The Morning After
"They barely touched their food."
"Well, of course they didn't."
The maids giggled outside the door as they cleared the breakfast table from the bedroom of the couple who had wed just yesterday.
You think you're whispering, but I can hear every word, you gossips.
Chloe sat at the table with a disheveled face and rubbed her temples. A dull headache throbbed behind her eyes, likely because she hadn't slept off her exhaustion.
Julia, the maid setting down her breakfast, asked with concern, "Are you alright, Your Grace?"
"Yes, I'm fine, Julia. Just a bit tired. Is there any clear soup available, by any chance?"
"I'll check with the kitchen right away. And now that you are the Grand Duchess, Your Highness, please feel free to speak informally to me."
The attentive maid neatly arranged the clear soup, warm vegetables to soothe her stomach, bread, and fruit before stepping back. The aroma was mouthwatering, but such things only appealed to those who had slept well. Having barely closed her eyes last night, Chloe had absolutely no appetite. She picked up her silver spoon and listlessly stirred the soup.
"It's no wonder you have a hangover after polishing off half a bottle of that strong liquor."
The remark came in a leisurely drawl from the man sitting across from her. He had joined the table much earlier and was currently reading the newspaper. Curtis Shan Berk. Having already finished dressing, the impeccably groomed man was shamelessly sipping his tea, looking the picture of relaxation.
Chloe let the soup drip back into the bowl from her spoon and glared at him. Over the top of his newspaper, his amused purple eyes met hers without a hint of shame. In the end, she couldn't help but snap.
"How could I not drink when my husband is overworking me all night on our very first night of marriage?"
"Oh my," a young maid standing in the corner gasped, her cheeks flushing crimson. It was understandable, given how highly suggestive the phrasing was. But the reality was entirely different. Last night, Chloe had paid a steep price for becoming the Grand Duchess: she had spent the night clearing a mountain of backlogged paperwork Curtis had piled up in his office.
Curtis calmly gestured to dismiss the maid before replying, "I don't think it was all night. You did sleep, after all."
"I slept for three hours. Three hours!"
"For newlyweds, that's practically a full night's sleep."
Was it her imagination, or was the silver spoon in her hand actually bending under her grip? The moment the last servant left the room, Chloe set her spoon down with a sharp clatter.
"You promised you wouldn't make me work overtime."
"That was as my aide. The duties of the Grand Duchess are a different matter entirely."
Chloe glared at Curtis's shameless wordplay. Making her work until dawn on their wedding night, and then having the gall to lecture her about the Grand Duchess's duties? Of course, he wasn't technically wrong. The documents she had reviewed last night were, strictly speaking, the responsibility of the Grand Duchess.
The time Curtis had actually spent living in the Berk mansion after the war was relatively short. However, his period of occupancy and his period of ownership were two very different things. This estate, which had belonged to Queen Mildred during his childhood, had passed to Curtis Shan Berk after her death. Consequently, the servants tasked with running the mansion had endured a rather awkward, directionless decade.
Following Queen Mildred's passing, the assets of the Berk Grand Ducal house had been managed by a legal trustee. However, asset management and household consumption were entirely different domains. A trustee could not decide on matters like purchasing new tableware for hosting guests, or redecorating the mansion to match the seasons. Because such decisions had been neglected for nearly ten years, the backlog of pending approvals was staggering.
"The Grand Duchess's stipend for maintaining dignity doesn't come for free. Personally, I consider it a form of salary."
Apparently, when he had casually thrown out the figure of ten million shings for her stipend, he had already planned this out. Truly, there was no such thing as a free lunch. Chloe grit her teeth.
"If these matters were so urgent that they had to be handled on our wedding night, did it never occur to you to chip away at them in your spare time?"
"Why would I? I knew they would all be resolved once I married."
Chloe stared at him. Instead of agreeing to this marriage, perhaps murder was the only logical solution.
"You could have at least let me get some sleep first."
"I believe we settled that discussion yesterday."
"I know, but surely a wife is allowed to complain?"
