He placed one hand at her waist, the other found hers. Kayona met his gaze, her smile calm and calculated as she rested her free hand on his arm.
The orchestra struck its third note. They moved in perfect step, the image of nobility.
But beneath the polished turns, her heart pounded like war drums.
Is Sylrick pretending to enjoy this… or is he trying to stir something up?
"What's on your mind, Archduchess?" he asked, his voice low and composed.
Let's not miss this opportunity.
Kayona softened her expression, her voice quieter.
"Well… I'm dealing with some issues that are threatening my position," she said with a sigh. "It's difficult."
She glanced away, feigning reluctance.
"I don't want to burden you with my problems. You've only just returned."
Sylrick leaned closer, his face nearly brushing her temple.
"I don't mind," Sylrick murmured, leaning closer. "Tell me. Everything."
She hesitated.
Why is he like this? We were never on speaking terms before he left for his training — especially not after our awful encounter at the burial of my parents.
So why is he acting like none of that happened?
Kayona closed her eyes briefly and exhaled.
"I need you to marry me. To preserve my title."
There. If he refuses, I will find another way.
Sylrick didn't flinch. He smiled.
"Just that?"
Huh? Has this guy gone mad? I know I need this marriage, but why isn't he even a little surprised?
Let's not judge yet. I'm sure he'll ask curious questions…
"When do we sign the papers?" he asked, far too calm.
Kayona blinked. "Wait… hold on. Aren't you curious why I proposed to you specifically?"
"No. I said what you wanted to hear."
Go on and drive me nuts.
Youdefinitely haven't changed, Sylrick Kartegen. Stilltrying to sway women off their feet. The military doesn't change men like you.
"So it's a no, then?" she asked.
"I will marry you, Archduchess Obregón. I mean it."
Stupid man. Probably dying to have mein his bed.
"Just like that?"
"Of course," Sylrick replied, light and easy.
"Even if it's just going to be for two years?"
A pause.
"What?"
She met his eyes, smiling.
"Don't tell me you thought it would be a serious marriage. How ironic."
"So… you want to preserve your title by experiencing marriage — not by being married?"
"Exactly."
At least he remembers how this Empire works.
Valchevia had a lot of strange rules, and the respect given to divorced noblewomen over unmarried ones was one of them. If a noblewoman married and later divorced, she kept the title she held before the marriage. If an Archduchess married an Archduke or the heir to an Archduchy, she retained both titles.
But if she married a nobleman of lower rank, she was obligated to pass the Archduke title to him — every estate, every right, signed into his name.
That was the risk.
Divorced noblewomen were more respected in Valchevia because most people didn't see marriage as a union of love. They saw it as proof — that a woman had endured something important and came out the other side. It was a mark of experience, not failure.
"Two years?"
He let the words settle between them, as if repeating them might make them sound better.
"You're planning to end what hasn't even begun."
He didn't stop dancing. His posture didn't falter. But his grip around her waist tightened — just slightly.
"I don't plan on wasting our years on something meaningless," she said.
"After we get divorced, I'll adopt two toddlers from an orphanage and raise them as my own. They'll grow up to be notable nobles — people who impact society for the better," Kayona added proudly.
Sylrick gave a short sigh, lowering his head close to her face.
"You want everything I represent on paper. But not me."
Kayona kept a straight face. "Is that supposed to surprise you?"
Sylrick snorted softly.
"So," she said, watching him closely, "did the marriage timespan change your mind?"
"Of course not," he replied. "Whenever you're ready, we'll get married. If it's tonight, I know the calls to make."
The next day,
The sun had barely cleared the eastern ridge when the estate staff began their quiet shuffle through the Obregón residence. Outside, Velchevia was still recovering from last night's ball — the gossip, the music, the politics dressed in pearls.
While inside Kayona's office, everything was still and controlled.
She stood by the tall windows, arms folded, watching the early light stretch across the garden below. The air smelled faintly of dried jasmine — an old comfort from her mother's time.
Behind her, the door clicked softly open.
"Your confidants have arrived, Archduchess," a servant murmured.
She didn't turn around. "Let them in."
The door opened, and the three entered in quiet succession. Maxwell Bukko, sharp and unreadable in his Obregón uniform, stepped in first, his eyes sweeping the room with practiced calm. Behind him came Baroness Anita Jerom, clad in a soft blue silk gown that swayed gently with each step, her expression composed but curious. Last was Rael Demwit, ever poised in his crisp grey butler's uniform, his hands folded neatly behind his back. None of them spoke. They took their places without question — Maxwell casting Kayona a knowing glance, the other two still unaware of the storm she was about to drop in their laps.
"Good day, Your Grace," they said in unison, offering a respectful bow.
Kayona moved to her desk and sat.
"Great. You're all here. Please, sit," she said quietly.
This probably has to do with the marriage she mentioned before the ball yesterday, Maxwell thought.
They each took their seats before her, bracing themselves for whatever task was about to be assigned.
"We have a busy day ahead, so I'll cut to the chase," Kayona said.
They stared, waiting.