I Have A Terminally Ill Duke As My Husband (1 Chapters Left to Complete) - Chapter 8

Knock knock.

After Cassel left, Mercian, who had been sitting dazedly, raised her head again at another knock.

“May I come in?”

Hearing a deep, resonant, yet somehow pleasant male voice, Mercian instinctively realized the man outside the door was the duke. She straightened her posture and replied promptly.

“Yes, please come in.”

“My lady, I sincerely apologize for only now coming to greet you, so close to the wedding ceremony. As Cassel may have told you, my poor health prevented me from personally delivering the marriage documents—an impoliteness for which I’m truly sorry.”

“Eh? Oh, no, it’s fine.”

He… He’s the duke?

Mercian stared at Luan, who entered the room and bowed to her, utterly dumbfounded.

This can’t be happening! This is a nightmare!!

Seeing Luan—so drastically different from her imagined image—she stammered, and Luan, noticing her flustered state, gave her a gentle smile and said,

“I’m deeply grateful for your understanding. Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Luan Canoluph, the man you are marrying today.”

[“He’s handsome and distinguished, but due to his illness, there’s no trace of his former self left.”] [“Though it’s said he’s been poisoned, there aren’t severe symptoms—only extreme weight loss and weakness, making it difficult for him to move about.”]

While recalling what Charles and Cassel had said, Mercian had built her own mental image of what Luan might look like.

But this—this wasn’t it at all!

He stood nearly 190 centimeters tall, with jet-black hair, obsidian eyes, and skin even paler than hers—but emaciated… No, “emaciated” didn’t even begin to describe it. He was as thin as Lucianne—no, perhaps even thinner than Lucianne!

He looked half my size… If he just closed his eyes, I’d believe he was a corpse…

And yet—what was up with that strikingly handsome face?

Despite his gaunt, almost skeletal features, Mercian found herself flustered by Luan’s undeniable handsomeness.

This is absurd.

He’s thinner than me—and even handsome?! That makes me, utterly ordinary as I am, look even worse by comparison!

Glancing at her reflection in the mirror alongside Luan, Mercian unconsciously scrunched her face.

“My lady? Are you unwell?”

“Eh? Oh—I’m sorry. Your Grace, I’m Mercian Beannoman.”

“Just call me Luan.”

“Eh? Ah… Yes. Luan, please call me Mer.”

“Mer? What a beautiful name. Mer, is there anything troubling you since arriving at the ducal residence? I specifically instructed the chief steward to look after you carefully.”

Beautiful? My name is beautiful?

Mercian tilted her head in confusion at Luan’s words.

She’d never once thought her name was beautiful.

“No, not at all. Thanks to you—er, I mean, Luan—everyone in the ducal household has treated me kindly.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Then, I’ll see you shortly at the ceremony.”

“Yes.”

After Luan smiled, bowed, and left, Mercian’s mind grew overwhelmed by this unexpected turn of events.

So a person can be that thin and still be alive and moving?

But honestly… will he even survive the next six months?

Does his height just make him look thinner? No—he’s genuinely that skinny.

Worried, Mercian stared at her reflection in the mirror, mentally replaying the image of Luan who’d just left.

At the ceremony, when a gaunt yet handsome Luan walks in beside me—plump and utterly plain—won’t everyone laugh at me?

A bride twice the size of her groom…

Ah, this marriage is already ruined…

Mercian was already growing anxious about the judgmental stares she’d inevitably receive at the wedding in thirty minutes.

Among them, Lucianne and Penelope would undoubtedly be glaring at her with utter disdain—that much was certain.

Though they’d feign propriety and avoid laughing loudly, after what had just happened to them, they’d surely make a show of pitying expressions, lamenting to nearby nobles just how difficult life must be having such a sister.

If I’d known it would come to this, maybe I should’ve just let Lucy spill soup on her wedding dress.

At least then I could’ve postponed the wedding using the dress as an excuse—though, honestly, delaying it wouldn’t solve anything.

That duke certainly won’t gain weight in the meantime…

If anything, he’ll only get thinner.

I expected his illness might make his face look hollow—but who knew he’d be this skeletal?

Though she never placed much value on looks, Mercian at least didn’t want to become the talk of the town on her wedding day—she’d only expected to quietly go through the ceremony. Now, this unforeseen problem was giving her a headache.

Despite Mercian’s worries, thirty minutes had already passed.

Knock knock.

“My lady—or rather, madam—it’s time to head to the ceremony hall.”

Charles entered, carefully double-checked her makeup, then gently helped her to her feet.

“Charles… are there many guests at the wedding hall?”

Unlike Mercian, who hoped to hear there weren’t many, Charles beamed brightly as she replied,

“Of course, madam! Most of the empire’s nobles have come. Especially since His Highness the Crown Prince came in person to congratulate the duke—the hall is overflowing with people!”

O-Overcrowded with people?

And His Highness the Crown Prince too? But I heard rumors the duke and the Crown Prince didn’t get along well…

Thinking of the Crown Prince, Mercian suddenly understood why Lucianne had dressed so elaborately when visiting the ducal estate.

She didn’t come to see my wedding—she dressed up to catch the Crown Prince’s eye!

Rather than anger, Mercian felt a hollow disappointment and offered a bitter smile.

And if so many people came, there must be journalists too… Tomorrow’s front-page headline will surely read: “Frail Duke Marries a Hefty Bride.”

I might become the laughingstock of the entire empire.

*Sigh*… I might end up confined to the ducal estate for six months, forbidden from stepping outside.

Mercian desperately wanted to push Charles away and flee from the estate altogether.

“Madam, it’s truly time now. We should head out. And—congratulations! A heartfelt welcome to the ducal household!”

