EEA Chapter 20

The Tiliph Knights' thirty-day duty cycle ended. Clint spent his time at Excalize getting lectured by the old administrators—all their concerned nagging disguised as education about defending the castle—before coming home to sleep properly.

Part of his lazy existence had been deliberate, designed to remain inconspicuous. But truth be told, Clint had a natural gift for idleness. A day spent drinking and enjoying light romance suited him perfectly.

Still, for the sake of propriety during the early days of marriage, he'd decided to make an effort at being respectable. Except that effort was completely wasted.

Because Ailea wouldn't come out of her room.

On the first day, Clint hadn't thought much of it when she was nowhere to be seen. But by the second day, she remained absent. Except for the investiture ceremony, he genuinely couldn't find her.

When Ailea first said she'd come to the residence, he'd worried she might spy on him meeting other women. Instead, she'd vanished from his sight entirely.

I'm not asking for surveillance anymore. They hadn't married for love, that was clear. But surely leaving her husband to his own devices wasn't the answer?

Today, Clint had to find her. In his hand was a ball invitation delivered from the Crown Prince.

He knocked on her door. "Ailea, come out for a moment."

No answer. He frowned and knocked again. "Ailea."

When he kept calling, one of the residence's maids spoke up. "Miss Ailea is out at this hour."

"Out?"

"Yes."

Out? Clint had never imagined Ailea going anywhere on her own.

To his surprise, just then, the door opened and Ailea came in. Seeing her, Clint said with obvious displeasure, "I thought you were home."

"Oh, I went to the library for a bit."

That figures.

So this was where she'd been spending her time—the library. It was a relief, though the invitation in Clint's hand still felt heavy.

"There's going to be a ball soon."

"A ball?"

Roylins would be officially hosting it, though the reality was that his lover, Rita Brea, would be organizing it.

Ailea stared at the invitation he handed her.

『This celebration is held to commemorate the marriage of Grand Duke Excalize and his wife. Your attendance is requested.

P.S. Masks are not permitted.』

It made perfect sense for the Crown Prince to hold a celebration for Clint and Ailea's marriage. Officially, Roylins and Clint had been known as old friends for years, and Clint had accomplished deeds worthy of historical record.

But the prohibition against masks was clearly meant to wound Ailea. Clint found himself confused. By his understanding, Roylins should have felt apologetic toward her. Yet he seemed to harbor something like anger instead—as if he were blaming Clint for his inability to see Rita for a time.

"Just think of it as stopping by to pay your respects, Ailea," Clint said, worried she might panic.

To his surprise, she answered calmly, "It's fine. Nothing too terrible will happen."

"You think so?"

"Yes. Surely they won't say anything directly to my face. People will just whisper, and I can pretend not to hear."

"That's very brave of you."

Clint found his wife so admirable that he had to restrain himself from mussing her hair.

That night, when Ailea had wept in her wedding gown and Clint had kissed her forehead, she'd thought: Maybe I'm not the terrible thing Roylins said I was.

At the sound of his wife's brave voice, Clint's worry eased, and he smiled warmly. "Did you bring all your dresses from the Outer Castle? I'll pick one for you."

"You? Pick dresses?"

"I see women's clothes better than women do."

"Is that something to be proud of? Are you bragging?"

"Just plan to dress up as beautifully as possible. Show me your dress room."

"The thing is... I don't have one."

"What do you mean, no dress room?"

"Because I don't have... any dresses."

Clint's expression twisted with bewilderment. "Why don't you have dresses?"

While Ailea had lived in the palace, money for clothes wasn't abundant. Beyond that, she'd never received gifts from Roylins for her birthday, the founding festival, or any other occasion, so she had no jewelry either.

Before her illness, she'd bought a few nice dresses, but when she was exiled to the Outer Castle, she'd sold them all. The money had gone to repairing the old fortress or purchasing things that wouldn't burn easily. A thought occurred to her.

"Maybe we could borrow some? I've heard that Roop, a merchant at the Outer Castle, has a wife with the most beautiful dresses."

