What’s Wrong with You, Duke?!

Chapter 1

Prologue

“Noël Montbelliard!”

The door burst open as the knights stormed in with a violent roar. Noël, who had been nervously praying at her bedside, was then dragged out to the hall by the knights as if she were a sack of potatoes. Terrified, she kept an eye out for any sign of help, but it was to no avail. Rather, she was met only by the knights and soldiers who had just entered the castle, trekking mud across the floors. She didn’t recognize a single face. When her family had found out that the duke’s army was approaching them, they fled the castle, leaving Noël to deal with the invaders alone.

Born out of wedlock to the count, Noël was barely accepted into the family. She was ill-treated by them all her life for carrying the unworthy nomad blood of her mother—even the maids treated her poorly. While the count and countess would always make Noël feel worthless, like some filthy bug, they had the audacity to include her in the family only when it came to her dying in their place.

“You should be honored to help the family with your small sacrifice!”

She wanted to join them in their flight, but she was flatly dismissed because they needed her to act as a decoy. She could still attempt her own escape, but for some reason, her mother’s last words came back to her, and she hesitated.

“When the god of death comes for your soul with his scythe, I want you to keep your head high and look him straight in the eye.”

Most of all, it was too late to run anyway. Shivering with fear, she found herself left alone, preparing for her last moments. She put her hair up impeccably and had donned the best dress she could find among the rags she owned. But no matter how hard she tried to improve her appearance, she looked shabby at best in the face of her own imminent death.

She was forced to kneel before the duke, who was standing like a daunting statue in the center of the hall. Draped in a pitch-black mantle, the duke was the god of death himself, with eyes as icy as the deep blue sea and ash-pale hair. A death god in a winter storm.

As she quivered in terror, Noël’s eyes landed on the red-stained swords of the knights around her, then on the objects they held, rounded and dripping with blood—the heads of the family that betrayed her. She was so shocked that she almost died from a heart attack. They wouldn’t have had the chance to behead her. She looked away in absolute horror, only to witness a mound of dead bodies piled up at the entrance to the hall, which was such a harrowing scene for her to behold that she could hardly breathe.

She did not know where to look anymore, so she just lowered her head and looked at her own skirt. I’m going to die this way, aren’t I? The knights who dragged her out of her room had now joined the others, and the hall became dead silent. All of the knights’ expressions were serious, and they moved in an orderly, formal manner, as though they were about to participate in a ritual. They appeared quite comfortable with the whole situation.

Several years had passed already since Duke Dreux Alexei of Faucigny of the Rouergue Empire embarked on his campaign. He had the emperor’s mandate to crush those who had rebelled against the empire. The duke was notorious across the land for his brutality. He would even behead an infant in a heartbeat if it were found to have come from a rebel family. The Montbelliards, who ruled over Noël’s home country, Saboulin, were now the last obstacle that stood in the duke’s way.

How am I supposed to face this ruthless man? The way the duke laid his vicious blue eyes on her made her feel like a worthless bug. Her mother’s last words about looking god of death straight in the eye were of no help. She was on her knees like a criminal before the duke, and she began to shake like a leaf. She tried to calm herself down by biting her lip, but she felt completely helpless against the duke’s murderous aura.

The duke, who had been looking down on her, seemed slightly annoyed and began to speak in a jaded manner. “Child of House Montbelliard, unlike the rest of the family, you kept your dignity by choosing to stay. I will honor it by killing you with my own hands.”

Dignity? It wasn’t that she had chosen to not flee with the rest of the family. The truth was that they had left her to die in their place. She would prefer that someone other than the duke end her life. She was absolutely horrified by his cold-blooded manners.

As the duke drew his bloodstained sword high up into the air, the thought of facing her death sent such a chill down her spine that she bit through her lip—hard. The fear of death felt colder and more unbearable than she ever imagined. Terrified, she felt blood drip down from her lip down to her chin, falling past her lap toward the floor. As the blood fell, it formed rose petal shaped droplets on the ground.

I don’t want to die in vain! She began to think desperately as she saw the blood below her. She still had so many things left to do. She was in the prime of her life, but had never once worn a beautiful dress. She had hoped to be courted by a gentleman—whom she would one day marry—before giving birth to beautiful children that she could hold in her arms.

Dear God, please save me! It’s not my time to go yet! At that moment, her eyes welled up, and she lifted her head to look at the duke. It wasn’t that she wanted to ask for his mercy. Rather ironically, the man who was about to take her life was the only person who could hear her prayers.

