Episode 117

“Yvonne.”

“Yes?”

Yvonne stared directly at Yurian, who was hovering over her, his arms caging her in like iron bars.

She felt like she finally understood him.

She knew he would never force her into anything. The proof was in how he held himself back—even now, he wasn’t pressing his full weight against her, careful not to burden her.

Someone like him—

Could never hurt her.

As a princess, Yvonne had always lived with fear. In the imperial palace, she constantly bore the weight of uncertainty, never knowing when death might come for her.

The temperamental emperor was impossible to please.

That same emperor, who called her his daughter, also wished to kill her. And even though she wasn’t his real daughter, he treated her like a lover, whispering words of affection while keeping his true intentions hidden.

He told her he loved her, but never once acted like he did.

Of all the people who had ever confessed their love to her, not a single one had put her first like Yurian did.

He didn’t demand her love. He respected her will.

“Yvonne, why are you staying still? If you don’t move, I’ll start getting the wrong idea.”

Of course.

She felt like she was confirming, once again, that Yurian would never push her into anything.

And somehow, the fact that he didn’t disappoint her brought her a strange sense of relief.

Smiling softly, Yvonne reached up and stroked his cheek.

“….”

Yurian clenched his lips shut as if holding something back. Even in the dim light, she could see his expression clearly.

His heart was pounding loudly, as if just her touch alone was enough to send him into chaos.

“If you behave, I’ll let you sleep next to me.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Do you even know what kind of person I am?”

“And what kind of person are you?”

“Someone who really, really likes you.”

“I told you not to confess.”

“Then don’t make me confess.”

She liked his childish grumbling.

Even when he admitted his feelings, he never demanded anything from her in return.

Unlike before—when their relationship had been a matter of negotiation—he was now simply expressing his emotions, hoping she would acknowledge them.

“Is that what you want?”

“…No. That was a mistake.”

The more he touched her, the harder it became to control himself.

Sleeping beside her felt like an incredibly dangerous idea.

“Then I’ll stay here only until you fall asleep.”

“That’s what I said in the first place.”

“Ah… right.”

Yurian obediently lay down beside her again.

“Can I offer you my arm as a pillow?”

“You’ll have to leave for my room later, and I hate waking up in the middle of the night.”

“I promise I won’t wake you.”

“Oh? Have you tested that on other women before?”

“…You are the first and last woman to ever share my bed.”

Yvonne already knew that.

She had only asked to see if he would fluster and take his words back.

“Do whatever you want.”

“Alright.”

Yurian carefully slid his arm under her pillow, resting it beneath the nape of her neck.

“It’s hard.”

“But you like my hard arms, don’t you?”

She didn’t deny it.

Yurian had the strong, knightly build she preferred.

“I’m going to sleep now, so be quiet.”

“Understood.”

Yvonne lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, while Yurian turned toward her.

He prayed that the pulse in his arm wouldn’t disturb her sleep.

He even slowed his breathing, fearing that if she noticed his erratic heartbeat, she wouldn’t be able to rest.

Normally, he would be able to sense the rhythm of her breath, her heartbeat, her calmness.

But right now, he was too focused on controlling his own body to notice hers.

She was breathtaking, even from the side.

Her fluttering platinum lashes reminded him of delicate butterfly wings.

Her lips, curving into small smiles when she spoke, were enticing.

Her graceful fingers and soft, peach-colored cheeks—

He couldn’t help but think—

Maybe he and Yvonne were truly destined for each other.

Even before they had properly met, even when all he had seen of her was the glimpse of her hidden presence at imperial events—

She had already been imprinted beneath his eyelids.

And the moment he met her again, he realized—

This strange feeling had been controlling him for far longer than he had known.

He had changed.

Back then, he had been desperate to push his emotions onto her, hoping she would respond in kind.

But now, that desperation had faded.

And he welcomed that change.

Because he knew how she saw him.

Yurian wasn’t a fool.

