Dumbfounded, Alena stared, unable to process the sheer impossibility of the situation. His fingers, warm and firm, encircled her wrist in a way that defied all logic. How? How in the afterlife was this even conceivable? Was this a dream?

Her free hand flew to her mouth as the reality, or rather the unreality, of the situation sank in. ‘Oh, my lord…! I was a ghost just now… Why am I… how come I’m… What the hell is going on?! How am I now here, feeling, touching? Is this an illusion? Some dark sorcery? Right… this must be some kind of illusion! A sorcery!'

While her mind was reeling with questions and confusion, Alena suddenly swung her hand.

A hard punch landed on the Duke’s chiseled face.

The world seemed to screech into a full-on halt. Silence reigned between them for a few heartbeats, and Alena herself froze in utter shock once again as she felt the sting of her knuckles that had just made a hard contact against his face. She had punched him because she just couldn’t believe this was real! She was almost certain that she’d hit the air!

Now here she was, frozen in shock due to two reasons. The first was because it just made it clear that this was no illusion, and the second was because she had just punched the almighty hero of Claveria!

And when a scarlet drop formed on the duke's lip, she momentarily forgot to breathe. Every sense then became heightened. The sight of his bloodied lip, combined with the haunting allure of his gaze as he looked at her, suddenly had her entrapped.

And then, with a languid, deliberate motion, Kaztiel’s tongue darted out, caressing the wound on his lip. The very act, one of simple human reflexes, felt provocative and charged with an intensity Alena wasn't prepared for. Her mouth went dry, and her eyes were unwittingly fixed on that sinfully alluring act. This... isn't right.

Alena felt suddenly thirsty. Oh lord… what in the… afterlife… is going on with her?! She was supposed to be almost catatonic due to shock that she suddenly seemed solid again, that her fist indeed hurt him, even making this formidable duke bleed! She was not supposed to be staring at his lips and that tongue like she was... Bloody hell, she should be horrified, not... mesmerized!

A growl of frustration escaped her, and thankfully, her rationality somehow managed to return. "W-what did... you do?" Her gaze, sharpened with suspicion and accusation, met his. “What did you do to me?”

But the duke’s face was still the epitome of calm, a tranquil sea under the moonlight. 

“Shouldn’t we at least greet each other first? This is our first meeting as husband and wife, after all.” His words flowed with an ease that felt unnervingly natural.

Alena’s brow furrowed in deeper confusion, her thoughts scrambling to catch up. Husband? Wife? And he did address me as "my duchess" earlier. What game is he playing?

Just as she was about to retort, she found herself crashing against him. He had pulled her! And now she’s on top of him! Their bodies are now aligning with alarming clarity.

The way she felt the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm and the way she now heard her very own heartbeats—heartbeats she was no longer supposed to have—sent her reeling.

But despite all the confusion and disbelief that was pulsating through her, the fiery sting of anger still reigned within her.

“What in the world are you saying?” She spat the words at the duke. “Husband and wife? When did we get married, huh? Your Grace? Are you drunk? You murdered me before I could even see your face, remember?” Alena’s voice was steeped in derision, a cutting edge that sought to pierce through his perfect facade.

But the duke’s expression remained as unreadable as a script in a forgotten tongue. Every aspect of his features was meticulously controlled, offering no clues, no slips of emotion at all. It was as though he harbored an abyss within him where emotions and responses were drawn in but never emerged.

“I’ve followed that assassin and saw him enter your castle,” Alena continued, “so don’t you dare deny you have nothing to do with my death!”