TDSWM Chapter 14

Chapter 14

“Scared?”
Just a little while ago, hadn’t she tried so boldly to take over my lips?
And now she was scared?

My chest tightened.
Yes, the domain of Caricas had once been the Demon Realm, a place long feared by the people of the Empire.
Was that it?
Was that why she spoke of divorce?
Because she wanted to escape this land that had once belonged to demons?

Gerald himself had not wanted this marriage in the first place.
If not for the nobles who had constantly petitioned the Emperor that Theodore must be killed, Gerald never would have accepted such a ridiculous union.

But the Emperor intervened.
He ordered Gerald to marry Sinclair, the second daughter of Michael—brother of Empress Kenneth and head of the Noble Council.
By tying himself to the daughter of House Owen, the leader of the nobility, perhaps the clamor surrounding Theodore’s fate would finally be silenced.

That damn curse, curse, curse!
Who had caused the death of his sister and her husband?
Who had brought about that curse that left behind a helpless infant?

Even so, Gerald could not outright reject the Emperor’s command, nor could he afford to make enemies of every noble.

Thus, the wedding had been forced upon him.

Sinclair had shown no particular opinion on the matter, so he thought she had accepted this marriage dispassionately as well.

But looking back on what she had said in the carriage, Gerald realized this marriage had been her way of escaping House Owen.

What in the world had happened to her there?

Even if it had been a political marriage arranged by the Emperor and a Marquis, how could she speak only of duty as a mother? How could she claim she would try her best only as mistress of the house?

Wouldn’t most wives long for their husband’s love?

And yet, she had declared she would not take their side.

Now, here she was, a wife who did not even want her husband’s affection.

If she feared the Demon Realm so much, shouldn’t she rely on him—the very man once hailed as the King who subjugated it?

And yet, on the very day of their wedding, she dared to speak of divorce.

Still… her declaration had moved him.
That she would not see Theodore as the seed of evil, but raise him wholeheartedly as his mother—those were not ordinary words.

“I don’t want to be used by anyone. This is my life.”

And those cruel scars on her back spoke of a heavy, hidden past.

In the end, Gerald could not bring himself to leave the room, even with his frightened bride asleep.

Sinclair clutched his hand tightly, snoring softly as she slept. Her brows were furrowed, and she even mumbled in her dreams.

Curious about her murmurs, Gerald leaned closer—then stopped himself.

He couldn’t bear to let his face hover so near her pale, delicate one, tangled in her pitiful breaths.

Instead, he reached out a finger to smooth her furrowed brow. But as he did so, his fingertip lingered, tracing her soft brows, skimming past her temple, and daring to brush her cheek.

He pulled back abruptly. Don’t cross the line.

He had stayed only to protect a fearful bride within this territory. To harbor feelings for someone who spoke of divorce was dangerous.

He quickly tucked the blanket over her.

Sinclair then rolled onto her side, curling up like a child in the womb. She clutched the blanket as if it were a lifeboat—only to suddenly kick out with one foot.

“You cockroach bastard, run! Run away!”

Then she even started crying.

“Live. Somehow live… uhh-hhh…”

Run?
Cockroach bastard?

Who was she talking about?

Gerald did not know that Sinclair’s mutterings were about the director’s son from her past life. Instead, suspicion stirred in his chest. Could it have been a man she once loved?

The thought made his blood boil.
Did she already have a man?
Was it for his sake that she had married Gerald?
Had the Marquis beaten her so cruelly because of it?

But why? The Empire permitted free love.

A bitter laugh escaped him.
So that’s it… that’s what this marriage means.

She needed no man, no husband. She only meant to live as Theodore’s mother and as mistress of this house.

The kind of man House Owen would never accept as a son-in-law.

Gerald’s face grew heavy as lead. With a mirthless laugh, he pressed his lips into a thin line, then stormed from the room and into his own chambers.

But sleep would not come.

He read, he raged, and finally took up his sword, swinging it until sweat poured down his body.

Then—

Boom. Boom.

A heavy crash echoed, shaking the floors. Gerald flung his door open.

The corridor was already thick with yellow fog, so dense he couldn’t see an inch ahead. The acrid stench of sulfur burned his nose.

It was Demon Realm mist.

That sinister fog—the very kind used by demons to enthrall and deceive. It slipped into the lungs and burrowed into the brain, twisting memory and conjuring hallucinations.

Veterans like Gerald and his knights had trained to resist it through mana. But Theodore—and the ordinary guests—would not.

Gerald whistled sharply through his fingers.

“Pheeew! Beep-beep! Pheeeeew! Beep-beep!”

But no alarm answered. The castle was silent.

Rage pounded in his chest.
Dare they send mist into sacred Schlesen Castle?

