Duke, This Will Sting for a Moment (30 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 3

“Barely.”

Eyes as deep blue as Lake Islian—frozen year-round—swept over me from the top of my head to my toes, as if appraising every inch of me while I sat on the bed.

“Merely.”

The sharp, severe eyes of Grand Duke Frost Eelheim, the North’s chosen guardian by Ielo—the Ice Sword, one of the Empire of Justera’s four Holy Swords—furrowed fiercely.

“To send me this?”

Beneath silver-lashed lids, his sea-blue irises glinted with killing intent sharper than midwinter’s chill.

“This?”

I instinctively reached for my waist, heart pounding, only to grasp nothing but the flimsy chiffon of my dress and the bitter sting of reality.

‘Ah. Right. I’m Yuriella Grande now.’

Dejected, I looked up at Frost, who stood leaning crookedly against the bedroom doorway. Pale moonlight seeped through the window, shattering soundlessly over his silvery hair.

‘Thank goodness. At least he didn’t claim my bed, Frost.’

With four long strides, Frost closed the distance and tilted my chin up with a single finger.

“So the Marquis Grande must not care to live long. Is this really all he could offer me—a bastard daughter drifting among apothecary dancers as a bride? Hah!”

His touch at my jaw was icy-cold, jolting me in surprise.

“How quaint. You boldly invade my chambers yet act like a timid maiden untouched by a man’s hand.”

“Are you… always this cold?”

“Do I have any reason to be warm for you?”

No, that’s not what I meant.

“I mean your hand—it’s freezing. Does it hurt? Or is your body just naturally this cold?”

Though we’d stood shoulder to shoulder countless times on battlefields, this was the first time I’d ever felt his skin directly—and naturally, I worried. Could this too be the effect of Flama’s demon poison…?

“You keep speaking informally.”

Frost flicked my shoulder with his fingertip. I toppled backward as lightly as a dandelion seed—deeply wounded in pride.

“Ugh.”

Before I knew it, Frost’s thick arms and legs caged me in like iron bars.

“Did the Marquis Grande neglect to teach his hastily concocted daughter even basic manners?”

We’d always addressed each other informally—as equals, both bearers of Holy Swords.

But perhaps polite speech was the only way to get through to him now?

“If it displeases you, I shall use honorifics, Your Grace.”

“You aren’t trembling?”

“If you’d prefer me trembling, I can do that too.”

I deliberately shivered my shoulders as if frightened. Apparently ineffective—Frost’s brow furrowed deeper.

“Did your father truly promise me that if I took on Eelheim’s bloodline before my life runs out, he’d grant you all the wealth and glory befitting a marquis’s daughter—everything you’d been denied until now?”

At least he wasn’t so foolish as to be swayed by that greedy marquis. Thank goodness.

“The Marquis must have been in quite a hurry. To shove his own daughter into my chambers without even following proper protocol…”

He really had seemed rushed.

Though it was a state secret that the Grand Duke had become terminally ill after being struck by my sword, rumors inevitably spread among his loyal retainers.

Should the Duke die without an heir, all his lands and riches would revert to the imperial treasury.

Under the guise of “preserving the North,” numerous minor northern noble houses began maneuvering to offer their daughters or nieces as the next Grand Duchess.

But the Marquis Grande—the North’s eternal second-in-command—had no daughters of his own. True to their reputation as a household famed only for sons, even distant branches yielded no marriageable girls of proper age.

In desperation, the Marquis resorted to his final card: Yuriella, the bastard daughter he’d abandoned even before her birth—the child of a lowly maid.

I’d refused outright when the Marquis demanded I become Frost’s consort, even starving and beating me, because I never imagined myself worthy of such a role.

[“No cure exists for demon poison—not medicine, not divine power. No one can save the Duke. Unless the long-lost Healing Holy Sword Airy appears after five hundred years…”]

Hearing this, I changed my mind.

Wanting to test if I could truly save him, I summoned Airy immediately—but she still hasn’t shown herself, apparently still angry with me.

