I Have A Terminally Ill Duke As My Husband (1 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 6

In the Omakurt Empire, it was customary for noble families to hold wedding ceremonies at the house of the higher-ranking family when they married.

It was common for the lower-ranking family to finish all preparations by dawn, ride in carriages to the higher-ranking family’s estate, and spend the entire day holding the wedding and reception.

By rights, Mercian should have completed all her wedding preparations at the Viscount Beannoman’s estate, put on her dress, and then ridden in a carriage alongside Penelope and Lucianne to the House of Canoluph.

However, Cassel—who had gauged Mercian’s standing within the viscount’s household during the previous exchange of betrothal letters—had spoken to Luan and arranged to bring Mercian to the ducal estate early, dressing her into the perfect bride himself.

Mercian, unexpectedly dragged to the ducal estate before dawn and dressed up, was now alone in the bridal waiting room after Charles left.

Soon, the fragrant aroma of soup and the savory scent of bread before her eased her tension—and suddenly, hunger struck.

As Mercian reached for her spoon to hurriedly eat the soup, she paused for a moment, staring blankly at her reflection in the mirror.

If Father were still alive, would he be overjoyed to see me like this?

No—more likely, he’d have forbidden this marriage outright.

When will Mother and Luci arrive?

Will they visit me in the bridal waiting room before the ceremony?

After all, this is my last chance to carry the Beannoman name—surely they’ll come see me?

While Mercian hoped Lucianne and Penelope would visit her, she also feared they might not.

Well, does it even matter now whether they come or not?

After the wedding, I’ll hardly ever see them again—and once the duke passes away, we might never meet again… ever.

“Forever”… Will they miss me?

Or will they rejoice that their unwanted burden is finally gone…?

Suddenly, Mercian’s hunger vanished, replaced by a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Mercian, pull yourself together!

It’s your wedding day!

Don’t be gloomy.

As Father said, it’s time to find the real me now.

The Mercian that Penelope and Lucianne see—lazy, gluttonous, and utterly incompetent—no longer exists.

Well, truthfully, she never existed in the first place…”

Recalling how Penelope and Lucianne always judged her by their own standards no matter how hard she tried, Mercian shook her head.

Just focus on living quietly here for six months as if I barely exist—and then leave.

Thinking of the freedom awaiting her once this contract marriage ends, Mercian’s earlier gloom dissipated, and she felt much lighter.

Besides, if my stomach growls embarrassingly during the ceremony, that’d be terrible—better eat first.

Mercian pulled the soup toward her, scooped some with her spoon, and put it in her mouth—the rich, fragrant scent of mushrooms instantly spreading through her.

“Wow, this is actually delicious! The duke’s chef must be really skilled.”

Unconsciously sighing in delight, Mercian took a piece of bread from the basket beside her and popped it into her mouth.

“The bread is amazing too. Wait—if I’m going to stay here for six months anyway, instead of lazing around doing nothing, I should ask the chef to teach me how to cook. With food this good, I could open a small eatery in some village afterward and at least never worry about going hungry.”

Just imagining herself as a shop owner…

Already, Mercian felt an inexplicable surge of happiness.

Come to think of it—I still don’t even know who my husband is!

Well, since it’s not a marriage born of passionate love, I can’t really complain—but still, the ceremony starts in less than an hour, and I haven’t even seen my groom’s face? Isn’t that a bit excessive?

As she nibbled on her bread, Mercian began pondering what she knew about Duke Luan Canoluph.

The man who went to war at age fifteen and has never lost a single battle—earning him the title “God of War.”

He’s said to kill without hesitation, earning him the nickname “Yaksha,” and legend claims the gods granted him invincibility on the battlefield in exchange for stripping him of all emotions—hence other nicknames like “Cold-blooded Demon” and “Ice Duke.”

Worse still, there are rumors that to erase his emotions, he bathes daily in the blood of slaves from conquered nations—ugh! Isn’t that going too far?

