A Duke's Backing
Lost in thought, she must have missed the knock. Victor's voice drifted in calmly.
Realizing the state she was in, Ibel shot upright like a startled fish. Fortunately, the door wasn't wide open—just a polite crack, as befitted the courteous man.
"If you'd fallen asleep, I was going to leave. But it seems that's not the case."
"Pl-please, come in."
"Pardon the intrusion."
The tall shadow blocking the light from the hall shifted forward.
There stood a handsome man in nothing but a thin, lightweight shirt suited to the season, holding a tray and a beer in one hand.
To be brutally honest, it was a sight for sore eyes.
"How did you know I wanted a beer?"
Ibel's voice rose a notch in excitement. Victor shrugged, picking up on the shift with keen acuity.
"Who knows. I just had a hunch about your habits."
"What habits?"
"The kind where you chug liquor like it's going out of style whenever you're startled—like a rabbit."
How the hell did he figure that out?
She grumbled a bit under her breath, but the beer was welcome all the same, so Ibel cheerfully cleared space on the couch beside her.
"I'll be visiting the Eberstein residence soon. Lady Eberstein wants to discuss the wedding details with you—fabrics for the dress, jewels, that sort of thing."
"Got it."
"She's the most influential figure in local high society, so she'll be a great help."
She'd already taken a liking to Ibel like a daughter, or so he'd said.
Ibel hadn't even met her yet, but she already felt a strange closeness.
Maybe because Colonel Konrad, that hopeless romantic, was always going on about his wife.
"I can't wait to meet her."
"It'll happen soon enough. Lady Eberstein's been counting the days to see you, so things should go smoothly."
"We need to draw up a guest list for the wedding, right?"
"Indeed. She'll help with that too."
Thank goodness. Ibel had no clue how to handle that sort of thing.
Of course, she'd picked up some from watching her mother over the years. But she'd never done it herself.
She'd run off to university before she could be sold into marriage!
From a young age, Ibel had hated the idea of becoming some unloved man's wife and tending to his household.
A life as mere accessory.
She'd wanted to dive into the men's world—of study, hunting, riding, billiards.
She felt the same even now.
Wearing a dress was fine, whatever.
What mattered was whether she could keep doing the work she loved.
Victor needed her medical skills and had given her a job.
The form it took was "wife," but...
"Life's... kind of ridiculous sometimes. I fought tooth and nail to avoid becoming some household's lady of the manor, and here I am anyway. Oh, not that I hate it. Just clarifying, in case."
"No misunderstanding here."
The man replied curtly and handed her the beer. A few sips in, Ibel desperately wanted to down the whole thing, but she held back.
Tomorrow was the day she'd be formally introduced to the staff. She didn't fancy a hangover from morning till night.
"I've heard 'weird girl' my whole life. Why do women's work and men's work have to be divided? Why can't I play in the mud like Abel? Why can't I learn numbers—instead of just poetry and marriage prospects?"
Victor watched Ibel steadily, listening with quiet attention.
These were woes he couldn't fathom.
Seranna had been gentle and fragile, content within the shelter of home. She never dreamed of stepping outside.
As heir to the house, Victor going out into the world was a given.
No one had ever told him "you can't."
"It was suffocating. And now I'm becoming a wife. After cutting my hair and living like a man to escape it all, it feels like it's being shoved right back at me."
"That's understandable."
"...Sorry. That was too much whining."
Blame the beer.
That was her story, anyway.
Ibel fell silent, suddenly embarrassed.
Victor wasn't the one who'd pressured her.
She couldn't even say this stuff to her family—just ran away—and here she was venting to him.
"It's fine, Ibel."
Victor responded to her with careful words.
"If there's anything you dislike, don't do it—no matter what it is. If there's something you want to change, change it."
"......"
"There will still be plenty you can't handle alone. If someone says 'you can't' or 'stop,' invoke the name of Bayern every time. This might ring hollow... but I'll have your back."
Every word was sincere.
There was a famous saying in Richter nobility:
Ladies must tend the drawing room hearth; gentlemen must master the gun.
Ladies are emotional, moods swinging wildly—unsuited for great matters, body and mind too frail.
Ladies must always be sheltered like flowers.
Yet here stood one who defied it all head-on.
Watching Ibel, hearing her speak... yes, she did.
Managing not just the household but the entire estate, handling tenants, deciding investments, studying law or diplomacy at university.
Domains once reserved for men alone—why couldn't she?
She'd served in the military and survived.
Even when deserters were everywhere, she'd stayed till the end.
"You know I'll probably sell myself out there a ton."
"Do as you please. Didn't I put the woman who hated being a wife right in that spot?"
Ibel held Victor's blue eyes for a long moment.
Victor Bayern never spoke idly.
Wherever she stirred up trouble, he'd protect her for real.
"Alright. You won't be disappointed."
If he were a friend, she'd have punched his chest.
Instead, Ibel winked with a playful grin.
Respect piled up in her heart once more.
This kind of marriage... wasn't half bad.
"Oh, right. It's a fake wedding and all, but... could we invite Giev?"
"He might be baffled and uncomfortable, but I'm fine with it. I was planning to let him stay safely within Bayern lands anyway."
"I hope he comes."
Of the Last Twelve, Giev was the only commoner by birth.
Having to earn their own keep made them kindred spirits—they often understood each other without words.
"Invite him for now. He volunteered for his sister's medicine costs. I want to help with that. I can make the drugs myself."
"I'll find a suitable excuse. Something like winning a ducal sponsorship grant, or coming for patronage right when the wedding's on."
This life, she hoped war wouldn't erupt again—or if it did, that he wouldn't volunteer.
And—
"This time, I really hope Giev becomes a poet."
"Sponsor some artists while you're duchess."
"Power's nice. You can do whatever."
"That's why I live like this."
The conversation shifted to plotting how to rope in their scattered acquaintances for the wedding.
Lucas was military, Victor's friend since childhood—no issue there. Decent status too.
The rest were nobles; even without prior ties, invitations were fine.
After chattering away for ages, Ibel quieted. Victor edged silently closer.
Thud.
Moments later—no long wait—Ibel's head lolled onto his shoulder. More like she swayed into it.
Victor set down the remaining beer and stayed still in that pose.
Until she fell into a very, very deep sleep.
He hadn't come tonight for the beer anyway.
It was to lull Ibel back to sleep after bad memories kept her awake.