The Villainess's Secret Bedroom Service
Chapter 57: Spilled Tea

Chapter 57: Spilled Tea

The Throne Room enveloped in profound stillness and darkness, basked only in the shimmering silver light of the moon, which filtered through the tall, narrow windows adorned with transparent mosaics crafted from broken glass.

The Emperor stood motionless, his entire form oriented toward one of the windows, and his hands clasped resolutely behind his back. At length, the stately hush of the Throne Room was disrupted by the resounding and assured footfalls of Loyd Rische, who approached from behind. The Crown Prince positioned himself alongside his father, his countenance reflecting the pale moonlight as if dusted with a delicate glimmer. In a low, commanding tone, he inquired,

"Why did you propose that Rosalie Ashter should reinstate her father’s title?"

In the face of the inquiry, silence prevailed. The Emperor gazed pensively into the darkness beyond the window, carefully considering his response. When it appeared that his son could no longer endure the wordless tension, Luther turned to meet the prince’s gaze, a subtle smile gracing his aged countenance.

"Damien, free from the demonic curse, remains a loyal and devoted dog, content in serving his master without ambition. However, when facing seizures, Damien transforms into a ferocious hound, nearly breaking free from restraint. It is merely a precaution to place another leash upon him, to ensure his safety. Now that he has someone he deeply cares for, he shall not dare to undertake any perilous endeavors that could harm her."

***

The morning sun ascended with a gradual grace, casting its warm, pinkish glow upon the deserted training grounds. Rosalie, draped in a thin blue shawl, cradled her rosy cheeks with her hands, her elbows finding solace upon her knees. Her vacant gaze fixated upon the sparring arena ahead, and intermittent sighs, though solitary, resonated with resounding clarity, escaping from her luscious plump lips, each breath forming a fleeting cloud of vapor that the serene September breeze promptly carried away.

Amidst another profound exhale, Rosalie reclined against the sturdy back of the wooden bench, her head gently leaned back, and her eyes finding respite in closure.

"So... With both Ian and Raphael Ashter no longer posing a threat to my life, the danger has dissipated. Inheriting the title of Marquess implies obtaining all the family wealth. Yet, instead of terminating the contract with Damien and seeking tranquility elsewhere, I have inadvertently hastened our wedding."

Since the culmination of Raphael’s trial, Lady Ashter’s thoughts fixated on one singular matter—the impending union with Grand Duke Damien Dio.

She swiftly jerked her body up, resuming an upright posture, and briskly pressed her cold palms against her cheeks, as if attempting to reclaim clarity in her mind.

"I mean... I could have still inherited the wealth, so what significance would it hold if I remained as the daughter and sister to those deemed criminals? What will transpire when Evangelina reappears next fall? Is divorce even permitted within this empire? Furthermore, what becomes of my title then? This is all too overwhelming; none of it was part of my plan!"

Her inner turmoil was abruptly disrupted by Logan’s resonant call emanating from the sparring field.

"Lady Rosalie! How many now?!"

The young woman turned her head toward the knight, slowly emerging from her contemplative reverie. Having failed to protect Rosalie during the ambush, Logan faced the prospect of severe punishment from Damien. However, thanks to Lady Ashter’s unwavering appeals, the duke relented, and the punishment was tempered. Logan was left with an intensified physical training regimen, to be diligently observed every morning from four until eight o’clock. Feeling a measure of responsibility for his predicament, Rosalie resolved to accompany him throughout each training session, offering assistance to both him and herself in making the time pass more smoothly.

Her current responsibility involved keeping track of his laps while he ran, yet Rosalie found herself deeply engrossed in her thoughts during the entire time. As a consequence, she lost count of the number of laps he had completed around the sparring field. Wanting to be benevolent and not resorting to trickery to make Logan start over, she made a compassionate decision to alleviate his suffering for the day.

"One hundred! You have completed your running routine, Sir Logan!"

