Chapter 1: Consummation on the Night of the New Moon (9)

“…Ugh.”

After her family left, Larie headed for the nearest bathroom. This was the first time she’d ever felt such revulsion while swallowing the pills her mother gave her.

She retched repeatedly in the guest bathroom. Her queasy stomach made it easy to throw up the pill she had taken.

“…Haa…”

Barely managing to pull herself together and make herself presentable, Larie moved her weakened body.

Just as she was about to exit the bathroom, she heard people outside and instinctively stepped back.

“I’m telling you, I happened to overhear it by chance—really by chance—and the moment she opened her eyes, she asked for the master?”

At the familiar voice, Larie’s expression soured. Of all times, she had to overhear gossip about herself now.

“My goodness, how shameless can she be?”

“Who knows. Probably faking again. Remember that whole fuss last year? She really has no shame.”

It wasn’t anything new to hear the maids gossiping about her. While most people in the mansion were kind, not everyone was. Some maids had been wary of Larie from the beginning simply because she was a Tromperie.

Things had truly turned hostile after the incident with Susan. Whether intentional or not, she’d often hear insults clearly within earshot these days.

“Oh right, yesterday in District 4—”

The cheerful, giggling voices gradually faded away. Only then did Larie step out into the hallway.

“Haa…”

Even sighing didn’t ease the pressure in her chest. She stared blankly into the empty air before finally forcing her legs to move. She was trying hard not to stumble when it happened again—as if misfortune came in waves—a displeased clearing of the throat sounded behind her.

“Ahem.”

The Marquis of Fridas, whose features resembled the Grand Madam, was walking into the central hall. As she faced him—Terian’s maternal uncle—her father’s words from earlier suddenly echoed in her mind.

‘In that case, we’ll just have to steal those blueprints…’

Could the blueprints be connected to the Marquis of Fridas?

The Marquisette of Fridas, the Grand Madam’s family, was known for producing brilliant scholars for generations. They were not only well-educated but also noble in character, earning widespread admiration from those inspired by their example.

When the previous Grand Duke fell on the battlefield, there were those who tried to claim the young Terian’s position. It was the Marquis of Fridas who defended Terian’s claim. Thanks to that, it was well known that Terian regarded his maternal uncle as a father figure.

The current Marquis of Fridas, the Grand Madam’s brother, was also a man of great learning. He had a particular interest in introducing new technologies to the lands abandoned by mythical beings.

His greatest creation was the train.

“Hello.”

“…Greetings.”

As Larie quickly bowed her head, the Marquis of Fridas returned the greeting with a stiff expression.

That look made her body shrink again. The Marquis, a symbol of virtue and integrity, was also famously known to detest the Tromperie family.

Larie wanted nothing more than to avoid being noticed. Unfortunately, the only way back to the Grand Duchess’s quarters required passing through the mansion’s main hall.

“….”

She hesitated, debating whether to mention the conversation about the train blueprints.

Perhaps misinterpreting her pause, the Marquis addressed her with a cold gaze.

“Did Baron Tromperie visit again?”

“…Yes…”

His eyes flicked toward the entrance of the manor’s garden. He must have seen the Tromperie carriage departing as he arrived.

“Be sure to tell the Baron to show some restraint. Visiting every week is extremely rude.”

“…Yes…”

“I’ll take my leave.”

The way he pronounced “Tromperie” twisted his face with visible disgust. That undisguised displeasure was something Larie had grown all too familiar with since the start of her marriage.

So Larie simply lowered her head in return, deciding she would speak about the blueprints only after gathering more information.

“To think such people are flourishing. Tsk. The great heroes must be weeping in their graves.”

His grumbling echoed behind him as he walked away—loud enough for her to hear clearly. Her feet felt heavy, as if glued to the floor.

At the tail end of the Imperial War, only one final strategic fortress—Espoir Castle—stood in the way of the vast Shupetania army. The Laxtreen Imperial Army, which should have been reinforcing it, had been misled to a distant region by Tromperie’s spies.

They needed to hold out for just one more day. Everyone believed Shupetania would break through Espoir and take the capital.

But two heroes defied all expectations and held the gates.

The pair, unusually, were husband and wife—Count Ventus and Countess Ventus. The Count had always been known as a skilled knight. The Countess, rare among nobles, was blessed by the gods and possessed unmatched strength, like a mountain incarnate.

Together, they bought time until reinforcements arrived. Though both died in a desperate resistance, the gates of Espoir were never breached.

Winter came early that year. Caught off guard, drunk on premature victory, the Shupetania forces had no choice but to retreat. That turning point brought the long war to its end.

“……”

And so Larie knew well: compared to the Ventus family, the Tromperie bloodline was shameful.

She, too, who belonged to it, was someone deserving of scorn.

The weight in her chest was so heavy she could hardly move. Still, she forced herself to climb the stairs one step at a time.

If she could just shut herself away in her room, maybe she could forget this shame.

But with every step, the burden inside her clung stubbornly to her feet, like something sticky and vile.

At moments like this, she feared she might truly be hollow—just an empty shell.

❖ ❖ ❖

Two days had passed.

Though she had thought she vomited up the medicine, it had clearly been too late. The pain returned—sharp and merciless—swallowing Larie whole.

Yesterday, she couldn’t even eat. She played the part of someone with no appetite, hiding her pallor as best she could.

No one asked her what was wrong. Everyone simply left her alone.

But contrary to her hopes, the pain only worsened. As the second night drew near, it felt like every joint in her body was snapping apart, one by one.

In despair, she checked the calendar.

The new moon.

