The Wedding-Night Proof
Normally, a wedding is one of the grandest celebrations in a person's life. In the Royal Guard, when guardsmen marry, they are granted a fairly generous leave before and after the ceremony. Even if they aren't the heirs to their families, they are all members of the nobility, meaning there is a mountain of post-wedding errands, paperwork, and thank-you gifts to manage. Grand Duke Berk, however, was scheduled to return to work the very day after his wedding. Among the guardsmen, jokes like, "Is he just doing this because he can't stand the thought of us slacking off while he's gone?" made the rounds, but it wasn't particularly unusual. When you were a Grand Duke, you had people to handle all the post-wedding administrative nightmares for you.
The only problem was that the Grand Duke didn't trust his butler, which meant all those tasks fell squarely on the shoulders of Lieutenant Noel. Normally, his aide would have shared the burden, but unfortunately for Lieutenant Noel, that very aide had gone and married the Grand Duke. Ultimately, the duty of escorting Grand Duke Berk on his commute fell to the squad leaders. There was no real issue with the squad leaders taking turns reporting to the Berk ducal residence while Lieutenant Noel was away.
For the record, a rather fierce competition had broken out over who would get the first day's shift. They all figured that no matter how foul the Grand Duke's temper usually was, surely he wouldn't torment his subordinates on the first morning of his honeymoon. But right now, Ezra was bitterly cursing his past self for fighting so hard to win that competition. It was all because of the bedsheet hanging over the terrace of the Berk residence.
Noble bedding was usually adorned with beautiful embroidery, but this particular sheet was stark, blindingly white, save for the royal crest stamped dead center. Its purpose was painfully clear. And right in the middle, a few small, brownish spots were dotted like embroidery. Before he could even process what it was, Ezra blurted out, "I mean, what era are we living in..." He started loud, but his voice trailed off into a mumble because he could easily guess whose handiwork this was.
"Of course, displaying the wedding-night proof is considered an archaic custom these days. But whose marriage is this?" The butler twirled his mustache with a pompous air. "His Majesty the King is a man who deeply values tradition."
Ezra's suspicion was spot on. In other words, this was the King's directive to prove that the Grand Duke's marriage had been properly consummated.
"But hanging it where everyone can see... Just a little further down is the main avenue! Anyone walking by can see it."
"The proof of marriage is, by definition, meant for public display." It was also a petty, underhanded trick to ensure the Grand Duke became the talk of the town.
Still, isn't this going way too far? Ezra rubbed his face roughly. Who was the Grand Duke's bride? None other than his close friend. Put the Grand Duke aside. What did Chloe Amboise—who was perfectly happy just getting a raise and eating a few cookies—do to deserve having that exposed to the entire world?
"Such is the nature of a royal marriage. Her Highness the Grand Duchess entered into this fully aware of what it entailed." Regardless of Ezra's distress, the butler put on airs as if he were royalty himself, droning on about sacred vows and deception.
Ezra fidgeted, unable to cool his burning ears. It was only natural. He hadn't even adjusted to the fact that his friend had suddenly become the Grand Duchess, and now, the first thing he saw upon arriving at work was his friend's... that.
Just then—
"Agh! What on earth is that?!"
A scream rang out, instantly recognizable to Ezra. It certainly did not sound like the voice of someone who had entered into this "fully aware." Ezra looked up. Beneath the white facade of the mansion stood a horrified woman who had frozen mid-step, and a man standing before her with his arms casually crossed. It was Chloe and Grand Duke Berk.
"I knew you'd be surprised, but I didn't expect this much of a reaction."
"How could I not be surprised?!" Curtis tilted his head slightly, looking down at Chloe as she demanded an explanation. Her face was so flushed it looked ready to burst, resembling a piece of ripe fruit.
"Did you honestly think His Majesty the King would be satisfied with a mere signature on a marriage certificate?"
"...No, but! That's...!" Chloe spluttered, her mouth opening and closing. Instead of answering, Curtis casually rolled his shoulders a couple of times. Chloe's eyes widened slightly. It seemed she had finally realized why he had gone out of his way to exercise in his room last night.
After all, it would have been highly suspicious if the only sound coming from a bridal chamber on the wedding night was the scratching of a quill. Though his Grand Duchess had apparently watched him and thought, Does he have a fetish for self-inflicted military discipline...? Curtis had heard her muttering that to herself while half-drunk, scribbling away at the desk. He had only kept his mouth shut because arguing back would have required him to say something absurd like, "Do you actually want to spend the night with me then?"
