Why had she naively thought he wouldn't pull a prank like this? 'Maybe he's destined to become a tyrant, no wonder what.' She snorted inwardly. Could she still live longer with all these tasteless jokes?
"First a liar. Now a schemer," he said, his voice stayed lazy, his gaze calm. "You've changed."
Her chin went stiff.
"Is that a complaint?"
"Hardly." His eyes swept over her face. "That's the kind of spirit a duke's wife needs." His head titled slightly. "Preparing for the role? You pass."
She sniffed, crossing her arms. "I thought she's required to know how to ride a pig."
He laughed softly, low in his throat, then shifted to sit beside her. He took her hand without asking, his thumb stroking the delicate skin of her wrist. Her pulse jumped under his touch. She wanted to take her hand away. 'But what's the use? She'll always lose, anyway.'
Dorian observed her carefully. For once, she didn't fight him. "I'm not going to ask why you're so desperate to be a savior all of a sudden. The fire. The governor's wife. Playing saint." His voice was low, hard with seriousness. "But..."
The silence stretched, and her heart hammered. She hated the way her heart raced. Hated that she couldn't look away from those dark, demanding eyes.
"Don't you dare address me by my title," he said. "And if you ever hide your health from me again, I'll drag you to Varyn Duchy ahead of schedule."
Her lips curved, disdainful. "There's a schedule? I wasn't aware I had one."
She turned her face sharply. Yet he moved with her, leaning in until his breath ghosted her ear. Her pulse thrummed beneath the press of his finger on her wrist. She refused to tremble.
"Scared of what?" he whispered.
"I'm terrified." Her lips curved without humor. "The road is blocked, people are trapped, and somewhere Brother is probably already blaming a duke. Congratulations."
Dorian leaned back, a faint smile flickering across his face before slowly fading. He felt her fear. Even at the Rashet Manor. He wondered if the title had done it—if becoming a duke finally scared her off.
"What do you want?" she said, low.
He stared ahead, unblinking.
"Your father understands it," he said. "You're of age. Rashet can't keep you forever. And to be honest, I've run out of patience."
She shot him a brief side-eye.
'Is he asking her to marry him?' She exhaled sharply. 'Blocking a bridge to propose to a woman?'
"This feels an awful lot like kidnapping."
"Then my plan is working." His smirk deepened. "Give me your word. A blobfish is waiting for me at the imperial palace."
She blinked. 'The emperor?' She had seen his portraits. A big, flat nose. Pouted, thin lips. Terribly small eyes.
She glanced at him.
Was this about the endless talk of an engagement between him and the Second Princess—the Empress's only child? So he truly didn't want to marry her?
Her chin stayed stiff. "I'm not a game piece you move just because you're being cornered."
He laughed, gripping her hand tighter when she tried to pull away, pressing it to his chest as he laughed. "I won a battle at the border, didn't I? I'm due a reward today. A decree. I want one thing."
"And I'm supposed to be a prize you can just claim, Your Grace?"
"Rian," he corrected firmly. "If you were just a prize, Sia, I wouldn't have bothered blocking the bridge. I'd have gone straight to the palace and demanded a decree that you're marrying me regardless."
'Hah!' she sighed.
'Marrying him.'
Her head hurt just thinking about that.
"And blocking the bridge gives me options? This feels like a trap, Dorian Alexei."
He tilted his head, amused. "One word from you and half the capital's trade routes go quiet. Merchants love stability, Sia. Don't make them suffer just to spite me."
"You're insane—"
Then his hand cupped her chin, turning her face toward him. Her gaze fluttered, while his had turned obsidian. The monster in her dream—the one who had slaughtered everyone, even Levon, in madness. Yet, somehow she realized: what she truly feared wasn't who Dorian Alexei was. It was dying in vain.
"I have limitations. The poison may go away, but my illness stays—"
"Your skin won't burn from the heat as long as you take proper care. Besides, I've already brought medicine from the best doctors at the Academy," he said with finality.
She looked at him.
"Some people want me dead. I want to make them pay. That's who I am, Rian. Vengeful. Scheming. I've got a lot of pride in me. I'm not a wide—eyed, innocent doll you know. Do you still want me?"
Dorian's gaze caught.
He leaned closer, watching the faint pink appeared in her cheeks. His finger caught the auburn strands curling at her ear.
He admitted he had grown used to her laughter, her stillness, that uncomplicated girl who just listened to him. That version was much simpler. Predictable.
Then three months away, and she had suddenly sharpened into something new. It intrigued him. And he still liked it.
"I don't care who you are, Nyasia Sofia." He almost smiled. "Just be there when I come looking."
Meanwhile, Nyasia's cheeks flushed at his words, knowing full well he wasn't joking. She had seen it—another timeline—where he burned Tenusa because he couldn't find her anymore.
"Even if His Majesty agrees, Father is different," she said, with a defiant smirk. "He has very strong opinions about men like you. And with all the rumors surrounding you, he'd be suspicious. And if His Majesty decrees our—"
"Don't look so excited." The corner of his eyes held a devilish grin. "I'm not naming names. That's too risky for now. My point is—I choose my own wife."
She said nothing.
"Marry me," he said, voice firm. "We'll deal with your Father later."
"I want to deal with my aunt and cousin first," she replied, pausing deliberately. "I don't know... I can't just leave the manor just like this. I told you I'm vengeful."
"Let Levon handle the poison." His mouth twitched. He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. "But if your revenge plot turns you into bait, forget it. I didn't fight for a title just to bury my woman."
*