Then I’ll have to try on my own.

“Let’s marry.”

Becoming his private healer would’ve been the wiser choice, but I knew they’d never accept it.

Even impoverished commoners in the Eastern Continent, unable to afford doctors, often distrusted acupuncture.

How much more so the Grand Duke’s household—overflowing with personal physicians and high-ranking priests at his beck and call—would never permit their exalted master to undergo such an obscure, unheard-of treatment.

“Why should I marry someone like you?”

“…”

Even if I explained that healing energy from Airy’s spirit flowed within me, he likely wouldn’t believe me—so I stayed silent. Airy had also sternly insisted I keep her existence secret.

“Answer me.”

“Um… because you’re pretty?”

I wasn’t sure what “pretty” even meant—but since inhabiting Yuriella’s body, I couldn’t ignore the meaning behind all those men’s lingering, sticky stares.

It wasn’t just their eyes—remembering those who’d slyly touched me with lecherous hands made my teeth grind.

“Puhahaha. That’s not even funny.”

If it’s not funny, why laugh so much? Yet looking at Frost right before me, I understood instantly.

Yuriella was beautiful—but Frost, seen up close, was breathtakingly stunning.

If Emperor Justin—renowned as the continent’s greatest beauty—was like a vibrant, fragrant rose, then Frost Eelheim resembled an ice blossom carved from the Arctic’s eternal glaciers: cold, mysterious, and otherworldly.

“Unlucky.”

My unthinking mutter drew a crack across Frost’s otherwise perfectly composed brow.

“What?”

“Huh?”

“What you just said.”

“Oh. Not about you, Your Grace. Just… someone else popped into my head.”

Though utterly dissimilar, for some reason Emperor Justin’s annoyingly handsome face overlaid Frost’s. Could it be because they were cousins?

“Someone else?”

Frost twisted his lips in disbelief.

“You’re thinking of another man… while lying in my bed?”

“Huh? No, that’s not— eep!”

Frost’s nose brushed mine! Terrified, I shoved his face away and hastily covered my lips with both hands—earning a derisive snort from him.

“Refusing me? If you leave here empty-handed, your greedy father likely won’t let you live.”

“A-are you… seducing me right now?”

“You’re the one who should seduce me. Isn’t that why you snuck in?”

His breath tickled my skin like feathers, making my face itch—and strangely, my stomach fluttered and my toes curled.

Though trapped like prey before a predator, the tighter the corner, the clearer my mind had to be. That’s the difference between a master and an amateur.

Refusing to yield to his icy glare, I stared back fiercely, eyes narrowed.

“So? Will you take me up on it?”

“Marry someone who might drop dead any moment?”

“If you dislike ‘bride,’ how about hiring me as your healer? I’d recommend that instead.”

“My healers are more than enough. Quacks are turned away.”

“What if I’m not a quack?”

I reached out and began unbuttoning Frost’s shirt from the top, one button at a time. Once he saw my skill, he’d understand.

Frost, who’d been watching me calmly, suddenly tensed—and grabbed my hand roughly.

Could it be… was he embarrassed?

“I need to see the wound to treat it.”

“You think you can heal me?”

“Even the most esteemed priests and renowned physicians have admitted defeat. This isn’t an ordinary sword wound—it’s from Flama, now corrupted into a demonic blade.”

Beneath his large hand, I wiggled my fingers, starting to unwind the bandages.

“I’ll heal you.”

This time, Frost didn’t stop me. He simply watched as I worked.

“You’re truly awful at seduction. Who’d ever fall for this clumsy attempt?”

“I’m not seducing you. And you’re not the man I’d ever want to seduce.”

Heh. His amused breath ruffled the strands of hair on my forehead.

“I know you’re considered the Empire’s second-most handsome man—but I happen to dislike pretty men. Quite a lot.”

“Yet you propose marriage?”

I nearly repeated my suggestion about hiring me as a healer—but froze, words forgotten. Beneath the blood-and-pus-soaked bandages, the wound stole my breath.