Just picturing a blood-soaked bathtub made Mercian shiver uncontrollably, a chill running down her spine.

If he truly has no emotions, he’d have nothing to sort through—so why bother with the shackles of marriage at all?

Besides, doesn’t it seem contradictory for someone emotionless to get married?

Especially since I’ve heard he has absolutely no interest in women.

Why on earth would someone like that choose to marry?

Could it be just to continue the family line?

They say the House of Canoluph, being a knightly lineage, suffers from short lifespans among its male heirs.

I heard the previous duke and his wife both died in a carriage accident when the current duke was only five.

And there are whispers that this marriage wasn’t the duke’s idea at all—but rather orchestrated by his aunt, Olivia Canoluph, the late duke’s sister.

If those rumors are true—and if the duke truly has no interest in women—

then maybe he won’t even want children?

Anyway, with a figure as far from the typical delicate noblewoman as mine, there’s no way he’d find me attractive.

Most noble ladies would find that heartbreaking—but for Mercian, who longed for freedom, this situation felt like a stroke of luck.

[“Mercian, even if I were a man, I doubt I could bring myself to hold you soberly. The moment you take off that dress, all desire would vanish. Hehehe.”]

Recalling Lucianne’s constant murmurs about her figure, Mercian gave a bitter smile.

Right—I should count myself lucky if he doesn’t flee the wedding night the moment he sees me.

Bang!

Startled from her thoughts by the sudden loud opening of the door, Mercian looked up to see Lucianne entering gracefully, wearing a silver dress nearly identical to her own, a poised smile on her lips.

“Luci?”

Lucianne, who had entered with elegant poise, now stared at Mercian in evident shock, as if she hadn’t expected this at all.

“Good heavens, Mercian—is that really you? I almost didn’t recognize you from outside! Money really does wonders, doesn’t it? What kind of magic did they cast that your skin gleams like this and you’ve become so stunning?”

“Luci… you came to see me?”

Despite expecting Lucianne not to show up, Mercian greeted her warmly now that she had actually come.

But Lucianne, seemingly uninterested in Mercian’s reaction, glanced around the room before answering.

“Well, whether I like you or not, you’re still my sister getting married—of course I’d come see you before the wedding. Mother went to tour the ducal estate, so I came alone. The servants showed me here once I said I was the bride’s sister. Honestly, this place is enormous—our mansion is practically a stable compared to this!”

“A stable? That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

But—was she really wearing that outfit to my wedding?

Slightly taken aback by Lucianne’s choice to wear a dress so bridal-like, Mercian softened her expression upon hearing the reason.

Even if they hadn’t always gotten along, the fact that Lucianne had come to see her—as her sister—before the wedding meant something.

Mercian didn’t mind Lucianne’s attire; in fact, she welcomed her visit.

“Mercian… congratulations on your marriage, anyway.”

“Thank you, sister.”

Seeing Mercian beam so radiantly at her simple congratulations, Lucianne suddenly felt a pang of spite.

Just moments ago, her mood had been excellent.

She’d enjoyed the envious stares of noble ladies and the flustered blushes of young lords who looked at her as if she were a goddess—making her smile widen with satisfaction.

She’d been certain she’d chosen the perfect dress for today.

“Luci, shouldn’t you go see Mercian now?”

At Penelope’s words, Lucianne—who had been basking in attention—suddenly remembered who most deserved to despair upon seeing her today.

Oh right, I almost forgot about you, Mercian.

“Mother, do we both really need to go? I’ll go see her—you go ahead to the ceremony hall.”

“But…”

“It’s fine, Mother. I’ll handle it.”

“Alright then, Luci—I’ll leave it to you.”

But the moment she opened the bridal waiting room door—after asking a passing servant for directions—her excellent mood evaporated instantly.

It was clearly the same wedding dress Mercian had tried on in the fitting room last time, and clearly the same timid, fragile girl who couldn’t even meet her eyes just yesterday…

Yet the Mercian sitting before her now looked breathtakingly beautiful—elegant, graceful, and poised.

