A Poor Grand Duchess Who Worked Overtime Here
Calling it cramped all of a sudden. Chloe deliberately let out a disgruntled huff. Curtis glanced at her, offering a scoffing retort. "You weren't the only one pulling all-nights here."
"True. But Your Grace is the Grand Duke." Chloe gestured with her chin toward his office, indicating the private bath and makeshift bedroom attached to it.
When stuck working overnight, Chloe, as a mere aide, had to wash up in the Royal Guard's communal bathhouse. The Grand Duke, on the other hand, had his own private washroom. Granted, his office bathroom wasn't particularly spacious either, but the sheer luxury of having it all to himself was beyond comparison.
And what of his bedroom? It wasn't grand by any means, but it was vastly superior to Chloe's cramped aide's quarters, even boasting a small dining table. While the facilities inside the Royal Guard building generally looked uniform, his suite was technically part of the royal palace, giving it a touch of elegance.
Chloe recalled Second Lieutenant Noel once comparing that room to a suite at the La Vie en Rose Hotel—the largest and most luxurious establishment in the capital, Aivanares.
She also knew for a fact that the man before her had never once slept in it. He insisted that nothing compared to the pristine comfort of his own bed at the Berk Ducal Residence. No matter how late the hour, Curtis always made the trek back to his estate to sleep, only to return to the palace first thing in the morning.
Back when she was his aide, she had written him off as a complete lunatic. Looking back, however, she could understand his paranoia. The Royal Guard building was still situated within the palace grounds, meaning the King's watchful eyes were everywhere. While the Berk Ducal Residence wasn't entirely free from espionage, it surely offered more peace of mind than this place. Of course, Chloe thought, if he was going to be that dramatic, he should have just avoided working overtime altogether...
"Actually, the more I think about it, the madder I get. Besides, my bed is a cramped little cot fit for a prisoner!"
"...A prisoner's bed?"
"I only recently made the discovery myself."
It was the absolute truth. She had uncovered this dark secret while inspecting the Royal Guard's guest detention cells ahead of Isabelle la Glintland's arrival. The frame, the size, and most crucially, the density of the mattress... It had felt so uncannily familiar that she had tested it by lying down on one of the cell cots.
Ah, this familiar, soul-crushing texture of overnight duty...!
They were the exact same model. Just to be absolutely sure, she had compared the cot in the detention cell with the one in her aide's office side by side. They were identical.
"Just talking about it is making me tear up..." Chloe sniffled, dramatically dabbing at the corner of her eye. For the crime of being an aide... locked away in the prison of the Royal Guard, confined to the solitary cell of the aide's office... She didn't need to voice the rest of her tragic monologue aloud.
"Must be nice to have a grand, spacious bed, Your Grace. Must be real nice."
Curtis flinched visibly at her words. What? Why the reaction? Chloe wrinkled her nose.
"Instead of showing some pity for your poor aide who has to sleep on a literal prison cot."
"...Then sleep in my office bed."
Chloe stared at him as if he had finally lost his mind. "Excuse me?"
"I already know what you're going to say next, so honestly—" Curtis tried to cut her off, but Chloe was faster.
"With you?"
She pointed her index finger at him, then back at herself. Curtis's face flushed a violent shade of crimson. Unbothered, Chloe waved her hand dismissively.
"I prefer sleeping alone, thank you very much."
"You were just complaining about the prison cot."
"And you'd prefer it too, wouldn't you?" Chloe countered instantly. The man clearly wasn't thinking his words through, but Chloe was fully aware of the reality. "It's not like you're actually going to share a bed with me."
"..."
"Could you even get a wink of sleep? You're the man who won't even let me let my hair down in the bedroom."
Curtis glared at her. "I told you, that was..."
"I know, I know." Chloe waved her hand dismissively. "I am well aware of your sleeping arrangements and your strict hygiene philosophy. I'm not trying to criticize you."
"..."
"I'm just saying you don't need to make empty offers you don't mean."
Surprisingly, Curtis hesitated, unable to offer an immediate retort. By the looks of it, he was still dwelling on Isabelle la Glintland's earlier remarks—specifically, the part about them sharing a bed.
"It's not that I don't mean..."
As Curtis mumbled, Chloe decided to show rather than tell. She reached up and swiftly untied the ribbon at the end of her braid, putting on a deliberate performance.
