Astrid had not slept a wink all night.

She spent the night wide awake and stumbled through her morning prayers and breakfast. When the abbot summoned her, the afternoon sun was blazing, warming the monastery walls.

Light, something Astrid had not fully felt during her three gray years within the monastery, crept through the walls and cast a glow on her pale face.

‘It can’t be… Caleb wouldn’t have said anything to the abbot. That’s impossible…’

Fear gnawed at her thoughts. Would she be expelled? Thrown into the underground prayer room? Fighting off the unease that slowed her steps, Astrid forced herself toward the abbot’s office.

The abbot’s office was a place she had visited countless times, yet she hesitated to knock on the door now. Knowing she couldn’t avoid what awaited, Astrid closed her eyes tightly, then opened them with resolve. She knocked firmly.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sharp sound echoed down the narrow hallway, followed by the creak of the heavy door as it slowly opened.

Creeeak—

As she stepped inside, ready to greet the abbot, her words froze in her throat.

“Abbess, good aftern—!”

Across from the abbot, seated with a posture that was far from proper, was a man.

…Caleb?

Astrid’s blue eyes widened as she recognized him. Rising slowly, Caleb approached her with steady, purposeful strides.

Then, to her astonishment, he knelt on one knee before her.

“Lady Astrid Bowell, will you accept my proposal?”

Though on one knee, there was nothing servile in his demeanor—his confidence was unshakable. Shocked by the sudden proposal, Astrid stood frozen in place.

‘This can’t be happening…’

Her mind spun, unable to grasp what was unfolding.

“Sir Caleb, what… what is this…?”

The mention of his name caused one of Caleb’s eyebrows to arch slightly. Astrid, belatedly realizing she had addressed him as Sir Caleb rather than his formal title, blushed with embarrassment.

‘A sudden proposal? But doesn’t he think I’m a man? How… how does he know the truth?’

Flashes of Caleb’s words from the previous night surfaced in her mind.

“Since I’ve found a treasure, it’s only natural I claim it. I must have you for myself.”

Suddenly, she began to understand. He wasn’t after Astrid Bowell as a person; it was the knowledge she carried that he sought. Caleb had been curious about her potion-making secrets.

‘How much does he know about me?’

That she was a woman? That she was a Bowell and once his betrothed? Caleb’s exact knowledge was unclear, but it didn’t matter. Astrid’s instincts screamed one thing:

‘This is my one chance to escape the monastery and Hestian.’

Her deliberation was short, her decision swift.

Astrid grabbed Caleb’s large hand and pulled it to her chest. His hand was enormous—too big for her small ones to hold fully. Caleb, momentarily startled, soon smiled faintly, a sight that left Astrid mesmerized.

‘…This isn’t a dream, is it?’

The sudden opportunity to escape, brought by this man, felt surreal. Only the rough texture of Caleb’s hand pressing against hers grounded her to reality.

A man with a devilishly handsome face, the eyes of a predator, and the aura of a savage.

‘Only this man can save me now.’

She silently vowed not to let go of his hand.

Caleb’s dark, abyss-like eyes gazed down at her. Her desperation was written clearly in her pleading eyes.

Her silent message: Don’t let go of this hand.

Without a word, Caleb leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on the back of her pale hand. Like the soft petals of spring flowers, his lips lingered briefly before retreating.

“My Lady?”

His impatient voice prodded her for an answer. Trembling, Astrid finally spoke.

“…On one condition.”

“Speak,” he said.

“Do you really not mind?” Astrid asked, her voice tentative. “You must know I’ve been married before. I just… wanted to be sure.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Caleb’s expression grew complex and unreadable.

‘So it does bother him, after all? Even if he proposed for the sake of the potion’s secrets, he might regret it soon enough.’

Astrid worried silently. What if she followed him to Croatan, only to be cast out shortly after? She couldn’t stop the unease welling up inside her, even though mentioning this now was unlikely to help her case. The overwhelming anxiety demanded confirmation. Astrid unconsciously dropped her head.

“…!”

Suddenly, a rough yet gentle sensation touched her cheek. Caleb’s calloused hand cupped her small face, his voice firm as he replied,

“Of course. Lady Astrid Bowell, your very existence is enough.”

“In that case, please, be my Grand Duke.”

With heartfelt sincerity, Astrid returned the gesture by placing a kiss on the back of his hand.

She didn’t care if she wasn’t a wife but merely a servant. As long as she could escape Hestian and flee to another world with him, she would gladly kiss not the back of his hand but the top of his foot.

For the first time, Caleb’s ever-composed face stiffened in surprise.

‘Why that expression…?’

Astrid’s concern deepened, but before she could dwell on it, Caleb burst into laughter, his smile lighting up his entire face.

