Chapter 8

Occasionally, Isabella had some weird dreams. She was always so happy in them—healthy and full of life. But she’d never experienced those dreams while she was awake like she had just now. Was it her nerves?

Either way, it was very weird. Isabella’s gaze snapped back to Cleor. The carriage shook even more violently as they traveled deeper into the forest. Feeling her motion sickness coming back again, she squeezed her eyes shut, her long eyelashes casting a shadow over her cheekbones.

Now that her eyes were closed, Cleor turned to look at her. He knew that she’d been staring at him, but he pretended not to notice because he didn’t know how to respond. Isabella’s request that they delay the marriage was unexpected. He didn’t mean to be so curt with her, but he was just so flustered. So he’d turned away apologetically.

Isabella’s gaze followed him. He should have asked her why, but she kept looking at him longer than he thought she would. Afraid that he wouldn’t be able to ask if he made eye contact with her, he waited. Finally, she looked away and closed her eyes, the ocean blue disappearing behind her lids. As he thought about how he longed to see them again, the carriage jolted violently.

Isabella’s body launched across the cabin like a pebble from a slingshot. Cleor quickly caught her wrist and gathered her into his arms. At the same time, Isabella’s hairband snapped. As her long golden tresses cascaded down her back, they caught the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

Their eyes locked together as she fell, and time froze for both of them. Isabella let out a shocked gasp as her forehead collided with Cleor’s chest. Her vision was clouded with stars.

“Ugh...”

Just because she was used to pain didn’t mean she could withstand a sudden blow. She let out an involuntary groan. It was a weak cry, one that Cleor would have missed if they weren’t pressed together.

“Jim! Drive properly!” Cleor shouted, banging on the carriage wall with his fist.

“My apologies, Lord Cleor!” Jim’s voice sounded far away, like an echo in the distance.

Isabella furrowed her brows. She didn’t feel well. Her queasy stomach, her throbbing forehead, Cleor’s loud voice... The fatigue from her journey was taking a toll on her. Her breath grew ragged, and her thin body trembled like an injured bird.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m... fine,” she said as she tried to push herself off of him—her strength was laughably weak.

“What are you doing?”

“Please let me go.”

Cleor looked down at Isabella, who was breathing heavily. “Your forehead is swollen. And there’s a small bruise. It looks painful.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated.

“Hah.” Cleor sighed. She didn’t know it, but he was wearing mithril armor under his uniform. It wasn’t as sturdy as a full suit of iron armor, but it definitely wasn’t anywhere as soft as a stuffed animal or a blanket. How could she be okay when her forehead was swollen and red? It was obvious that the bump would grow into a bruise. Anger surged within him. He scooped Isabella into his arms.

“I suppose you’re fine with this since you’re fine with everything.”

Her eyes widened as he pulled her into his lap. Feeling once again how light she was, his brows furrowed deeply. She was as light as a feather. “Put me down!” she shouted.

His lips twitched into a smile, hearing her raise her voice for the first time. “Is this fine?”

“No, it’s not fine!”

“Good. But I’m not putting you down. The road will only get bumpier from here on out.” Cleor brushed a large hand across Isabella’s forehead.

What is he doing? Her thoughts were interrupted when she realized that he was praising her.

Why? Her eyes shifted back and forth with confusion.

Cleor placed a hand on her back to support her as the carriage continued to shake. If Isabella had been sitting on the opposite side of the carriage, the shaking would have bounced her from wall to wall. She felt safer and more comfortable in Cleor’s arms, but it was still awkward. After all, even though they were engaged, they weren’t married yet.

The atmosphere in the carriage shifted.

“I’m fine,” Isabella murmured again, weakly hitting Cleor’s chest. “I can sit by myself.”

“There you go again, saying you’re fine,” he retorted as his gaze landed on her forehead. It didn’t look good, and her breathing was erratic. Her warm, flushed cheeks had gone cold and pale again. But Cleor’s gaze was even colder.

“Isabella,” he said, calling her name for the first time.

She had no choice but to look up. The eyes that looked down at her were so dark that it made her shudder.

“What was your life like at that place?” he asked grimly.

“I had an ordinary life.”

“If saying that you were fine when you clearly aren’t is considered ordinary, then I suggest you start living a more extraordinary life. Be more honest about your feelings.” Cleor looked away after he finished speaking. His mouth remained a straight line, saying nothing more. She had no idea what he was thinking.

Did I offend him somehow? Did I do something wrong? She didn’t. She was sure of that. It wasn’t her fault that she was getting thrown around the carriage, but Cleor looked furious. Isabella furrowed her brows again, and it suddenly made her forehead throb with pain. She felt it burning up.

The journey really must have worn her out. Come to think of it, her back hurt, and her nausea was growing worse. She closed her eyes.

“Are you getting motion sickness? Should I open a window? The northern winds are cold but fresh, so it might relieve your—”

His voice grew further and further away. His warm body was unfamiliar, yet strangely comfortable.

I wish I could fall asleep, Isabella thought as she fainted in Cleor’s arms.

***

The central and southern regions of the empire were good places to live, and the land was divided between many noble families. The North... not so much. Not a single house wanted the relentlessly desolate North—except for Duke Noverdic, who committed his body and soul to conquer it.

