The Lady of the Castle (4)

Lunaria had sent Elene out some time ago. The room was dimly lit now, the curtains drawn so that the snow outside could no longer be seen. Elene explained, she would return when dinner was set to be served in a few hours. So, Lunaria had wanted to rest a while, considering it was unlikely she would get to meet her new husband tonight. That was what Sir Javier had told her. 

With a sigh, she lay down flat on her back on the large bed. It was incredibly soft, as though she had fallen onto clouds. If she let herself, she could’ve fallen asleep then and there. But goosebumps raised from her skin. Despite the fire in the fireplace, the room was still chilly.

She stood and approached the hearth. It was a weak fire which crackled. The box itself was a decent size, but it seemed the firewood was already running low. At times like this, she would've asked Elene to have it sorted. But as she sat in front of the flames, her eyes gleaming with an orange tint, she couldn't help but feel that everyone was wary of her. 

Sir Javier and Sir Rowan. Their guard was up high. She could tell that much. She had a sense that even Elene was keeping a careful eye on her.

It was unavoidable. 

She was a Mellow, after all.

For a long time, Lunaria stared into the fluttering fire. It really would die out soon; she couldn't tell how long the remaining firewood would last. 

As Lunaria sat and pondered, the door suddenly opened with a click.

A silent gasp elicited from her lips as she stood up. She watched the person who had opened the door without even knocking, let alone her permission, enter.

Perhaps there was only one person in this castle capable of doing so.

Red hair like flaming coals, golden eyes glinting in the dim room. The tall man dressed all-too-informally stared at her for a brief moment. He closed the door behind him and walked over to Lunaria with casual steps, his boots echoing dully in the room. 

She had thought it was unlikely they would meet today… And yet, here her husband stood right before her nose.

The First Prince of Benesse, red-haired demon, Lucien Avery Benesse. 

For a moment, there was silence, except for the fire flickering weakly. Lucien stared blankly down at Lunaria. She was at least a head shorter than him, not to mention her physique was much smaller. Or perhaps Lucien was just incredibly tall. She craned her neck to look at him. 

Certainly, up close, her husband was an extremely handsome man, enough to streak her own cheeks with red. His lashes curved delicately, irises like molten gold underneath them. He had pale, thin lips, and a jawline that might cut her skin if she touched it. His hair that fell sharply over his gaze was slightly long, reaching an inch down his nape. Even in such casual attire, in an unremarkable shirt with rolled up sleeves, he gave off a most noble aura. As if to say, even like that, he was someone not to be taken lightly.

But no matter how striking her husband was, the two were sworn enemies. 

With a careful step back, Lunaria belatedly bade him greetings. 

"I greet His Royal Highness, the First Prince." She paid him a brief curtsy as she was taught by her tutors down south. She deliberately omitted her own introduction. No doubt he already knew who she was. 

As he stared at her, Lunaria felt as though Lucien was scrutinising every inch of her, down to her breathing. She kept her gaze low, feeling discomfited. 

Suddenly, Lucien raised his hand. 

What is he…!

Lunaria flinched slightly, only to be more shocked when he placed his hand on her cheek. Somehow, she felt like he willed her to look up at him. With a brush, his long fingers laced into her soft hair behind her ear, his palm covering her cheek wholly. She blinked multiple times, her brows furrowing ever so slightly. 

"Wh- what are you doing...?" she flustered out. Her face flushed, her eyes darting down to avoid his eyes. She dared not carelessly touch a member of the Imperial Family by removing his hand. At that moment, Lunaria felt like a small animal of prey in front of a fierce predator. 

Lucien tilted his head slightly, looking straight at her. His eyes gleamed brightly, illuminated by the flickering fire.

Then the corners of his lips curled subtly. 

"Aren’t you cold, my wife?"

His low voice sent vibrations across her body. She couldn't help but flinch at his touch and his voice. He seemed to be entertained. Lunaria flushed hard. Her face continued to grow hot, the chill from her body melting away like snow by a fire. 

It was then she realised. 

Cold?

For a man who was dressed in a single layer of clothing, that too a thin and unlaced-up shirt, he seemed to be rather comfortable in this ‘cold’ place. Heat emanated from where his hand touched her skin. As the seconds passed, the heat intensified. 

Lunaria remembered something.

Right. This man... 

He was a fire-type mage. 

The heat was starting to grow unbearable, her cheek burning. Lunaria flinched, unwittingly grabbing Lucien's wrist. He didn't react, only maintained his devilish smirk. He seemed glad that she had finally realised it. 

"Your Highness."

Lucien simply stared in response. 

“You should stop that now.”

"Hm…?” Lucien’s eyes glinted with intrigue. “Stop what?” 

He felt her soft hands on his own palms. Strangely, it felt like a testament to their differences. Years of wielding a blade against savage beasts, fighting and surviving in the harsh north was evidenced on his calloused, rough hands. Holding them now was a small hand that didn’t know the meaning of pain and suffering. Morganite eyes that only saw meadows in summer looked at him with meek concern. 

“Stop using mana. It must hurt you too.”

That was why- Lucien didn’t expect to hear her say those words. 

He stared at her for a few seconds, his smirk slightly faded. 

She wasn’t wrong. Naturally, by creating heat while using mana, his own body burned up, especially his hands where he concentrated the energy. 

But to say that it hurt…

Sure. Maybe a novice mage would find it burning. All fire-types do when they first use their magic… 

To say such a thing to me…? Lucien mused. He couldn’t help but chuckle. 

To Lucien, his hand felt rather ticklish. 

Lunaria pursed her lips as Lucien’s lips grinned again. No, he seemed to be laughing. 

As Lunaria uncomfortably held his palm, her own fingers heating up, Lucien made a decision. 

“Well… I've certainly never had a wife like you, Mellow’s spy.”

***

“You damn crazy— … Agh!” The junior knight cried while clutching his red nose with one hand, pointing his sword pitifully at his trainer. Tears welled in his eyes as he glared indignantly at the man in front of him.

With a contrite expression on his face, Asher groaned silently. 

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