“Ah…”

She was used to hurting on these nights, but never like this. It had to be the changed medicine. Combined with the new moon’s curse, it was unbearable.

Focusing on her body’s breaking sensations, Larie bit down hard on her lip. Sometimes the pain was so overwhelming it wiped her mind blank.

Naturally, her thoughts turned to Terian.

“No…”

She buried her face in the pillow with a breathless whisper.

But the more she tried not to think of him, the more vividly his image filled her mind.

After hearing his true feelings that night, she had sworn never to go to him again.

“It hurts…”

The pain surged again, like a tidal wave crashing through her bones. Her fingers, clenched tight around the sheets, had gone pale.

Larie held on for as long as she could. But in the end, she sat up.

If she could escape the pain—even for a moment—

In her blurred and fogged mind, only the memory of those wide, sheltering arms remained.

❖ ❖ ❖

It was a night when sleep refused to come.

Terian sat at a small table, staring out the window instead of lying in bed.

The new moon had risen. There was no light tonight. The world was swallowed in darkness.

He could have accepted that silence.

But something tugged at him, kept his thoughts twisted and restless.

Larie. She lingered in his mind.

He had deliberately stayed away. After that day, there were no more reports of her collapsing. He planned to simply forget.

Especially when he still didn’t know what Tromperie was planning next.

Yet for the past two days, Larie’s presence had begun to irritate him again.

The reports that she refused meals and hadn’t left her room kept tugging at his thoughts, making his mind waver in spite of himself.

With a frustrated breath, Terian ran a hand through his hair and found himself recalling a distant memory—unbidden.

The very first day he saw Larie, he had thought a long-lost nymph had returned to the world.

He’d always found social gatherings a chore, but it was getting harder to skip out on imperial banquets with flimsy excuses. He had no choice but to attend.

That day had been Larie’s debutante ball.

One by one, the young ladies making their society debut at the age of eighteen entered the grand ballroom. Among them was one who exuded a uniquely mysterious aura.

Her attire was plain compared to the other girls, even humble—but no one questioned it. The long silver hair cascading to her waist was more than enough to set her apart.

Her downcast gaze gave her an air of dignity, even aloofness. Anyone else might’ve seemed nervous, but her unique atmosphere turned it into something elevated.

Then, at that exact moment, Larie raised her eyes—and among the sea of strangers, they met Terian’s directly.

As those green eyes locked onto him, Terian felt a strange sensation swell within him. It was like the fresh breath of a forest had enveloped his entire body in one brief, euphoric instant.

“Lady Larie Tromperie, daughter of Baron Tromperie, enters the hall—!”

Unfortunately, that nameless sensation hadn’t even fully taken shape before it was slammed into the ground.

“Oh my… that’s her, isn’t it?”

“No wonder the baron dotes on her.”

“Goodness, what fabric is that dress made of? I don’t know what it is, but of course—Tromperie probably just threw money.

“Hmph, a dress sewn from dirty money.”

The instant the herald announced her name, the ballroom was swept into a flurry of whispers. It was the first time the infamous daughter of the Tromperie house had shown her face in society.

Noticing the murmurs directed at her, Larie lowered her gaze to the floor once more. Because of that, Terian had to chase after her now-hidden green eyes with conflicting emotions.

Of all people, a Tromperie.

“Hoo……”

Finishing the recollection, Terian let out a long sigh.

The long-standing feud between the two houses was still ongoing. Feeling stifled, he picked up the wine glass on the table and emptied it in one gulp.

At that moment, a small knock came from the direction of the door.

“……”

It was a tiny knock, but strangely, it felt as though someone was knocking directly on his heart. With a stiffened expression, Terian walked toward the door.

The moment he pulled it open, Larie was standing there.

“……Your Grace.”

Just like the day he first saw her, unchanged, looking like a nymph.

“……”

Her green eyes, damp with moisture, turned toward Terian. A phantom ache, as though his heart were being squeezed, followed. On a moonless night, she glowed like the moonlight itself, and Terian bit the inside of his mouth.

With a voice full of love and hate, he asked coldly,

“What is it.”

Seeing Terian react exactly as expected, Larie slightly shrank her shoulders. In doing so, a sharper pain swept over her body.

She had come here in a half-delirious state. She had vowed never to bother him again, yet here she was. The wish that he wouldn’t hate her more and the resignation twisted messily inside her.

Opening her trembling lips, Larie tried to suppress her shame.

“For… for the duty of a wife… I came.”

Every time she came to him like this, it never brought her peace of mind. Overwhelmed by the weight of it all, Larie eventually lowered her head to the floor.

Terian’s voice falling over her head made her guilt even heavier.

“……Hah.”

With a crumpled brow, Terian looked down at Larie.

What she wore on her much smaller, delicate frame was nothing more than a thin chemise, as if she were trying to seduce him.

In the early days of their marriage, Larie often did inexplicable things like this. Each time she visited his room, she couldn’t even hide her disgust, her face faintly scrunching in displeasure.

Because she always wore that expression, Terian had never fully believed the fuss surrounding her. Strange teas, poisons—there was no reason for her to consume such things merely to attract his attention.

Was it fear that she might use the duties of a wife as a pretext to end this marriage? Or was she aiming for something else?

His thoughts began to tangle complicatedly. Even her form of address grated on his nerves in this moment.

She always called him “Your Grace,” never once treating him as her husband.

With a hardened expression, Terian tried to push her away. He didn’t want to carry this twisted emotion anymore.

But his resolve to cast everything away collapsed all too easily.

“……Your Grace……”

With just a pale hand weakly grasping his sleeve.