, and Laila leaned in to whisper Count Adrian into Ervan's ear.

"His Majesty has already heard tales of your exploits many times over. But hearing them from your own lips—that would be a pleasure all its own."

"Tales of exploits, you say?"

"Of how you wrested victory from the war."

The crowd of nobles in the Count's orbit surrounded Ervan and Laila in an instant. The Marquis, barely keeping his expression in check, melted into their midst. Ervan turned his head once more to look at Laila—she was on his mind. She smiled back with practiced grace, as though none of it touched her.

"Men must have their men's talk. I have matters to discuss with Lady Vena."

The second song was drawing to a close. Laila knew exactly how to slip out of a conversation without leaving a ripple. When Ervan's gaze found hers, she gave a small nod, and only then did he turn back toward the crowd of nobles.

He's like a puppy.

The way he sought her permission made her feel as though she were watching an enormous dog that had never quite grown into its own body.

"Viscount, I hear you were tremendous in the war."

"I wouldn't call them exploits, but there was a time on the battlefield when I very nearly died. Back then—"

Watching Ervan fold himself naturally into the conversation, Laila felt a measure of relief. He was a far more articulate man than she had expected. The gathered nobles roared with laughter at his words at one moment and leaned in, hanging on every detail, the next.

As her gaze swept the breadth of the banquet hall, Laila saw the doors of the closed entrance swing open. A couple with familiar silhouettes was waving off the attendant who moved to announce their arrival, striding boldly inside. It was her own elder brother, Kyle, and his wife.

Camilla is unwell, so we will attend after the banquet has begun.

As Laila's own kin, the couple ought by all duty to have arrived early, but Kyle had long since made his arrangements, manufacturing an excuse to enter late. Seeing her sister-in-law dressed so lavishly for someone claiming poor health, Laila stiffened out of pure habit. She did not want to face the two of them. Before Kyle could spot her, she quietly turned and made for the empty terrace.

At some point, the moon had risen. Its soft light fell over Laila in serene silence. Gripping the terrace railing and leaning her upper body slightly out over it, she exhaled the breath she had been holding in one long sigh. The moment her tension unraveled, fatigue came flooding in to take its place.

How long had she stood there? The concealing curtain lifted a fraction, the door connecting to the banquet hall swung open, and Ervan walked out.

"Right now, it's certainly cooler out here than inside."

Laila did not answer, but neither did she send him away. Ervan closed the door behind him, came to stand beside her, and leaned against the railing. The wine he had drunk while trading words with the nobles had left the back of his neck flushed warmer than usual.

"I think I understand now why you like the terrace. I'm growing fond of this place myself."

He stood quietly for a moment, gazing up at the night sky.

"Because it's quiet, and private, and a place where one may behave in ways unbefitting a noble?"

"The quiet, the privacy—and the Grand Duchess. Everything I desire is here."

Laila did not blush at his words. She simply drew a cold, clean line between them.

"Viscount, grow close to the nobles and win their goodwill. You must build your own power base as quickly as possible."

"As quickly as possible?"

Ervan caught hold of the loaded part of her sentence. Laila looked away. She could hardly explain that the engagement might soon be broken, and that he ought to secure his footing among the nobility before it was. Rather than press her for an answer, Ervan spoke again.

"Grand Duchess, what I said before His Majesty the Emperor earlier was no idle words."

"And which words would those be?"

Laila lifted her head slightly and looked at him. Ervan's golden eyes, washed in moonlight, had gone grave and still.

"The Emperor's influence weighed heavily upon this marriage of ours. I do not know what intentions he harbors, and I fear they may bring you harm."

Ervan reached out slowly, carefully cradling Laila's hand, where the scabs had only just begun to form. The heat radiating from his palm began, little by little, to crumble the walls around her heart.

"But I intend to protect you from the Emperor."

His low voice carried a weight that settled into her bones.

"You will... protect me?"

"Yes."

Laila's voice feigned perfect calm, but inside was another matter entirely. You mustn't say things like that. Her breath trembled.

Something had changed. The man from before she turned back time had said, plainly, that he would look for a way to dissolve this marriage. And Laila had taken that for his true heart, believing it would hold true even after she rewound the clock. All this while, she had assumed she and Ervan were looking in the same direction. They were not. He was saying, here and now, that he would not slip away—he would break straight through.

What on earth could have changed his heart?

Laila read the raw, unguarded sincerity in Ervan's eyes. An inexplicable restlessness stirred in her chest, and she deliberately lashed out in a hard, brittle voice.

"When, exactly, did I ever ask you to protect me? Viscount."

She shook off his hand, cold as ice.

"I am the Grand Duchess of Esdelheim. I have the strength and the power to protect myself."

"I know."

Ervan withdrew his rejected hand without a flicker of protest.

"The noblewomen who whisper behind their fans, the predicament at the hunting contest—you could have handled every one of them without me."

"......"

"But that is precisely why it aches to watch, and why I want to protect you all the more."

Laila's racing heart plummeted with a heavy, sickening thud.