"Go to an imperial ball in a dress borrowed from a merchant's wife? When she's not even nobility?" Clint sounded genuinely irritated. "And why are you only telling me about this invitation now..."

He should have mentioned the ball to Ailea the moment he heard about it. If he'd known about the dress situation, he would have prepared something earlier.

Clint's eyes turned cold in a way that made Ailea feel a little frightened. "You're telling me you don't have a single dress?"

"I still have my wedding dress, at least..."

"Throw that away. In the trash."

Clint found a servant and instructed him, "Getting fine jewels on short notice will be difficult, so bring fresh flowers instead."

"Yes, understood."

Late afternoon found Ailea flustered—the entire household seeming to revolve around her dress crisis. After assigning tasks to the servants, Clint grabbed Ailea's hand and pulled her along.

"You're coming dress shopping with me."

They took a carriage out of the palace toward the city center, where luxury shops lined the streets. There, designers of note from across the realm had opened their boutiques.

Ailea gazed out the carriage's small window at the prosperous center, looking enchanted. She hardly seemed like someone who'd visited often. Watching her expression, Clint felt an odd ache in his chest. She found joy in such small things, seemed content with so little. There was nothing wrong with her modesty, exactly, but it pained him that she'd drawn her own boundaries so low.

The full moon rose beautifully beyond the open carriage window. The carriage stopped before the shop of the city's most famous designer.

Ailea climbed down first and froze.

Rita was inside, modeling a beautiful dress, turning for Roylins's approval.

Whoever was displeased, Rita pointed to another dress, then disappeared to change. And through the glass, Roylins's gaze shifted outward—directly at Ailea.

He watched her with expressionless eyes.

Ailea's heart dropped to her feet. Her gaze locked with his, and behind her, Clint stepped down from the carriage. He saw Roylins watching Ailea intently, saw that she was watching him in return.

She hesitated, then turned and wrapped her arm tightly around Clint's. Clint looked down at his wife's action, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. He bent toward her and asked, "Are you trying to make me jealous?"

Ailea's innocent sky-colored eyes gazed up at him. Her long lashes moved in a way that seemed to hold some secret. Standing in the moonlight, shadows from branches seemed to fall across her face, some areas dark as though painted, others palely, almost painfully, white.

When Clint's fingers trailed slowly from her ear down to her nape, Ailea started. In the darkness, a pair of dark gold eyes watched her with an intensity that, up close, felt cold enough to frighten her.

Roylins vanished from her mind in an instant. Clint sometimes made her heart clench in a way that felt almost painful. He bent closer and said, "Do it properly, then."

He was close enough that she could feel his breath. Ailea tried to turn away—but then she caught sight of Roylins still watching them from his sofa with that same impassive expression.

Clint's mind went dark. If Ailea still held such feelings for Roylins... if she still harbored that much emotion for him...

"Should we kiss?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Ailea was startled.

Ailea's feelings toward Roylins were complex. Humans were foolish creatures—when something she'd believed in for seven years crumbled, the betrayal cut as deeply as her devotion had been strong. She wished she could ignore him entirely, but it was impossible. She kept thinking of him, and it only deepened her wounds.

She turned her gaze back to Roylins inside the shop and answered quietly, "No, that's... that's not necessary."

Her attention turned to another man, and Clint's beautiful face twisted. He pulled her to him almost roughly, practically dragging her back into the carriage.

"Clint?"

"Different shop."

His movements were harsh enough that she gasped.

"I'm uncomfortable, Clint..."

Under normal circumstances, Clint would have released her at the slightest distance. Not tonight. Instead, he held her closer, pulling tight enough that her voice broke—tight enough for her to say it hurt.

Clint's mind went blank. Only one thought remained: he wanted Ailea to feel nothing but disgust for Roylins Theresia de Calise. Anything else.

He was only hurting her.

So let that man vanish from her thoughts entirely.

Ailea was bewildered by how forcefully Clint held her. His face appeared carefree and sharp-featured on the surface, but his body was impossibly strong—something inhuman.