’I don’t believe it was anywhere close to seventy... Oh well, let him rest a little today.’

Approaching her bench, Logan received a generous, absent-minded look from Rosalie as she handed him a large, white towel and a glass bottle of water. After he consumed the entire contents of the bottle, he wiped his mouth with a satisfied sound akin to that of a contented sigh and smiled.

"You need not burden yourself by coming here every morning, My Lady. Please do not misunderstand, I am entirely grateful for all your kindness and support, but truthfully, I deserve this punishment, and your presence makes me feel as though you, too, are being penalized alongside me."

In response, Lady Ashter gently shook her head. Logan’s words were consistently selfless and endearing, never failing to lift her spirits, even when there seemed to be no cause for it.

Despite Logan’s determination not to pry or be intrusive, he could no longer ignore his lady’s somewhat sorrowful and distant demeanor. Taking a seat on the bench beside her, he hesitated momentarily before letting out an awkward sigh, finally mustering the courage to inquire,

"Forgive my intrusion, my lady, but I couldn’t help but notice that you have been appearing rather unwell lately. Is everything alright?"

Rosalie nodded gracefully, her vacant gaze idly tracing the patterns on the wooden steps above the sparring field.

"Yes, I am fine. Thank you. I simply have a lot on my mind."

Her reply elicited a warm smile from the knight, his handsome countenance expressing kindness. Leaning closer to her, he gently nudged her arm with his elbow.

"Is it because of the wedding? I can imagine there are countless matters to attend to, and His Grace might not be of much assistance in such affairs."

Rosalie responded with an uneasy smile, and suddenly, a realization struck her – Damien had never mentioned the wedding even once ever since the trial, despite their mutual understanding that their arrangement would conclude within a year!

’I couldn’t ask him about it then, in the presence of the Emperor and other nobles, but what if he shares the same sentiment? Goodness, this is driving me to distraction.’

"Uhm, Lady Rosalie, we should probably return to the mansion. It is nearly time for your breakfast, and I truly need to freshen up."

Lady Ashter observed the knight’s perspiration-dampened appearance and promptly rose from her seat, helping him up by his broad arm, concerned that he might catch a cold after staying in the chilly morning air for so long.

"You are absolutely right, Sir Logan. Let us make our way back."

"Of course, no need to prod me, My Lady. I am coming! How do you possess such strength?!"

***

Having entrusted Logan to his own devices, Rosalie resumed her tranquil stroll through the empty mansion hall, heading back to her bedroom. In the midst of her leisurely walk, her attention was drawn to a tall, dark silhouette suddenly appearing, carrying a white porcelain cup of tea in his large hands.

"Your Grace!"

Her resounding voice reverberated through the still-sleepy hallway like a sudden clap of thunder, causing the duke to come to an abrupt stop, inadvertently spilling the tea all over his loose black shirt.

"Oh dear! Your Grace!"

Taken aback by the unexpected outcome of her overly enthusiastic greeting, Lady Ashter widened her eyes and rushed toward Damien, resuming her bewildered exclamations,

"Oh, Your Grace, I am deeply sorry for startling you! It must be so hot!"

Without a second thought, she began shaking the fabric of the duke’s shirt, gently pulling it away from his body. Leaning closer to his chest, she started blowing air upon it as if attempting to cool it down with her own breath.

The close proximity of her face to his chest and the feeling of her warm breath on his skin sent a tingling sensation through Damien’s insides, causing his cheeks to flush and his whole body to feel aflame, ignoring the burning sensation from the spilled tea. As Rosalie continued to recklessly touch his chest, completely unaware of the impact it was having on him, Damien felt like he was on the verge of losing control. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he firmly grasped Lady Ashter’s wrists, almost lifting her entire body as he pulled her away. With a stern expression, he gazed directly into her eyes, his face darkening with a touch of anger,

"Stop! That’s enough, Lady Rosalie."