The emperor granted Victor his title, thereby taking over the region. However, the emperor’s influence was minimal. In the North, House Noverdic was no different than the imperial family. The duke’s castle, standing tall in the center of the Forest of Anguish, was proof of that.

The drawbridge rose as soon as Cleor’s carriage rushed through the entrance. The moment they arrived, the military band formed a line and erupted into fanfare. Golden flower petals rained down from the skies. Even a red carpet had been laid out as a path for the carriage.

Ha! Anyone would think this was the emperor’s coronation ceremony. Cleor’s stomach twisted, but not because of Isabella’s extravagant welcoming ceremony. He was upset that he’d had no part in it.

Would she like it if she were awake to see it? Cleor looked down at the girl in his arms, who was dead to the world, and shook his head at his parents’ enthusiasm. His gaze landed on Isabella again. She was sleeping peacefully and was so pale and still that she almost looked dead. He let out a soft chuckle at how easily she’d fallen asleep in the arms of her future husband.

He recalled the way he reacted when she collapsed in his arms. His world came crashing down around him when she fainted because he thought she was dying. Alarmed, he had called for Isabella’s maid, who was traveling in another carriage.

Joanne had simply said, “She does that sometimes” with an indifferent face, and offered no other suggestions. He wanted to slit her throat right then and there. His wife-to-be had just collapsed, so how could her maid be so calm? He couldn’t compare her to Clara’s maid, Betty, who came rushing over whenever his sister so much as coughed—he was furious at this maid’s apathetic attitude.

Still, he held back. After all, Joanne was Isabella’s maid. He couldn’t dispose of her as he wished. After dismissing the maid, the caravan continued its journey. He covered the sleeping woman with a blanket in case she was cold.

Then he thought long and hard. Had he held her too tightly? Did he stress her out and make her blood pressure rise? He didn’t understand. He thought he was already being as nice as possible. He’d heard she was weak, but he didn’t think she’d be that weak. Wracked with guilt, Cleor held his hand in front of Isabella’s nose every once in a while to check if she was still breathing.

Thankfully, she was. At long last, the carriage safely arrived at the duke’s castle. The welcoming ceremony was both extravagant and sad without its guest of honor.

***

Whoosh.

A dagger sailed through the air. Cleor easily dodged it with a tilt of his head, and the dagger embedded itself in the wall behind him. The sheer force of the throw made the dagger quiver.

“Cleor,” a deep voice said gravely.

“Yes, Father.”

Victor glared fiercely at his son with his arms crossed. He was flanked by both Clara and Angela. Clara’s eyes narrowed into slits as Angela let out a deep sigh.

“Isabella has a bruise on her forehead.”

“Oh, that...” He snapped his mouth shut.

“I don’t need your excuses. From now on, don’t you dare step foot near Isabella again! You’re a walking weapon!”

Cleor scowled. It was his fault Isabella got hurt, he could admit that. But to never be near her again? He couldn’t let that happen, not when they had finally reunited. Not allowing him to see her was too severe to be called a punishment. Also, there was no way he would ever hurt her again.

He’d take all responsibility, but he needed a chance to fix it. He had hurt her, so his punishment should be taking even better care of her to ensure it would never happen again. He would do anything.

“That’s excessive.”

“It’s because you insist on wearing that armor for no good reason!” Clara huffed.

She rushed up to her brother and gave him a swift kick in the shin. Unable to dodge it, Cleor grunted and lifted his injured leg. It was amusing watching the man people called “the fiend” hopping around after getting kicked in the shin.

But then again, Clara wasn’t just any little girl. She was a weapon maker, and a walking weapon herself. Just looking at her shoes was enough to tell that Clara was no ordinary girl. There were metal studs on the tip. Cleor had never understood why she had those on her shoes, but he knew now.

It was for this! He read Clara’s thoughts and tried to reach out and grab her, but she was one step ahead. In a flash, she buried herself in her mother’s arms, and everyone turned to glare at Cleor.

When did I become a guilty man? He scratched his head.

“Ha! A knight of the North should always have armor under his clothes.” It was the truth, but he could tell that it sounded like an excuse. He didn’t say anything more since there was no point.

She’s my wife... But simply claiming Isabella as his own wouldn’t have any effect.

“Tomorrow, I want you to follow the third group heading out to exterminate the demonic beasts. Go and blow off some steam there. When you’re back, you won’t have the energy to hurt Isabella.”

It hadn’t been that long since he’d dragged back the second team. He’d intentionally changed his plans so he could pick up Isabella in person. A single expedition could take two or three weeks. He no longer wanted to spend his time camping out in the wilderness, shivering in the cold, fighting off demonic beasts, and being drenched in their guts.

I have Isabella now. He wanted to be a loving husband who embraced his wife tightly in these foreign lands. He finally had her! There was no way he could leave.

“I refuse,” he snapped.

“You think I’d hurt Isabella on our wedding day?”

At the mention of the wedding, he recalled what Isabella had said earlier. She wanted to postpone the wedding. Suddenly, Cleor’s mood soured. Then, the door opened.

Feeling the tension in the room, Betty hesitated before she spoke.

“Lady Isabella is awa—” she began to say, but she didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence. In an instant, the study was empty, and Betty stood there blinking.