She ran her fingers through her long hair, shaking it out with a flourish. Instantly, Curtis, who had been standing right in front of her, recoiled two steps. Chloe let out a dry chuckle at his reaction.
"How cruel."
"What is?"
"Am I some kind of plague to you?"
"...It's not that..."
Like hell it isn't. It was no exaggeration to say his eyes were consumed by sheer terror as he stared at her loose tresses. She had expected as much. As Grand Marshal Victor always said, a person's fundamental nature doesn't change overnight. He could declare his love for her a hundred times in public, but the moment she let her hair down, he looked like he was facing his doom.
We've got a long, long way to go.
Even if Isabelle hadn't brought up the lack of bloodstains on their sheets, their ruse would have been exposed sooner or later. His brief moment of apparent affection earlier was likely only possible because she had washed thoroughly and kept her hair tightly braided. It was merely a temporary lapse in his defenses—a rare moment of tolerance granted to a clean human being. Yet, seeing him recoil in horror the second she let her hair loose was utterly ridiculous.
"In any case, I understand your position. I only brought it up because... well, it's getting late."
Oh, please. Since when did this human overtime-vending-machine care about the hour? It was absurd. His flustered demeanor was a stark contrast to his usual self. His characteristically sharp, decisive tone had vanished, replaced by hesitant, trailing sentences. And all of this was simply because he was terrified of a few stray hairs. She began to wonder if his flushed face from earlier had actually been a reaction to the sheer panic of being near her hair.
Why was she like this? Just a moment ago, she had genuinely intended to say, Thank you for the thought, but don't force yourself. Yet, a sudden wave of childish mischief washed over her. Glaring at him, Chloe deliberately swept her long tresses over her left shoulder and took two slow steps toward him.
"...What are you doing?" Curtis asked warily, taking another step back.
Chloe didn't stop. Instead, she beamed even more brightly and closed the distance until she was standing right under his chin.
"What does it look like?" she purred.
With a sudden movement, she grabbed a thick handful of her own hair with both hands, feeling exactly like a mischievous ten-year-old. Curtis stared down at her and flinched.
"!"
Of course, Chloe was a merciful soul, so she decided against torturing him further. She had briefly entertained the idea of draping her hair over his shoulders like a scarf, but she feared Curtis might actually faint on the spot. Was it just her imagination, or had his face gone completely pale? What a ridiculous, childish game, she thought, finding the sight highly amusing. This was enough of a victory.
She twisted her long hair tightly to the left and wound it into a neat, secure bun just below her ear. Curtis's eyes widened in relief.
"Because I'm a nice person, I'll let you off the hook. Understood?"
Curtis watched, utterly spellbound, as she effortlessly fashioned her hair into a shape resembling a twisted loaf of bread. Chloe clicked her tongue. If only the world knew how absurdly simple it was to defeat the legendary war hero of Ivanes. She had just stumbled upon a state secret.
I could probably make him cry with just a few stray strands of hair.
"Darling."
Curtis flinched yet again, focus finally returning to his vacant eyes. Chloe crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look.
"Save those empty gestures for when we have an audience. More importantly, you need to fix this issue of yours before you can even think about dating."
"Dating?" Curtis repeated, sounding utterly bewildered.
Chloe shrugged. "You're the one who said you wanted to date. When exactly do you plan on starting?"
"Me?"
"Unbelievable."
Seriously, did this man forget the contract we signed? At her exasperated stare, Curtis let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his face with both hands. Chloe looked up at him, her expression a mix of disbelief and amusement.
"Let's be honest here. If Isabelle la Glintland hadn't ruined the grand banquet, we could have at least narrowed down a candidate or two by now."
"What candidates?"
"What other candidates would I be talking about?" Chloe teased.
Only then did the gears turn in Curtis's head. "Ah," he uttered, his mouth falling open in sheer disbelief. "Unbelievable. So, you're planning to screen my potential dating partners?"
"Is there a problem with that?"
"Of course there is!" He scoffed, before muttering under his breath, "No wonder she's acting like she threw her tact to the dogs..." His grumbling was loud enough for her to hear.
Chloe glared at him. When he snapped, "What?" she wrinkled her nose and shot right back. "Then are you going to choose them yourself, Your Grace? When you can't even tolerate a single strand of my hair?"
"When did I ever—"
"The sooner you find someone, the sooner I can escape this ridiculous situation, can't I?"
At those words, Curtis's face stiffened into a terrifyingly cold mask.