The lamps powered by magic stones along the walls were all extinguished. Knights posted in the halls lay unconscious.

Gods… sleeping mist.

Gerald raced to Theodore’s chamber. Thankfully, the boy still slept soundly.

But then—through the window—a pale shadow.

His pupils widened.

Sinclair. In her nightclothes. Teetering dangerously along the outer battlements.

He threw the window open and searched frantically, but saw no one around her.

Why?

He leapt from the window, aiming for her side.

The scene below chilled his blood—every guard upon the walls and within the castle had fallen asleep.

Who dared cripple the fortress with such magic fog?

The Demon Realm had almost never launched a direct assault on the Empire. The demons lacked unity, lacked any force to strike like this.

Had something changed across the river? Why had no reports reached him?

Had his three years of seclusion in the library, unraveling curses, left the defenses slack?

Even the alarm-bells for mist, which he had prepared just in case, had failed.

Sinclair staggered, buffeted by invisible currents, crashing into wall and tower alike.

Boom! Boom!

Blows that would have killed any ordinary person.

Gerald scanned desperately for a spellcaster. But he saw nothing—only fog.

Gathering mana, he stilled the vortex around her.

At once, her body plummeted.

He dove to catch her—only for her to be yanked skyward like a leaf on the wind.

He refused to let her go. With one arm, he seized her, then shouted into the emptiness above:

“Who’s there!”

He was certain someone was toying with him.

And then—just like that—the fog vanished.

As though a vast white sheet had been pulled from over the castle.

Gerald landed safely with her in his arms and checked her condition.

“Sinclair! Sinclair!”

But then—he saw the blood trickling from her nose and lips.

It was fatal. Her lungs and brain must have been injured.

No. Impossible. His bride could not die on their wedding night—not without plunging the Empire into war.

He summoned the palace physician and a healer in a frenzy.

But both declared her unharmed. Perfectly fine—only deeply asleep.

And the mist? Gone, as if it had never been. No one in the castle even knew it had existed.

Had it all been a hallucination?

Yet the stain of her blood on his chest insisted otherwise.

At that moment—

“Your Grace.”

Gerald turned. Across the desk, Schmidt bowed low.

“What news?”

“No breaches in the barrier. The warning bells function properly.”

“Truly?”

Gerald bit his lip and strode to the window, gazing out at the snow-clad Todai Mountains.

“The mountains? No signs of a broken seal or tampered circle?”

“None, sir.”

He folded his arms, glaring in displeasure.

“Did you truly investigate?”

Coldness laced his voice, a low baritone that made the air itself seem to freeze. Schmidt shuddered.

“Yes, sir.”

Yes… the seal from five years ago. Not even Chancellor Jang could break it.

But what if he had help from outside?

The Emperor Herace had once declared that all traces of treason had been purged. That the demonfolk of Caricas had all been slaughtered.

And yet…

“Are they still where they should be?” Gerald asked.

“As always. Their only concern is Your Grace. Shall I go myself to confirm?”

“No. Lay the trap first.”

Since Herace’s rise to the throne, Caricas’s enemy had not been the Demon Realm, but the Empire itself.

The Empire sought either to erase this territory—or erase Gerald.

Even this marriage was just another snare.

Sinclair.
Whether she was truly a shackle remained to be seen. But if Jang had already targeted her life on their wedding night—

Gerald might soon have to venture into the Demon Realm in secret.

“Any further orders?”

Gerald hesitated.

“…Hmm.”

Schmidt was startled. Gerald had never stalled in giving a command before. His face even flushed, as though embarrassed.

“…No. Leave.”

“Yes, sir.”

He turned to go—

“Wait.”

“Yes?”

Schmidt looked back. Gerald fidgeted with his earlobe, avoiding his gaze.

“…Find out if my wife had a man before our marriage.”

“The Duchess?”

Schmidt nearly let his voice rise in shock.

“…Yes, sir.”

Once Schmidt departed, Gerald let out a bitter breath and stamped his foot.

That he—who had once commanded armies in battle against the Demon Realm—was now reduced to ordering petty investigations of jealousy…

His stomach cramped. The familiar pain of stress-induced gastritis.

“Damn it.”

Pressing his abdomen, he decided he had to stop thinking of her. He swallowed a pill from the vial on his desk, then pulled out a book on curses, moving to the chair by the window.

Knock, knock.

“What is it?”

The door opened. Butler Thomas entered.

“The wet nurse begs an audience with you, my lord.”

“The wet nurse? Why?”

“She says it concerns the Duchess.”

Gerald rubbed at his tired eyes. He had tried to wipe her from his thoughts—yet here she was again.

“…Let her in.”