Please let me live. Please grant my wish! I beg you! She looked the duke straight in the eye with a wistful gaze, and for a second, he flinched.

Tears rolled down her cheeks and landed on top of the rose petal pattern made of her blood, looking like dew drops in the morning. The crimson and clear liquids mixed before her, and suddenly a flash of light filled her vision—it was as if lightning had struck. She instantly closed her eyes to keep herself from going blind. She could not hear a single sound.

When everything seemed to dim slightly, she blinked a few times before looking around. The entire hall floor looked as though it was immersed in a sea white luminescence and was shimmering. The exploding light formed a perfect circle around Noël and the duke. Then it began to quickly spread in some sort of pattern. Amazingly, people outside the circle of light stood frozen—like stone statues, unblinking. It was as if time had come to a complete halt.

“What on earth?” The startled duke stared at Noël, asking a rhetorical question. He had only raised his eyebrows in surprise, but that was enough to intimidate her. Scared to death, she could only shake her head. She had absolutely no idea. With one exception, that is—she knew a magic spell had been cast.

What for? What kind of spell was it? While Noël and the duke were looking at each other, the flow of light had stopped spreading in its unusual pattern. Then, a thick beam of light shot from the center of the shape that had formed right in front of her. The sharp light traveled like an arrow, penetrating straight through the duke’s chest and striking his heart.

Stunned, the duke’s body began to shake, his eyes wide open. The beam of light that had been circling them, illuminating the hall, culminated in its final flare—it was as if a gate to heaven had opened. Noël closed her eyes as the glow became more intense than before. Again, she could neither hear nor feel anything. When she opened her eyes, the light was gone completely, leaving no trace behind—it was as if nothing had ever happened.

Having ground to a halt moments earlier, time began to move again and she noticed sounds trickling into her ears once more. When she looked up, she saw that nothing had changed—the duke's sword was still aimed at her neck. The man himself, whose heart had just been pierced with a beam of light, now looked more normal than ever, even though only a short while ago he’d had that stunned look on his face.

Was it but a dream? Had she passed out briefly because she was scared to death? Or was she dead? It was right at that moment—when the sword came slashing down toward her neck—that her mind went blank.

Noël heard the metal of the sword hit the floor with a loud clanking sound. Without any apparent reason, the duke flung his sword away. Then he bent down and reached his arm out to her. She tried to step back in surprise, fearing that he might have decided to strangle her instead.

“Lady, I beg your forgiveness.”

Noël thought she was hallucinating when she heard the duke speak to her in such a gentle, deep voice. She could not believe what she was hearing, so she lifted her head, which would have otherwise been chopped off. Believe it or not, the duke was offering his hand politely, seeking her approval.

Confounded, she found herself looking around. All those knights with stern looks now had their jaws drop in disbelief. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who was flabbergasted. The duke’s surprise act was just as fearsome as his sword because it was so unpredictable. But curiosity prevailed over fear. When she suppressed her fear and looked at the duke, he grinned a toothy grin. His captivating smile made him look all the more handsome. In her eyes, who was still extremely scared, however, the duke only looked like a god of death gone mad.

Wh-what is the matter with the du-duke? Could he have gone mad?

Just as she began to doubt, the duke spoke in a polite, affectionate manner. “Please forgive me for treating a lady as beautiful as yourself with disrespect.”

“My lord!” All of the duke’s men tried to stop him, but he couldn't care less. He moved even closer to her, as though he could not wait to tell her something. He was beaming at her with joy, an affectionate smile playing upon his face.

“At last I have found the one I am destined to be with.”

Noël could tell the duke’s deep, husky voice had an affectionate side. With his last remark, his men were at a loss for words, and the entire hall fell into a silence as thick as snow. His glowing eyes, coupled with his loving smile, gave her goosebumps. He was serious—the same man who had almost cut off her head with his sword only a short while ago was now acting like a man who had fallen in love at first sight. It felt surreal, or maybe spellbound.

What spell could it have been? What is the sigil that did this to him? At that very moment, an unthinkable idea crossed her mind. It was clear the duke’s heart had been pierced directly by the beam of light. His behavior had changed right afterward. Noël was sitting right above the sigil, which she clearly saw with her own eyes. But of course, a magic spell could explain what had happened here.

Noël thought of the wish she made before the sigil worked its magic. She had things she wanted to do—had always wanted to do—if only she could live. A beautiful dress, the courtship of a gentleman. Marriage and love. Beautiful newborns. Unless the duke has gone mad... Could my wishes have come true?