Even when she was with Marquess, the man she called her husband, she was always aware of Yurian’s presence.

She kept her guard up around him.

Yet she also looked at him as if she wanted him to come closer.

But every time she rejected him because of Marquess, her sharp decisiveness left him baffled.

Her eyes told him one thing—

But her actions told him another.

If she had truly chosen Marquess—if she had truly picked that fox-like tactician—

“I would have wanted to kill him.”

“I’m still awake, so don’t say terrifying things like that.”

“Pfft….”

Yurian chuckled at his own slip of the tongue.

Her reaction was amusing.

She no longer feared him.

She no longer hesitated around him.

And he loved that.

Before, whenever he had tried to approach her, he could feel the wariness in her eyes.

But now—

Now, he could tell just how comfortable she was with him.

“Try calming your heartbeat a little, will you?”

“Was it too loud?”

“Incredibly. Yurian, are you some kind of clock? It’s like I’m sleeping next to a grandfather clock.”

“Pfft—hahaha!”

Yurian couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore.

“Ugh, stop moving your arm. It’s making me dizzy.”

“Puhaha… ha…!”

Yvonne turned onto her side, facing him. His expression was filled with amusement as he laughed freely, as if he truly found this hilarious.

“Enough.”

“Understood.”

He forced himself to stop laughing, though his lips still curled into a smile.

Yvonne thought he was really a strange man.

“Yurian, do you want me to let you hold me while we sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Then don’t move, don’t laugh, and keep that loud heartbeat in check.”

“Understood.”

“And no funny business.”

“I swear.”

She must have gone mad.

Because all she wanted was to feel the warmth Yurian provided.

When Yvonne woke up, she was startled.

She had expected Yurian to still be with her.

But when she opened her eyes, all she saw was a neatly folded bundle of clothes.

A uniform.

Clearly the one Yurian had been wearing.

The fabric carried the scent of sun-dried linen.

“Yurian?”

She called out, confused.

But the room was silent.

Yvonne blinked at the morning light filtering in from the canopy curtains before swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

The air outside the blankets was chilly.

The stillness of the room, the absence of anyone else—it left her with an unpleasant feeling.

So she opened the door, stepping out in search of Yurian.

Creak.

The door swung open easily.

Wearing her soft slippers, she padded down the corridor.

Yet, strangely, not a single servant was in sight.

Perhaps she should have just pulled the bell cord.

That thought crossed her mind, but at the same time, she was curious.

If she wandered out like this and Yurian found her, how would he react?

She was still in a négligée, though the fabric was thick like a simple white dress.

“Ugh….”

She felt a pang of hunger.

Judging by the position of the sun, it was morning.

For some reason, she had a feeling Yurian would be in the dining room.

Most estates had their bedrooms on the upper floors and the dining hall on the first.

So if she went downstairs, she would probably find him.

As she descended the long staircase, she glanced at the paintings decorating the walls.

Each was a masterpiece from a renowned artist.

The original Yvonne, before she entered this world, had an exceptional aesthetic sense.

And because of that, this Yvonne had studied diligently to match that knowledge, gaining a deep understanding of the arts.

What she didn’t know was that it had all been part of Hildebrandt’s test—

A test he both wanted her to pass, and yet, at the same time, hoped she never would.

“You there.”

“Yes, my lady?”

Yvonne stopped a passing servant and asked—

“Where is Yurian?”

“His Grace is in the drawing room.”

“Is that so? Take me there.”

“…Yes, my lady.”

The servant, still holding a vase tightly in her arms, guided her down the hall.

Yvonne followed, noticing the brief flicker of surprise in the maid’s expression at her attire.

But the woman said nothing and continued walking.

Then, just as Yvonne reached the drawing room, she heard voices.

“So that means I’m to become His Grace’s fiancée?”

“Yes.”

She heard two voices.

One was Yurian’s.

The other—

A stranger’s.