She couldn’t help but let out an involuntary gasp of admiration.

What magic did they work on her at dawn to transform her like this?

And why is she suddenly meeting my eyes directly and smiling so prettily as she speaks?

Is she ignoring me now that she’s become duchess?

Lucianne had come to deflate Mercian’s confidence—but instead felt her own deflated, irritation bubbling up.

If she wanted to capture the Crown Prince’s attention, she—Lucianne—had to be today’s true star.

Ugh! How annoying!

Deliberately ignoring Mercian’s warm greeting, Lucianne scanned the room for something to criticize—and spotted the half-eaten bread.

“Honestly, Mercian, you’re utterly incomprehensible. On a day like this, you still have food in your mouth? What if you get a belly bulge walking down the aisle later? Do you really want people whispering that you got pregnant beforehand?”

Of course.

Mercian, who’d briefly felt grateful for Lucianne’s visit, now carefully masked her disappointment as her sister hurled insults.

“Sister, it’s my wedding—why are you worrying about me? Eating some bread and soup won’t make me look pregnant. And it’s better than having my stomach growl embarrassingly during the ceremony.”

“Hehehe—such a Mercian-like thought. Honestly, I don’t understand at all. Even if you only have six months to live, why would he choose you? Have you even met the duke?”

“Whether you understand or not, my wedding will proceed smoothly—so please don’t worry about it.”

At Mercian’s words, Lucianne gave a sweet smile.

“Judging by your tone, you haven’t met him yet. Maybe that’s for the best—you’re showing him this polished version first. Or… wait—what if your makeup wears off and he doesn’t even recognize you?”

“Sister! Even if you can’t offer kind words on your own sister’s wedding day, why must you pick fights?”

“Pick fights? I’m just stating facts. A marriage without even seeing your husband’s face…”

“Enough, sister! Right now I may be your sister, but soon I’ll be duchess—so please watch your words!”

Duchess?

Hah. As if someone like you could ever be duchess—just a six-month temporary duchess at best!

Lucianne sneered in response to Mercian’s declaration.

“A duchess? More like selling yourself for money.”

Frustration surged in Mercian at Lucianne’s behavior—tracking her down just to provoke her.

Of course.

What did I even expect from Luci?

If she truly came to congratulate me, she wouldn’t have worn a dress so similar to a wedding gown.

Feeling foolish for having waited all this time, calling her “family.”

“You’re absolutely right, sister. I’m selling myself for money—so you can afford beautiful dresses and a good marriage. So be grateful and stop provoking me. Besides, I’m in a good mood right now—if you’re just here to talk nonsense, leave.”

“What? Nonsense? Are you talking to me like that?”

How dare she tell me to leave? Getting a title has really gone to her head!

This was the same despised girl who used to lower her head and avoid eye contact at Lucianne’s every word!

Now Mercian looked directly into her eyes, speaking with unprecedented confidence—and Lucianne’s anger boiled over.

Do you even realize whose grace lets you sit in that seat…?

Ignorant fool.

Without me, you’d never have married at all—or worse, ended up as a concubine to some elderly noble!

This won’t do, Mercian.

Do you even know why I dressed so beautifully today?

Do you really think I came here to witness your wedding?

You may be a six-month duchess—but I’m destined to become Crown Princess.

Today, at this wedding, the one who must shine brightest in the Crown Prince’s eyes isn’t you—it’s me. Understand?

So, Mercian, I’m sorry—but you absolutely cannot outshine me at this wedding.

Annoyed by Mercian’s attitude, Lucianne’s eyes landed on the soup plate atop the vanity.

What if I just knocked it over?

Would that ruin the wedding?

Even if it didn’t ruin the whole ceremony, at least I’d get to watch Mercian humiliated in a stained wedding dress.

Imagining Mercian walking down the aisle to mocking whispers, Lucianne felt a thrill run through her body.

Yes—I was just going to taste the soup since it looked delicious.

With a smile, Lucianne slowly reached toward the soup plate.