“Well, you are certainly fitting to be the Grand Duchess of Cliff. Bold and decisive—I like that very much.”

The tone was more teasing than complimentary, and as Caleb continued to laugh, Astrid floundered, unsure how to respond.

“…This cannot be allowed!”

The sharp interjection came from Julio, who had barged into the conversation.

“No matter who you are, Lord Lionel, you cannot simply take a woman from the monastery as you please!”

Caleb’s sharp gaze shifted to Julio.

“Even with the Pope’s permission?” he asked, his mocking tone matched by the sly curve of his lips.

Julio met Caleb’s gaze unflinchingly, his arms crossed.

‘Is this what the Pope meant by granting any request? The old man’s lost his mind.’

Julio silently cursed the Pope for sending Astrid to someone like this. He loathed the thought of handing her over to such a man.

Long ago, Julio had vowed to protect Astrid, who had sought refuge in his monastery. She might bear the weight of sin, but her soul was purer than anyone’s.

Even if the Pope himself had authorized her departure, Julio could not let her go easily. As long as she resided in the monastery, she was under his protection.

“Show me the permit,” Julio demanded.

“I was thinking about it,” Caleb replied, feigning thoughtfulness. “But with such poor hospitality, I don’t see why I should bother.”

He reached into his coat as if to retrieve the document, only to reveal an empty hand, his smirk infuriatingly smug.

Julio’s patience snapped. “Without the permit or proof of an engagement, you cannot take Sister Astrid from here! As the abbot of St. Francesca’s Monastery, I will not allow even an ant to enter or leave without my permission!”

“Hah!” Caleb let out a bark of laughter, then began striding toward Julio with long, deliberate steps. His towering presence cast an imposing shadow.

‘This bastard has feelings for her.’

The suspicion danced in Caleb’s mind as he closed the distance. It disgusted him to think of Julio harboring ulterior motives.

“You’re questioning the Pope’s authority? Or do you think I’m an easy target?” Caleb asked, his voice laced with menace.

“…”

“Do you think someone who kills monsters with his bare hands, devours raw flesh, and drinks their blood is a joke? Or has my reputation not reached this backwater?”

Caleb leaned over the desk, planting his hands on it as he brought his face inches from Julio’s.

“Is that a challenge?” Caleb asked softly, his voice deadly.

Julio’s jaw tightened, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Even if you behead me here, I will not release Sister Astrid. This monastery is a sacred, untouchable space. Not even the King of Croatan could violate its sanctity without cause.”

“Then I’ll take that as a challenge,” Caleb growled, his smirk twisting into something feral. He grabbed Julio by the collar, lifting him effortlessly off the ground.

Julio remained still, his defiant composure unwavering, even as his face grew pale.

“Let’s see how long you can keep your mouth shut,” Caleb sneered.

Just as he was about to cast Julio aside, Astrid’s panicked voice cut through the tension.

“No! Stop!”

“…Astrid?”

Caleb looked down at the small figure clinging to his waist.

“You can’t spill blood in the monastery! Lord Caleb, this could escalate into an international incident. Please!”

“…Damn it,” Caleb cursed under his breath, finally letting Julio go. He practically tossed him aside in frustration.

“Gah… cough, cough…!”

Though he avoided further harm, Julio seemed shaken from the rough treatment. Clutching his throat with both hands, he coughed violently.

“…Abbot.”

Astrid couldn’t bring herself to ask if he was all right—it was evident that he wasn’t.

‘Who is she worried about?’

Caleb scowled as he watched Astrid fret over Julio, pacing anxiously around him.

“…Hah. I’m fine, Sister,” Julio finally rasped.

“That’s a relief…”

“But, Sister, you must also remember that without the Pope’s permission, you cannot take a single step beyond these walls. Even if it were a proposal from the King of Croatan, not just the Grand Duke, it would be the same.”

As Julio’s words dragged on, Astrid’s expression darkened.

“…So, if the permit is all that’s needed?” she asked hesitantly.

“Precisely. Bring the proper authorization, and I’ll have no choice but to comply,” Julio replied, brushing off his wrinkled cassock as he stood. His words carried a clinging regret and heavy obsession that made Caleb’s mood sour further.

“If it’s just a permit, I’ll have it by tomorrow. But if you so much as touch my lady, forget diplomacy—I’ll take your head first,” Caleb growled.

“…Do as you wish, Your Grace,” Julio responded, bowing courteously. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, clearly mocking.

Caleb’s hand twitched, tempted to strike, but he managed to restrain himself—only because of Astrid’s pleading, silent gaze.

In the end, Astrid remained confined in the monastery. Caleb left with a promise to return with the permit, leaving her behind.

She was escorted back to her quarters under the watchful eyes of the nuns. Once there, they locked her inside.