Honestly, she found it difficult to believe that this young libertine had reclaimed Excalize from the Kanna Empire. Looking at the thoughtless knights in his order, it seemed impossible.

Yet what was remarkable was the absolute trust between them. The commander trusted his soldiers completely, and they trusted him without reservation.

While Ailea's mind wandered, Clint spoke gently. "There's a designer with quick hands at the end of this street. Pretty is secondary—we need a dress fast."

Ailea nodded. Fortunately, Clint soon returned to his usual gentle manner, and he seemed almost sorry for his roughness, carefully arranging her disheveled hair on one of her shoulders.

The carriage soon stopped before a shop. When Clint knocked on the door, the designer Beige, who'd been sleeping on the second floor, opened it.

"What on earth at this hour—"

She stopped cold when she saw it was Clint, slapped her own mouth, then quickly became professional. "Oh my, Grand Duke Excalize, you've changed women—I mean, you've found someone new?"

"Let's just say nothing, shall we?" Clint replied smoothly.

Beige looked about Clint's age—perhaps a few years older. She had unpleasantly coarse hair.

She apparently hadn't heard about Clint's marriage, though by the time the ball was over, the entire capital would be talking about it.

Beige regarded Clint with clear displeasure. "About that last time—you said you'd never come back. My quality drops? How dare you insult my artistic vision like that!"

"You did rush the work. And I knew you'd come around anyway."

"Fast work is still part of my artistry! I almost starved because of your bad reputation."

Beige turned on the lights. The shop displayed several finished dresses. Clint said, "I'm here to have my wife choose a dress."

"Surely you're joking?"

Beige looked shocked when she saw Ailea. The discolored skin was... concerning. Beige found herself wondering how to refuse without causing harm.

If she wears something of mine, my already-poor reputation will sink further. But she also couldn't reject so important a client as Clint. He'd been demanding in the past, but she hardly had many customers to begin with.

Well, life is what it is. Besides, Beige was someone who preferred to take a loss herself rather than harm someone who so clearly had struggled. She spoke. "How about sky blue? To match your eyes?"

"Blue? I've never worn that before. I'm curious."

Ailea answered brightly. Truthfully, she'd been holding her breath, afraid Beige might refuse to sell to her.

Buying dresses after her illness had become difficult. Many designers wouldn't sell to her, saying her appearance would damage their reputation. Instead, Ailea had sewn and altered her own clothes alone.

She'd wanted to keep her body hidden from others, so she asked to change alone in the fitting room. When she emerged in the dress, Beige scratched her head and said, "I'll need to take up quite a lot."

"Will it be ready in time?"

"When do you need it?"

"In two days..."

"Well, I've still got time."

Beige shrugged, but Clint spoke. "I'm sending flowers and decorations here. Add them all to the dress within those two days."

"What? You want me to do all that in two days?!"

"Just don't take other work for those two days. I'll pay accordingly."

Clint wrote a check. When Beige saw the amount, her eyes widened comically. She mentally praised her past self for not refusing this job.

Two days later, when Ailea tried on the completed dress, she felt dumbfounded.

She'd never worn anything so elaborate. Over a rounded petticoat, she wore a dress where white and sky blue mingled in eye-catching harmony, the design emphasizing her slender arms and tiny waist.

Clint watched Ailea for a long moment. Fresh flowers in red tones had been woven through her platinum hair like a crown. When Ailea turned to face him, she said, "This is the first time I've ever been dressed up like this."

She was the Ailea who usually apologized if he looked at her too long, but today, she seemed satisfied with her reflection and offered no such apologies.

In Clint's eyes too, she was profoundly beautiful. Her hands and throat were adorned with fresh flowers, making her look like a girl born from flowers themselves.

"The waist isn't too tight, is it?"

Ailea glanced down at her waist. As her gaze fell, Clint murmured almost shyly, "...Today, you're really beautiful. Please believe that."

Clint usually had flattery so ready it rolled off his tongue. But today, somehow, the words wouldn't come easily. He felt almost embarrassed.

When he spoke with unexpected bashfulness, Ailea blushed and nodded slightly.

"I will."