Chapter 11
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Franz wasn’t forceful. He waited until Alesia’s eyes had fully closed.
Only after receiving her silent permission did he gently pull her closer.
His lips met hers softly, almost reverently. As their lips pressed together fully, Franz released a heavy sigh from between clenched teeth. His tongue cautiously brushed over Alesia’s tightly closed bottom lip as he embraced her tightly.
A crisp, enticing scent enveloped her, dangerously alluring.
But she couldn’t allow herself to waver.
Trapped in Franz’s strong embrace, Alesia lifted her hands to push against his chest. As she struggled, the soft mattress shifted beneath them.
“Fran… ah—”
A small moan escaped her lips as she whispered his name. The moment Alesia parted her lips, Franz seized the opportunity and deepened the kiss. His hot tongue invaded her mouth roughly, their breaths mingling heatedly in the quiet room.
What began as a gentle kiss quickly intensified, dissolving Alesia’s resistance bit by bit. Franz tilted his head, pressing their bodies even closer, and her heart, previously calm, started pounding uncontrollably.
‘…No.’
Her heart hammered in her ears, forcing Alesia’s eyes wide open. She gathered her remaining strength to push Franz away.
But despite her intention, her hands merely rested weakly on his chest. Even this small gesture was enough to stop Franz. He froze, pulling away slightly to catch his breath.
“You’re right,” he murmured bitterly, breathing heavily. “We haven’t had our wedding yet.”
As if promising to resume after the wedding.
Alesia felt deeply conflicted.
Franz had never liked her. He’d openly shown distaste at her presence and even found her scent revolting. Their wedding night had been nothing but duty—cold and emotionless. Every moment with Franz had been a torment, painful enough to bring tears.
And as a result of one such night…
‘Forget it, Lesa.’
Alesia shook her head slightly, rearranging her bodice with trembling fingers, forcing a slight smile.
“You’re right. So please refrain from visiting my room like this again. If you need to speak with me, send word through Sara.”
“And what about you?”
“Excuse me?”
“You might want to speak with me as well. Or you might need help during your stay here. If you ever want to see me, just open the door to my room.”
Franz’s voice was filled with earnestness. Seeing her expression harden, he quickly added,
“…If that ever happens.”
“It won’t,” Alesia replied bluntly, her emerald eyes icy cold. “Because when I truly need you, you won’t be there.”
“You seem sure of that. Why?”
“Who knows? Why indeed?”
Alesia’s lips twisted bitterly. She was accustomed to Franz’s neglect—she’d experienced it so many times it had become routine.
His current sweetness stemmed purely from necessity. To him, she was merely a tool, nothing more.
Yet here he was, acting as if he held genuine feelings for her. In some ways, this Franz was crueler than the Franz she once knew.
Pretending to yearn for love…
‘I’ll never seek you out.’
Alesia’s hand moved to her stomach, gripping her dress so tightly that wrinkles formed. Trembling slightly, she glared at Franz.
“So don’t waste your time on me,” she warned sharply.
Franz’s handsome forehead creased.
“And don’t rely on me.”
Coldly, she turned away. As she turned from him, she felt his sigh brush against her neck. The bed shifted again as Franz withdrew.
Alesia didn’t turn back until she heard the door close. Only after he left did she finally allow herself to breathe, curling inward and clutching her stomach tightly.
“Ugh…”
She bit her lip, fighting tears.
‘Ask for help? You’d help me?’
She laughed bitterly. She would never ask Franz for help again—no matter what.
Because he would abandon her anyway.
‘I won’t be fooled twice.’
Her shoulders shook gently as tears welled up. For a long time, quiet sobs filled the empty bedroom.
Alesia was already being treated as the Second Princess Consort.
Though the wedding was still some days away, the nobility eagerly sought her favor, flooding her daily with invitations.
Alesia glanced indifferently at the pile of invitations Sara had brought. Each sender expressed their earnest wish to honor the new princess.
‘If they’re sending me this many, they must’ve already sent plenty of gifts to Ambrose territory.’
Her pen paused. Turning her gaze, she noticed the beautifully landscaped garden outside, painted in the rich hues of autumn.
The detached palace from her previous life had no garden, no lovely trees or flowerbeds to soothe her eyes.
Back then, trapped and isolated, she’d never allowed herself such luxury.
But now, she was comfortably seated in the heart of the Second Prince’s Palace, leisurely enjoying the view. Her bed was soft, the fireplace warm, and every comfort she’d never imagined was now hers.
‘Everything is changing.’
Even those who had previously disregarded her were now treating her with utmost respect, aware that her quarters were directly connected to Franz’s. Such attentiveness clearly revealed their sensitivity to shifts in power.
“…My lady?”
Sara’s gentle voice broke through her thoughts, and Alesia blinked in confusion.
“Hmm? What did you say?”
“Should I prepare a reply for this first?”
“What’s that?”
Sara politely held out a silver tray containing a letter. Recognizing the wax seal embossed with a shield encircled by rose vines—the crest of the Ambrose family—Alesia frowned.
Without opening it, she already knew who’d sent it and what it would contain. Patricia, no doubt, would be advising her to win Franz’s heart and loyally serve him.
“That was fast.”
She muttered bitterly. She hadn’t expected to receive this letter until after the wedding, yet it arrived earlier. Clearly, not everything unfolded exactly as before.
“Throw it away,” she commanded shortly. “From now on, discard any letters from Ambrose. I won’t read or reply to them.”
“But…”
Sara hesitated, holding the tray uneasily.
Alesia gestured coldly, beckoning Sara closer, then roughly tore open the envelope with a paper knife. She quickly scanned the letter.
“As expected.”
She handed it to Sara, ordering sharply,
“You read it, too.”
“What? How could I dare read a letter from your stepmother?”
“It’s fine. Hurry.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Sara finally looked down at the letter. As she read, her initial caution turned to anger, and her hands began trembling.
Alesia observed carefully, guessing which part Sara was currently reading—the request for money, claiming the dowry was already spent, or perhaps the plea to convince Franz to bestow a noble title on Caleb.
“This… this is terrible. How could she dare ask this of you?”
Sara raised her eyes in shock, violet irises trembling.
Sara knew well how Alesia had been treated at Ambrose—tormented by her stepmother, reliant solely on Caleb. Yet, after arriving at the palace, Alesia’s status had risen dramatically, making Sara believe Patricia wouldn’t dare harass her further.
Sara needed to understand clearly why Alesia refused Ambrose’s contact—not out of petty grudges, but justified caution.
“Do you understand now?” Alesia snatched back the letter, tossing it decisively into the fireplace. Watching flames devour the paper, she declared coldly,
“Alesia of Ambrose is dead. Burn every letter addressed to the dead.”