Of course, Curtis hadn't shoved those papers at her just to torment a sleep-deprived Chloe. Deciding whether the curtains should be green or blue was obviously a trivial matter that could have waited. But there were other, more pressing issues. Chloe gulped down some water and looked around the room. It was indeed a pristine, elegant bedroom. But there was a glaring anomaly. Yesterday, after passing through the drawing room and entering the bedchamber, she had racked her brain trying to figure out what was so off about it. That was why she had been so dazed while Julia was helping her undress.
She had finally realized what was missing while knocking out the work under the pretext of 'the Grand Duchess's duties.' Although decorated with exquisite furniture, unlike the drawing room, the Grand Duke's bedroom did not have a single ceiling painting. Instead, the space was filled with expensive, luxurious furniture, velvet and silk wallpaper, burnout decorations—and several rifles and a crossbow.
"Why?" Curtis asked, noticing her gaze.
Chloe set down her water glass, wiped her mouth, and replied, "I can see your personality in this room."
You really are something else. That was what she meant. Curtis seemed to understand, letting out a soft chuckle.
"The butler kept digging his heels in, insisting that my future wife would hate it if we scraped off all the ceiling paintings in the house. I've been planning to get rid of those damn paintings the moment I got married for years."
"I'm sure you have."
Ceiling paintings were traditionally symbols of wealth and power. But they had a fatal downside: they were too easy to use for deception. It was nothing new for assassins to hide among the dizzying patterns of a ceiling painting, or to conceal magical devices for assassination among the ornate carvings. Furthermore, this mansion had no secret passages. It was only natural that the paranoid Grand Duke was dying to scrape them off.
The documents Chloe had processed last night were orders from the Grand Duchess to scrape off all the ceiling paintings in the mansion under the pretext of renovation and construction. She understood his reasoning. Chloe had noticed the moment she entered the bedroom last night that the crossbow and rifles hanging on the walls were not fixed in place. They weren't decorations; they were functional weapons ready to be used at a second's notice. Even if the King hadn't actually made a move against him yet, this mansion itself must feel like a gilded cage. A fortress with no escape routes. Curtis had really made efficient use of his newly arrived, low-born Grand Duchess.
After all, wasn't this a summer palace bestowed by the late King to the Queen? The ceiling paintings were all masterpieces by renowned, prestigious artists. The only person who could get away with ordering such priceless art to be scraped off would be a 'Grand Duchess who was a former soldier with no eye for art or dignity.' Her winning the power struggle with the head butler, Philip, also paved the way. But isn't this too much to do to someone who hasn't slept properly for days just to marry him? I'm not his political enemy.
As if reading her mind, Curtis asked casually, "Didn't you marry me knowing I have a terrible personality?"
"I didn't say a word."
Chloe gulped down more cold water. She was parched. Working late into the night, the only beverage within reach had been alcohol. To make matters worse, she had been wearing nothing but a thin silk nightgown. Even with his heavy robe thrown over her shoulders, the chill of the office had kept her reaching for the bottle. It had taken half a bottle of that harsh, burning southern liquor just to warm her bones.
"Just a personal observation."
"Let's hear it."
"You really hit the jackpot by marrying me."
Curtis glanced at her over his newspaper and chuckled. "I won't deny it."
For the record, while she had been slaving away, Curtis had spent the night doing hundreds of one-arm push-ups right next to her. She had clicked her tongue inwardly at the ridiculous display, and by the time she finally wrapped up the work and crawled into bed, the sky was already turning gray.
"Did you get any sleep?"
"For a couple who just spent their wedding night together, shouldn't we change how we address each other? It was only yesterday that you promised to try."
"Sure, why not. Darling, did you sleep well after making me do all that work?"
Curtis's right cheek twitched. He apparently hadn't expected her to adapt so instantly and casually.
"...'Curtis' is fine."
He seemed to have realized that her calling him "darling" was just a clever cover for insolence.
"Understood, Curtis."
"..."
"Is there a problem?"
"...And do something about that military tone of yours."
Curtis skewered a piece of dried fruit with his fork and held it out to her. Eat this and shut up, his gesture seemed to say. As he reached out, his robe sleeve slid back, exposing his wrist. A clean white bandage was wrapped tightly around it.
"Are you hurt? You seemed perfectly fine yesterday."