Divorce had never once entered his calculations. He neither considered it nor needed to. From the start, he had chosen a partner with whom he intended to see the end. In his flawless design, separation had no place.

In that sense, building a cordial relationship with Ilenia was no poor choice. Most people, before entering a contract, conducted at least a light inquiry into the other party. In his case, he was simply conducting that inquiry after the contract had already been sealed.

He had tied Ilenia to him with what, to him, was little more than a trifling debt. Yet, as pure-hearted as she was, she believed that it was a debt she could never repay, even over a lifetime. For this reason, opening her heart to him was not difficult.

What he failed to realize was this: just as he stepped into Ilenia’s heart, she too stepped deeply into the sphere of his life.

It struck him only when he remembered their agreement to keep separate chambers—and realized Ilenia had never once used hers.

He had never spoken of it. After supper, she was always at his side, and the servants had no reason to suggest otherwise. And so, the room prepared for the Duchess of Lukehardt—meant for her alone—fell into disuse, quietly forgotten.

The one sign that defied all his expectations was Ilenia Lukehardt herself.

His hand, which had been resting against his temple, slid down to cup her cheek. Her skin, warm and soft from the heat of half-sleep, shifted faintly beneath his palm.

He admitted this much: her gentle presence gave him a measure of stability. The first woman he had ever touched had been the opposite of everything he was—not strong as he was, nor fragile as Ariella had seemed.

But with Ilenia, one thing was certain: no matter how tightly he held her, she did not break. She did not flee when kept at his side. She neither trembled nor recoiled in fear.

That alone was enough.

His gaze lingered on her. No matter how many hundreds, how many thousands of times he looked, she remained a horizon all her own—bright, unfathomable, never once becoming familiar.

When she was in front of him, Delphius felt complete. As though he had a home, too. Love. As though he had the right to such things, too.

‘As long as she is here. As long as there is a light that belongs only to me among countless others—then I can live this way forever.’

As his disordered thoughts settled, his vision grew clear.

“Delphius?”

Under the cool light, her pale face gleamed whiter still. She reminded him of a white flower blooming beneath the moon. He pulled her firmly into his arms.

“Did something happen outside—ah.”

Whatever she meant to say was swallowed at once. Unlike usual, her startled body responded slowly, melting into him.

The sharp tang of alcohol still on his tongue gave way to a sweet taste.

‘Honeyed milk? Did she drink it before bed?’

He had not thought of that drink since childhood, yet the memory surfaced as he pressed his tongue deeper, chasing the taste.

“Wait, just a moment, Delphius—uungh…”

She tried to speak, but each attempt was swallowed by his lips. He tore her words apart, stole her breath, and fed his hunger with every stolen gasp.

Her soft panting grew harsher, more ragged, until at last—when his desire had swelled to the point of spilling over—Delphius released her lips. So thoroughly had he bitten and consumed them that a thin, glistening thread stretched between their mouths before it disappeared.

It was nowhere near enough to satisfy him. Instead of speaking, he looked down.

Her hands, trembling, had been pushing at him all throughout the kiss. The effort behind them made him wonder what she had been so desperate to say. And so, in rare concession, he allowed himself to be pushed back.

“I… I’m tired tonight. I just want to sleep.”

At her words, he finally looked at her carefully again. Her shoulders did seem to droop more than usual.

‘So she struggled with those little hands, pushing against me with all her might, just to say that one thing?’

The thought brought a faint smile to his lips.

“Then so be it.”

His body remained tense with unreleased desire, but it was a restraint he could endure. He drew her close and lay back on the bed with her in his arms.

He hadn’t bothered to take off his clothes, but such things no longer mattered tonight. Above all, he had no intention of letting go of the warm, pliant body resting against him.

The rigid line of his arousal pressed insistently against Ilenia’s belly beneath the thin silk of her negligée, but he remained composed. With deliberate care, he swept her tousled hair to one side, fully baring her face to his gaze.

Once she had settled down, he was the only one left looking dishevelled, idly moving his hand across her back as a quiet signal for her to rest. Yet even then, her wide, reluctant eyes lingered on him.

“Can’t sleep?”

