IHYWRM l CH 07

Chapter 7

“What happened—why did you come in here being carried in the Grand Duke’s arms?”

 “What do you mean, I was carried by the Grand Duke?”

Right now, in the empire, the only Grand Duke is me—Charlotte Afros…

While Charlotte was overloaded by this nonsense, Adrian kept talking in a way that only confused her more. He joked that she must have finally sweet-talked the Grand Duke from the northern border—the one who slays monsters—and that the Grand Duke looked so fierce when he saw her that he thought the two of them were lovers.

Thinking it was a dream, Charlotte half ignored him—until the sensations grew too real. She pinched her cheek hard.

“Ah!”

It hurt—enough to bring tears to her eyes.

“Come on, Charlotte. Tricks like that won’t get you out of my questioning,” Adrian said, smiling slyly, assuming she was acting to distract him.

Charlotte ignored him and rubbed her stinging cheek. If this was a dream, why did it hurt?

Seeing her dazed, Adrian brought her back to the moment. “We can talk about this slowly later. For now, you should go in alone—quickly. You have to hear Grand Duke Afros’s announcement, right?”

“…What? Noctum Afros? Noctum is here?”

“Hmm? ‘Noctum’?” he repeated naturally. He narrowed his eyes; he’d never heard her say his name like that.

Charlotte, still shocked, asked urgently, “Noctum is alive?”

“My, what’s with you today, Charlotte? Do you think the empire’s only Sword Master has… died?”

His tone held a faint mockery, but he was puzzled by the change in her.

Charlotte also frowned. Adrian was speaking as if Noctum were a swordsman who hunted monsters on the border. But in her world, her husband was a reclusive Archmage who rarely left the house.

This has to be a dream—an incredibly vivid one.

She moved toward the door almost automatically, guided by the habits of this world’s “Charlotte.”

Adrian slipped an arm over her shoulder and grumbled, “You won’t even answer me. I’m hurt, Charlotte.”

“Hurt, my foot,” she shot back with a half-smile—again, a reflex more than her own will. She shook off his arm, but that was all her body would obey.

A red warning bell rang in her head. If she wasn’t careful, this dream would swallow her whole.

Think. Think of the real me—not the Charlotte from this world.

Charlotte Daphsine wasn’t a woman who bullied citizens and chased marriage with the Grand Duke. She had tried hard not to become a villainess despite the scorn. She had pushed Noctum away, and in the end, by her choices, she drove her husband to his death.

Noctum…

When she pictured him—long-haired, gentle, using magic—the control of her body seemed to return to her.

***

She refused Adrian’s offer to rest and stepped out. Maybe because it was a dream, her head rang and she swayed.

“What’s the rush, Charlotte?” Adrian quickly steadied her and hooked arms.

“…I need to see the Grand Duke.”

“From the way you say that, there is something between you two, huh?” He leaned in, voice low, fishing for gossip.

Charlotte slipped from his grasp—too quickly for a delicate lady. Adrian raised his brows. Today she seemed… different—her walk, her tone, her air. Almost like a different person from when she arrived.

Did she finally snap when she heard the Grand Duke is getting engaged?

He knew how obsessively this world’s Charlotte had chased Noctum—blocking other matches, threatening ladies who sent proposals, sending Noctum letters that his staff never delivered. So a breakdown made sense… and yet, strangely, she seemed more composed and dignified than usual.

“Since when did Charlotte Daphsine and the Grand Duke fall in love?” he prodded again.

Charlotte sighed inwardly. Persistent, aren’t you? Out loud, calm and flat: “It’s not like that. I just want to see him.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s strange.”

“Strange?”

“Yeah. That he carries a sword.”

She had never, ever pictured him with a sword. He was gentle—he wouldn’t join in cruel experiments like other mages, he could hardly bring himself to pluck a flower. She could barely imagine him holding even a letter opener.

And yet here he was, supposedly wearing a greatsword used to cut down tough monsters. It hurt to think her past words might have shaped him into this. And still… she felt a strange, excited pull to see him.

Please let me see him clearly. Let me remember his face when I wake up.

She quickened her steps toward the main hall.