“This damn…!”

My hands trembled violently. Reality always surpassed imagination in horror.

From his side to his abdomen ran a long, diagonal slash—still raw, oozing dark crimson, starkly contrasting his taut, smooth muscles, making the injury look even more gruesome.

It was unquestionably worse than the wound I’d glimpsed during the Battle of Colina Rosa.

“You bastard! What the hell did you do to Flama…?!”

When Flama turned demonic, I’d briefly suspected the Duke himself—I’d heard rumors years ago that the Empire’s foremost dark sorceress had been captured and imprisoned by him.

But why would he be struck down by his own corrupted sword? And reduced to such a horrifying, terminal state…?

If not the Duke, then perhaps the Emperor? But why would he corrupt his own prized Holy Sword?

“Solace…”

My name slipping out so suddenly made me freeze—my breath catching in my throat.

“…Solace? What about her…?”

“…Never mind.”

Frost sat up and straightened his unbuttoned shirt.

Hearing my name after months felt strangely foreign.

In the North, Solace Moretti was better known as the Emperor’s dog than by her name—a fool who wielded her Holy Sword without realizing it had turned demonic. Branded a traitor, she’d been beheaded, her head displayed on the imperial capital’s walls… or so they say.

“Leave now. I’m tired.”

Despite his dismissal, I remained frozen in place.

A storm of words surged from my heart, rushing to my throat.

I wanted to ask: How much pain have I caused you? How can I atone for the sins I’ve committed against innocent Northerners? Is it even possible?

But no words came out. When Solace’s life ended, so did my chance for forgiveness—and I knew: forgiveness isn’t something the guilty beg for.

“I told you to leave.”

I couldn’t. I hadn’t yet fulfilled my purpose here.

From my dress pocket, I pulled out a silver needle no longer than two finger joints. Focusing, I drew shimmering green energy into the needle.

Swiftly, I lunged toward Frost, driving the needle toward his abdominal wound!

—Or tried to.

‘Why won’t it pierce?’

Frost reflexively twisted his body, causing the needle to bounce off his muscle instead of entering the wound. What kind of muscle was as hard as stone?

In an instant, Frost seized my wrist and slammed me to the floor, then pinned me beneath him before I could react.

His pristine silver hair spilled over his forehead.

His deep, ocean-blue eyes locked onto mine—intense, unwavering—and despite myself, I flinched. Was it because of this new body? For the first time in my life, I felt true, overwhelming fear coursing from my scalp down my spine.

Biting my lip hard, I swallowed my wounded pride.

It was infuriating—this frail body could never overpower Frost. But what choice did I have? I’d have to deal with him in a way that suited this form.

“Ah! My arm! Aaah!”

Frost hesitated, his grip loosening—and I seized the chance to wriggle free. But after a few stumbling steps backward, my bare back hit the icy wall.

Frost rose slowly, never taking his eyes off me as he advanced. The air in the room chilled to freezing under the weight of his killing intent.

“So you’re no ordinary bastard. Did the Emperor send you?”

Frost’s icy blue eyes fixed coldly on the silver needle in my hand.

“A curious assassin with strange talents.”

Frost sneered frostily and extended his right arm sideways.

—Ziiing.

A clear, azure aura swirled around his hand—and the Ice Sword Ielo materialized, its blade gleaming translucent.

Holy Sword Ielo. The greatsword of ice could cleave any foe and never break or melt.

Endowed with the power of “Immutability”—rejecting decay, aging, and corruption—it could, at its master’s will, isolate enemies from time itself, sealing them eternally within unmelting ice.

“W-wait! Do you really need to draw Ielo… just for me?!”

Frost gave the sword a few light, casual twirls—and a piercing chill that froze bones flooded the room.

“Indeed. It’s a waste of a fine blade on you. Consider it an honor—and close your eyes.”

As Frost raised the sword high, violent sword energy roared—and my neck turned cold.

I squeezed my eyes shut.