Seeing Charles exaggerate her expression in an attempt to ease Mercian’s tension, Mercian smiled and replied,

“Thank you, Charles. But… how does the entrance go today?”

In noble weddings, the groom usually entered first, and the bride would follow, escorted by her father, older brother, or a collateral male relative. But Mercian, having no relatives, would normally enter alone.

“Madam, you’re scheduled to enter together with His Grace.”

“Together?”

“Yes.”

Is he doing this to consider me?

Mercian began to wonder if the rumors about him being utterly devoid of emotion were perhaps exaggerated.

Wait—hold on.

Together?!

“Charles, usually brides enter holding their father’s, older brother’s, or another male relative’s hand—or if they have none, they enter alone, right?”

“His Grace specifically requested to enter with you. He must have learned Lord Viscount wasn’t here and that you have no brothers, so he wanted to show you consideration.”

[This is the timeline separator]

Luan’s study.

“How about this? Will the Crown Prince be satisfied?”

“Not just satisfied—he’ll be overjoyed, grinning from ear to ear! But seriously, can poison really make someone lose this much weight?”

Cassel remarked, observing Luan’s extreme thinness.

“Well, anyway, nothing shows I’m unwell short-term quite like losing weight. Oh, and bring me a cloak!”

“A cloak? Why suddenly wear one now?”

“I’m cold.”

“Eh? Suddenly? I’ve served you for nearly ten years and never once heard you complain about the cold before…”

“Maybe the poisoning makes me feel chilly. Just go get the cloak.”

Muttering under his breath, Cassel fetched a cloak.

“Will this do?”

“Hm?”

Luan murmured in satisfaction, noting how the broad-shouldered cloak gave him a more imposing silhouette overall.

“Alright then—shall we go fetch my lady?”

[This is the timeline separator]

Mercian’s steps grew heavier as she walked from her room toward the ceremony hall with Charles.

If Father were here, he’d have assured me it was alright, telling me I was the most beautiful daughter in the world.

As the hall drew nearer and Mercian hesitated in her steps, Luan approached with a smile and extended his hand to her.

“My lady, please come.”

Huh?

Mercian looked at Luan, momentarily stunned as he offered his hand.

Wasn’t he half my size just moments ago?

“Ah—the clothes?”

Could he really have worn that cloak just to hide his frame for my sake?

Standing there in a tuxedo topped with a broad-shouldered cloak, Luan’s slender build was concealed, making him appear nearly the same size as Mercian.

Strangely, while such an outfit would look ridiculous on an ordinary man, Luan’s height ensured the oversized cloak looked perfectly natural on him—actually, even more fitting than before.

Granted, it wasn’t standard wedding attire.

Seeing Mercian’s flustered expression, Luan gave an awkward smile and said,

“I apologize. As you know, the poisoning leaves me perpetually cold. There’s no rule against wearing a cloak over a tuxedo during a wedding, I hope you’ll forgive the unusual sight.”

Whether it was truly due to the cold or his consideration for her, Mercian didn’t know—but seeing Luan ask for her understanding instantly melted away all her tension, and tears unexpectedly welled up and spilled over.

“*Sob*… Ah—no, I mean…”

“My, you’re quite the tearful bride. Shall we head inside the hall now?”

Luan pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, gently wiped her tears, and Mercian nodded.

“The bride and groom, please enter!”

At the servant’s loud announcement, the hall doors opened, and Luan gently took Mercian’s hand as they slowly walked in together.

[This is the timeline separator]

His hand, clasped in hers for the first time, felt warmer than she’d expected.

As Mercian walked down the aisle holding Luan’s hand, the guests rose and applauded, blessing their union.

When they reached the front, the officiant stepped forward, placed his hands over their heads, delivered a blessing, and proceeded with their marital vows.

“I now pronounce Luan Canoluph and Mercian Beannoman husband and wife.”

At the officiant’s words, flower petals rained from both sides, and the guests stood once more to celebrate their union.

I-Is it over now?

Mercian turned around, still holding Luan’s hand, and bowed to the guests—only to lock eyes with Lucianne.

Lucianne, who had been glaring daggers at her moments before, glanced briefly at Luan’s pallid face and smiled contentedly as she clapped.

The reason was obvious without even asking.

Luan’s face looked so gravely ill he seemed ready to collapse at any second.

As they slipped out of the banquet hall amid the applause, Luan staggered unsteadily as if exhausted.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I suppose I stood too long.”

Mercian, watching Luan who seemed about to collapse any second, said,

“Then lean on me.”

“Hm?”

Luan looked down at Mercian, who appeared easily thirty centimeters shorter than him.

If I lean on her shoulders, I’ll really look pathetic…

“Or… should I carry you instead?”

She wants to carry me?

Luan stared down at Mercian, surprised by her unexpected offer.

When he’d heard from Cassel that Mercian was crying, he’d gone to see her only because he believed it proper to see his bride before the ceremony.

And when he noticed upon entering how suddenly her expression darkened—realizing it was due to his skeletal frame—he’d worn the cloak simply as a courtesy to his contractual bride for the next six months—nothing more, nothing less.

But… is she really worried about me?

Seeing Mercian ready to scoop him up in both arms, Luan gave an awkward smile and replied,

“Eh? Ah—no, that won’t be necessary.”

“Oh, it’s fine! You look sturdy to me, and I’m actually quite strong—I could easily carry someone of your size.”

Just avoiding embarrassment at the ceremony had made Mercian so happy she felt like hugging Luan and running around the estate.

Unconsciously imagining himself cradled in Mercian’s arms, Luan felt an inexplicable flush heat up his face. He stepped back and called out,

“I’m really fine. Ed!”

At Luan’s call, a tall, middle-aged man hurried over with a worried expression.