When she arrived, she didn’t do any of the things she’d rehearsed.

Whispers swelled around her:

“Why did she come here?”
“To snare His Grace, of course—or make a scene.”
“I wish she’d stay out of society.”
“At least she’ll be humiliated today.”

It had been a while since she’d heard such venom. She ignored it. In the real world, she’d watched some of these same nobles kneel and apologize.

She only saw one person:

Her husband—Noctum Afros.

His hair, neatly cut, didn’t even touch his nape; the fringe lay clean above his brows. He wore a tuxedo tailored to his frame, a badge marking him as a knight, and—though weapons were banned in the hall—at his waist, a long sword allowed by special exception.

Even for a dream, this was too much.

Her eyes burned. It felt like he had come this way on purpose, as if to say:

“This is what you like, isn’t it, Charlotte? How is it—do you like it?”

No, Noctum. I don’t. I love your original self.

She couldn’t hold it in. She wanted to tell him the truth—at least here, where it was “only a dream.”

That her past words were lies. That she’d spoken cruelly because she knew he was the hero of the “story” and she was the villainess who would be cast aside. That she never truly hated him, and only after his death did she realize she loved him.

Say it, Charlotte Afros. You can do it.

She clenched her hands; her short nails bit her palms.

Tap. Tap.

She walked toward him. Fifty more steps. Forty. Closer, closer—

“Your Grace!”

With only ten steps left, a woman suddenly grabbed Noctum’s arm.

Charlotte froze and stared. A beautiful woman with dirty-blonde hair and blue eyes—Lina Goldstein. Her family had once been commoners who earned a title through a great trading house and rose by serving the crown. If she remembered right, the only daughter had married into a foreign land.

So why was she by Noctum’s side? Had Charlotte ever cared about this woman?

Dreams draw from the unconscious, but Charlotte had never once thought of Lina.

As Charlotte stood stunned, the crowd sensed drama and buzzed: the villainess Charlotte Daphsine, Noctum Afros, and Lina Goldstein—a love triangle!

The murmurs grew so loud they drowned the music. Noctum frowned.

“This may not be the time to share good news.”

His voice was low and rough. Even that—she had never imagined.

She blinked to cool her hot eyes; a tear clung at the corner.

Silence fell with a single sentence from him.

Smiling slightly, Noctum drew Lina close. “Good things happen when I return to the capital. Like gaining a fiancée.”

“Fi…ancée?”

Her mind went blank.

Fiancée? That’s too much… The thought slipped out in a whisper.

Even in the noise, Noctum’s eyes snapped to hers. His face twisted.

“So from today on, I won’t accept any more proposals.”

Annoyance darkened his features. It wasn’t the noisy nobles or the gossip. Charlotte knew:

He was upset because of her.

Because she disgusted him.

She couldn’t bear it. She fled the hall. Worst dream ever.

***

Noctum watched Charlotte disappear with quick steps.

Strangely, he couldn’t look away.

So the rumor about her using black magic was true.

He’d laughed when he’d heard it out on the northern border. But seeing her today, he was suddenly convinced.

Otherwise, why would I be like this now—and why would I have cried like a madman before?

He remembered an hour earlier, when he found Charlotte collapsed in the garden and carried her to a guest room. At first, he acted on impulse; leaving a weeping woman lying there felt wrong. He felt nothing special—until the moment he turned to go.

“Noctum. Don’t go, please. I’m sorry. So please, don’t go…”

With a voice full of tears, Charlotte begged him. The hand that lay limp on the sheets groped and caught his pinky finger.

He met her wet green eyes again.

It felt like a flood of green summer leaves rushed into him—stealing his breath. And his eyes filled helplessly.

“Ah…”

Tears fell and fell, faster than he could wipe them. He didn’t even know why he was crying.

Why does it hurt?

As if someone were slicing his heart with a sharp knife. As if only sobbing could release the pain.

He had no idea why.

What finally pulled him out of that swamp of feeling was Adrian Verche—
—or rather, Adrian barging in, looking for Charlotte. The interruption snapped Noctum awake enough to leave the room.

She’s… a strange woman.

He stared at the empty space where Charlotte had been and reached that late conclusion.