fiance chapter 8

She’d heard tales of seas frozen solid. The Duke’s eyes, fixed on hers, were just as icy, a chilling cerulean. Sophia felt her heart constrict, her spine straightening involuntarily. It was strange to feel fear when a man was asking to be called by his nickname. An instinct warned her not to defy him.

“…Yes. I will.”

The Duke’s smile returned, bright and disarming. “Good girl.” He briefly stroked her hair, a fleeting, impersonal touch.

Yet, Sophia felt a lingering coldness wherever his hand had rested: her shoulder, her wrist and hand, her hair, and the light brush against her cheek. It was spring, yet the Duke carried the chill of the winter ball five months prior. Had she truly been poisoned? She felt strangely paralyzed.

While she sat frozen, she heard the Duke comforting her mother, the Countess, who responded with tearful gratitude. “…Thank you, Your Grace. I can’t believe she’s awake and well. She was so still. It’s a miracle. Heaven, and you, have saved her.”

“I did nothing. Sophia’s strength is to be commended.”

“I won’t forget this kindness,” the Count declared, his voice solemn. The Duke merely offered a curt smile and a handshake, as if to say, We’ll be family soon, no need for formalities.

***

Sophia gradually regained her strength. Initially, she’d doubted the poisoning. However, that evening, after the Duke’s departure, a fever erupted, confirming her weakened state. Despite leaving early, the Duke, upon hearing of her relapse, immediately sent a physician.

Her throat and chest burned, as if she’d swallowed the poison only last night. Yet, the physician’s medicine miraculously eased her pain and lowered her fever.

“You mustn’t overexert yourself,” the physician warned sternly before taking his leave, instructing her to diligently take the prescribed medicine for a week.

The Countess stayed by her side throughout the night, clutching her hand, fearful she might slip back into unconsciousness. Thanks to the medicine, however, Sophia’s fever broke, and she recovered quickly.

Four days later, her brother, Felix, returned from his studies at the Academy.

“Sophia!”

Hearing of his arrival, Sophia ran barefoot down the stairs. Felix, having ridden through the night, carried the scent of the wind. Sophia embraced him, spinning him around. “I missed you, Felix!”

Felix had been studying at the remote northern Academy for six years. For the first four, he’d visited every two months, but his visits had become infrequent in the last two years, likely due to a rift with their father. Her father expected him to return after four years and prepare to inherit the County, while Felix preferred his studies to politics. A heated argument two years prior had left them estranged.

Sophia, who had always trailed after Felix, emulating his interests, still couldn’t fathom his fascination with magic and fairies, subjects long relegated to the realm of myth.

“Sophia, you’re truly awake,” Felix exclaimed, his voice thick with emotion. It was rare to see her usually calm and composed brother so moved. He cupped her face, studying her features, before pulling her into a tight embrace. “I thought I’d lost you.”

His trembling voice brought home the reality of her five-month slumber.

Sophia finally had a moment alone with Felix after tea time. An early breakfast, a family affair, had been followed by their father monopolizing Felix’s time in the study. By tea time, their mother had taken over, discussing marriage and Felix’s studies. Sophia was present, but true, unguarded conversation remained elusive.

While their mother pressed Felix about his future, Sophia played the piano, the afternoon sun illuminating the drawing-room. The room, with its gilded frames, beautiful paintings, gleaming black piano, laurel-leaf embroidered sofa, expensive chairs, and exotic Eastern screens, was a picture of elegance.

Sophia played familiar, sweet melodies, passing the time. It was an ordinary day, except for one extraordinary detail: her engagement to the Duke.

What happened that night? She tried to imagine herself confessing to the Duke. What could she have possibly said? She’d never harbored such feelings. Had she, in a fit of madness, sought him out, declaring, “Hello there, handsome gentleman,” snatched a nearby glass of wine, and proclaimed, “If I drink this, you’re mine!” before downing the poisoned drink? Perhaps the Duke, witnessing her dramatic (and likely slurred) gesture, had mistaken it for a genuine confession.

Lost in thought, Sophia frowned. Felix sat beside her, adding a harmony to her playing. Startled, she struck a discordant note, breaking off the melody.

“What’s on your mind?”