The Grand Duchess's Sixth First Night — Chapter 18

Ervan was, in truth, just as troubled as she was. He had never imagined he would recoil so violently from another person's touch.

'Your knot is crooked. Hold still.'

In that instant, a memory from the past flashed through Ervan's mind.

'When the Grand Duchess approached me, it hadn't been uncomfortable at all.'

On the terrace of their engagement ceremony, when Laila had reached out to fix his crooked cravat, he had surrendered his neck to her without a second thought. He had welcomed her touch, gladly — so gladly he could have lost his head to it, forgetting time and place entirely.

Which meant there was a very good solution to this problem, didn't it?

The moment the clever idea struck him, Ervan's eyes met Laila's in the mirror.

"Grand Duchess, would you help me with something?"

Ervan spoke toward her reflection in the glass.

"What would you like me to help with?"

"Please measure my neck. If it's you, Grand Duchess, I don't think I'll tense up."

At Ervan's words, the tailor clicked his tongue with an exasperated look.

"Young people these days."

Under his gaze — the look of a man watching a pair of foolish young lovers — Laila's cheeks flushed faintly. The unexpected request had flustered her a little, but it was neither awkward nor unwelcome.

Laila rose from her seat without hesitation. The tailor shuffled discreetly a step back to give her room.

Ervan, who had been standing as rigid as a statue, slowly bent his knees to bring himself level with her. His muscles strained the thin silk shirt so taut it seemed ready to burst at the seams.

Laila carefully extended both hands and took hold of the end of the measuring tape.

'I should have a few more outfits made for him, beyond just the formal wear.'

Watching the shirt buttons clinging on for dear life, ready to pop off at any moment, Laila thought to herself that he would need several more everyday garments as well.

But for now, she had to focus on taking the measurement.

The moment Laila's fingers brushed the nape of his neck, Ervan's chest muscles began to swell and fall a little too quickly, again and again. His hot breath tickled her hair.

Without meaning to, Laila swallowed dryly.

Heat was rising not just to her face but through her entire body. A strange sensation, like a tingling low in her abdomen, made her swallow again and again.

"It says seventeen and a half."

Having confirmed the measurement in record time, Laila snatched her hands away and retreated quickly from him. Her face burning scarlet, she could hardly bring herself to look at Ervan.

Privately, Ervan considered that a mercy. His own face was flushed nearly as deeply.

Praying the tailor's gaze wouldn't drift downward, Ervan did his best to cool the heat in his body.

"So, are we finished with the measurements now?"

"Yes, thanks to you, Grand Duchess. Let's see — a seventeen-and-a-half-inch neck, with a bit of allowance added..."

The tailor bent his head and began recording Ervan's measurements neatly into the notebook he held.

"Then, if you'll excuse me for a moment..."

Laila fled the fitting room without so much as waiting for Ervan's reply.

Once the heavy door closed behind her and she was alone in the quiet corridor, Laila let out a long breath. The heat burning through her refused to die down. His body, the one she had just touched, was etched into her mind with unbearable clarity.

"...What am I even thinking about."

Laila started walking. She decided she would go outside altogether and let the cool air clear her head.

"...The Young Duke of Esdelheim, you mean."

At the sound of laughter laced through the voices, Laila's footsteps stopped dead.

At the far end of the second-floor corridor, hidden from the eyes of the boutique's customers, was the staff break room. The Laila of ordinary days would have paid it no mind — but the name drifting out of that room caught her feet and held them fast.

"You mean the eldest of House Esdelheim? Not Lady Laila?"

"That's right."

"Why, what's he done now?"

Three or four of the boutique's staff were gossiping in lowered voices.

"Young Duke Kyle this, Young Duke Kyle that. It's his own sister's engagement ceremony, and apparently he was late. Again."

"I heard something different — that his wife was ill?"

A soft scoff drifted to Laila's ears.

"That's the excuse he dredged up for being late. He knows that if he lingers with society's greetings, all he'll get is brushed aside."

'Brushed aside? Kyle? My brother?'

Laila's eyes went wide.

"Wow, that's bold. His own sister's engagement, no less?"

"He's all mouth. I heard he can't string two sentences together without 'my father the Grand Duke' or 'my sister Laila' tacked on."

"Pfft, what is that even. How pathetic."

"He's got nothing of his own to boast of, so he drags his family's name in behind him. Playing the great lord works on the newcomers in society, but it'll never land with the seasoned high nobles."

"What a waste of the Esdelheim name, honestly."

The shock hit Laila like a blow to the head. The fingertips she had clenched without realizing it had gone cold.

Kyle had always criticized her words, her conduct, her every deed. And so she had endlessly inspected herself, whipped herself forward, all to avoid being caught fault by him.

'I never once thought about my brother's reputation.'

She hadn't known. She hadn't realized that he, too, as the Young Duke, could never be free of society's judgment — that just as he had pointed out her flaws, Laila could point out his.

'And I never imagined his reputation could be a bad one.'

The Kyle Laila knew had always been someone who won people over effortlessly. A gentle countenance, and a silver tongue he wielded to deftly seize control of a conversation, using her as his prop.

And the unassailable position of eldest son and Young Duke of Esdelheim.

For the first time in her life, Laila was facing someone else's view of her brother.

Her heart, dropped like a stone, pounded fitfully — as if she were the one being talked about behind her back. Shame with no clear target, betrayal, and fury all crashed over her at once.

"The Emperor already knows, of course. That's why he won't grant the Young Duke so much as a common title."

"True enough. He's old enough to have earned one by now, and he's still just 'Young Duke.' It's not even a proper peerage, is it?"

"It's basically a convenient nickname."

"Nickname's going too far, girl."

Giggles rippled through the room. In the overheated atmosphere, the staff grew bolder and bolder.

"The Emperor's too much, really. He says he cherishes the Archduchy, but it's all talk — he's given them nothing of substance. The Grand Duke has asked him, how many times, for a title for his son, and he won't grant even that."

"You never know — maybe what the Emperor's actually counting on is Grand Duchess Laila. Isn't that why he arranged this marriage?"

"Right, there was all that talk about her marrying a half-noble of common birth?"

"That's just what people who don't know anything say. The truth is..."

Reeling backward under the flood of confusion, Laila's skirt caught against a vase standing in the corridor.

The tall vase toppled onto the marble floor with a shattering crash.

"...!"

The chattering voices cut off all at once.

Laila froze where she stood.

"Who's out there?"

"Oh no — did they hear us?"

After a stretch of dead silence, a trembling voice called out to Laila in the corridor.

When she didn't answer, she heard movement inside — someone preparing to come out. At the sound of those careful footsteps, Laila swallowed hard.

'No.'

She had to do something — turn and run, pretend she'd heard nothing, or else face whatever reckoning came for daring to speak of nobles and royalty behind their backs. Anything at all.

But her mind had gone blank white, and she could do nothing.

That was when it happened.

A great shadow approached from behind her and wrapped her in its arms. Without even seeing his face, she knew instinctively who it was.

Ervan.

"Shh. Quiet."

His low murmur, his solid arm — in a single motion he hooked Laila around the waist and lifted her into his embrace, then slipped them both into the fabric storeroom, its door still half open. The swift movement that carried her away left not so much as a single footstep behind.

"...!"

Before the startled Laila could let out a cry, Ervan pressed a finger to his lips, gesturing for silence.

Eyes squeezed shut in fear, Laila nodded.