“The lady who owns my soul, will you marry me?” the duke sincerely asked her, as if he had read her mind. Then, as he slowly brought himself down on one knee before the kneeling woman—who had been awaiting execution only moments ago—his men could not help but heave a sigh.

Good gracious! She began to feel weak in the knees, and she collapsed forward onto the floor. If her desires had come to fruition and the duke had fallen under a spell, it could not be more convenient for her. This man right before her eyes could grant her wishes all at once. He could let her live, he could court her, and he could even marry her.

Could my wishes have really come true? Through this man? But why? As she thought of the light beam that pierced through his heart, she lifted her head and looked up at the man before her in a daze. The duke—who was widely known to be more brutal than the piercing north wind in the dead of winter—was on one knee, looking intensely at her with the sparkling eyes of a man madly in love. It was quite intimidating to her. It was just another form of fear. Hesitatingly, she moved away from him, but it only made him reach his hand out closer to her.

“My destined lady, please take my hand at once. Please accept my plea.” The duke—who had supposedly fallen in love—called her “his destined lady” and “the lady who owned his soul” because he didn’t even know her name. One of the knights who had burst through the door to capture her was now standing behind the duke with his mouth wide open. The duke at first called her a child of the House Montbelliard.

Noël hesitated while she looked at his big, sturdy hand. But the hesitation was short-lived. She would do anything if only she could live. She closed her eyes and extended her shaking, sweaty hand toward him and into his firm, yet soft, grip.

The duke’s smiling, happy face glowed incredibly bright… like the light beam of the sigil.

* * *

Over the year following the fall of Saboulin, a series of breaking news continued to develop in the Rouergue Empire. In the center of all this was Duke Dreux Alexei of Faucigny, the emperor’s cousin and right-hand man, otherwise known as “The Delegate of the Empire.”

The duke was second to none in terms of financial wealth, military power, social status, physical appearance, and the like. He was, however, quite an eccentric man, perhaps because he lost his parents early on and inherited their titles as a boy.

The duke’s contributions to the emperor’s campaign of conquest of the neighboring countries were so overwhelmingly dominant that he was known on the battlefields as the “Vicious Midas Touch.” Meanwhile, to the imperial court and noble houses, he was better known to be an uncouth, impudent, and good-for-nothing young man. He was the nobles’ number one choice for a future son-in-law, but he was not easily approachable.

While the noble ladies saw him as the most eligible bachelor, he could easily have turned out to be the absolute worst husband imaginable. One might compare Duke Dreux Alexei of Faucigny to a cake that looks very tasty on the outside but could very well be harboring poison in its layers.

And yet, of all people, it was the duke who was smitten with a lady! The duke, who had set out with the mandate of the emperor to vanquish Saboulin and execute the traitors, had fallen in love with one of the very people he’d wished to eliminate. He was head over heels in love with a lady he had never met before—and had very neatly slain with his sword.

Upon his return to the imperial palace, the duke asked for the emperor’s permission to marry Noël. The emperor, who treated the duke as if he were a crown prince, firmly turned down the younger man’s preposterous request.

But in the end, the emperor had to grant the duke’s request because he threatened not to return to the imperial palace until the emperor accepted Noël as the duke’s wife—even though she was a captive from a rebellious noble house. There was a rumor that the duke made a monetary contribution privately to the emperor in return for his favor, and the money was used to build a residence for his precious concubine.

The emperor’s approval of the duke’s marriage was shocking enough to all those nobles who had hoped to make the duke their son-in-law, but that was not the last of the news. How the duke proposed to Noël was enough to melt other ladies’ hearts, not only because that was what they always dreamed about, but also because the duke’s efforts to impress his intended would continue for days.

On the day he brought her to his residence, he laid rose petals all the way from the castle gate to her bedroom. A procession of wagons carrying silk garments meant for her continued to fill the road without interruption. Musicians hired by the duke serenaded her day after day. The duke had bought so much jewelry for the wedding that the prices in the empire soared through the roof.

Following the successful wedding, Noël Montbelliard—who was now Duchess of Faucigny—had become the talk of the town across the entire empire. The duchess, however, never made a public appearance outside her own castle. Even the emperor only got a glimpse of her silhouette, covered with a veil. For that reason, the Duchess of Faucigny came to only be known as a small lady with typical brown hair. Talk regarding the romance that had drawn so much attention, and shaken the whole empire, appeared to be subsiding. But for House Faucigny, the enchanted romance had only just begun.