“…A little.”

“Why? Did something happen today?”

Ilenia parted her lips, then fell silent. She remained like this for a while, breathing softly in the circle of his arms, before shaking her head.

“No. Nothing at all.”

······ ✦ ✧ ✦ ······

“Truly, my lady’s sense of taste is…”

Amanda faltered, darting desperate glances toward Madam Meg. But Meg had already turned her head away, eyes shut tight, unwilling to watch.

‘Then what am I supposed to do!’

Amanda racked her brain furiously. She had spoken—now she had to see it through somehow.

“…You copy it quite well!”

The moment the words left her mouth, Meg pressed her fingers hard to her brow in the corner.

‘That… that wasn’t it, was it?’

But what else could she say? She truly had nothing left to offer.

Amanda bit her lip, staring at the vase before her that matched the one beside it with frightening precision. They had surely been told to arrange the flowers freely—and yet Lady Ilenia had managed to reproduce the display down to the last detail. A talent in its own right, perhaps, but…

“Is it not good?”

“N–No, my lady! You did wonderfully, truly!”

Amanda protested desperately. But such strong denial only confirmed the opposite.

With a faint, bitter smile, Ilenia studied the result before her.

‘Arrange the flowers freely, taking the vase only as inspiration.’

That had been the theme. And yet the two vases looked identical.

It was, at the very least, the best she could manage. She had poured all her effort into it, though not a single approving glance came from Meg or Amanda.

Her mother had always crafted bouquets with effortless grace. Ilenia sighed, recalling Lady Kurdy’s elegant hands as they shaped blossoms into beauty. She herself had often helped by trimming stems, but never once had she assembled a full bouquet alone.

Perhaps that was the reason. No matter how hard she tried, she could not meet the standard of beauty seen through their eyes. What looked lovely to her only made them tilt their heads in doubt.

These women had spent more than a decade in the Duke’s household, their tastes sharpened by noble salons and city galleries. How could Ilenia—raised among country meadows and wild fields—ever hope to compare?

“It isn’t bad, but…”

At last Meg stepped in.

“I believe it would help to leave more open space, and perhaps use a bit more variety in color.”

“Yes, my lady. After all, when it comes to handling plants, you’re already quite skilled.”

That much was true—thanks to helping her mother, she could trim stems with precision. But beyond that, she knew nothing, and therein lay the problem.

While Ilenia sighed quietly over the scissors in her hand, Meg moved swiftly around the table, tidying the scattered stems.

An eye for beauty did not develop through effort alone. It was nurtured by exposure—by seeing, by learning, by steeping oneself in art. Perhaps next time, she might gently suggest a gallery visit. Or better yet, she could mention to the master that the mistress had begun to show an interest in art—he would surely take her.

For now, Meg could only guide Ilenia’s taste through the subtleties of daily life. Even something as simple as changing the paintings on the walls might be a beginning. These thoughts flickered through her mind as she neatly gathered the trimmed stems.

Then suddenly, the sound of a disturbance broke out—hushed voices swelling, hurried footsteps rushing up and down the corridor.

From the servants, no less—servants trained never to let their steps be heard. It was unusual. More than that, it was alarming.

“Shall I see what the disturbance is?”

Of all people, Amanda was the most curious about such things. Unable to resist, she slipped out of the room—and returned not long after.

“It seems the master left behind some documents. Apparently, they’re urgent. A telegram came in demanding they be brought at once, so everyone’s been searching for them.”

Ilenia’s once-slumped shoulders straightened at once. Her eyes lit brightly as they turned toward Meg.

“Could I go?”

“My lady. This is your lesson in flower arranging.”

“I can finish it after I return.”

“…That may be so, but…”

Her expression gave everything away. Above all, it seemed that she simply wanted to see Delphius. Perhaps she also longed to escape this bewildering task.

Meg held her gaze for three long seconds — those pleading, earnest eyes fixed on her with such desperate appeal — before finally lowering her own.

When had it begun that she could no longer withstand those eyes? Once again, that endearing look had undone her. With a faint, almost bitter smile, Meg spoke softly.

“Then finish it when you return.”