"Then what is that..." Chloe started to press further, but her voice died in her throat. Seeing her eyes dart to his wrist, it seemed she had put two and two together. It was nothing major, but feeling self-conscious, Curtis adjusted the sleeve of his left arm. The cut was on the inside of his wrist, and since the sleeves of his military uniform were narrow, it would be difficult for others to notice.
"Your Grace."
"It's nothing. You don't need to worry about it."
"But..."
"It's just a small cut from a sharp blade. A scratch like this heals in no time." It wasn't exactly a lie. From what he knew, the bleeding on a wedding night was only a tiny amount anyway. For someone who had survived the battlefields, it didn't hurt in the slightest, and he had no desire to use it to gain favor.
But Chloe, knitting her brows, grabbed his arm and whispered softly, "That's not what I mean."
"What, then?"
"Aren't you and I already supposed to have slept together?"
"...What?" A heavy silence fell between them. Chloe looked up at him, genuinely bewildered. "You were the one who claimed we had already spent countless nights together. I wondered if you had forgotten..."
Curtis's forehead creased deeply. "Chloe. Do you honestly think anyone believed that?"
"Pardon?"
"Even if they did, what would you gain from it?" Chloe's mouth fell open slightly. Curtis brushed her hand off his sleeve with a click of his tongue. There wasn't a soul who didn't know their marriage was a rushed, slapdash affair forced by the King. And no matter how outdated the concept of virginity was, it was still a value openly demanded of noblewomen.
Contrary to the assumptions of Ezra and the butler, the King had not actually demanded proof of the wedding night. To be precise, he had sent the standard gifts the royal family bestowed upon royal weddings with an air of zero expectation. Among those gifts—neither too grand nor too meager—was a set of bedding bearing the royal crest, included simply because "that was how it had always been done." And the servants, naturally following tradition, had laid that bedding upon the Grand Duke's bed.
Looking down at his aide, who had fallen fast asleep on the royal-crested sheets while half-drunk, and slicing his own arm to stain them had been a purely impulsive act. That damn impulse... The label of a Grand Duchess from a low-ranking family, the King's active hostility, and a ruined reputation—these were all things he had anticipated, and things she had expected as well. But just because they had anticipated them didn't mean they had to quietly endure every single blow.
And so, Curtis had acted on impulse once again. Yet, he was well aware of how hypocritical his actions were. It was laughable. He was the one who had kissed her in public just to make things look convincing. And now, here he was, acting as if he had to protect her honor on their wedding night. It was practically a split personality.
"Foolish woman," he muttered, barely managing to squeeze out a single phrase to dismiss his tangled thoughts. Oblivious to his inner turmoil, Chloe glared at him with narrowed eyes. However, the servants lined up to see them off to work were drawing closer, and continuing this bickering was highly unwise. Chloe held her tongue.
Turning away from Chloe, Curtis greeted the young man saluting before him. "The Second Squad Leader, I see."
"Loyalty. I have been assigned to escort Your Grace in place of Lieutenant Noel Montpis." Ezra Dubois, Second Squad Leader. Nothing unusual about him. He was the third son of the Dubois family, and a subordinate Curtis had never found particularly objectionable. But...
Curtis narrowed his eyes. For some reason, the young man's dark eyes held a distinct look of contempt and clear condemnation directed right at him. And that brief, sideways glance he stole... Ah. Now this was interesting. Curtis let out a quiet, internal chuckle.
"Second Squad Leader. There is no need to escort me today. Instead, I entrust my wife to you."
"Pardon?" Ezra blurted out in confusion. At this highly uncharacteristic command, Curtis knitted his brows slightly. "Did you not hear me?"
He despised repeating himself. Back when he had first taken command of the Royal Guard, guardsmen who made him repeat an order were forced to run dozens of laps around the training ground almost daily. Snapping back to his senses, Ezra clasped his hands behind his back and barked, "Loyalty! My deepest apologies, Your Grace!"
"Since this is the first day of my marriage to my beloved wife, I shall let it slide this once." He said this without so much as a glance toward Chloe Amboise—no, Chloe Le David Berk—who was staring at him from his side with a look that clearly screamed, Have you lost your mind?