Three years later.
The strangely loud rumble of the thunder has woken up Amalia from the same bloody dream. She blinks, her eyes adjusting to the darkness of her room. It feels like someone is watching her, but she doesn't want that person to know she is already awake. And so she stayed still and waited until another lightning passed.
The lightning does pass, and so she starts scanning the rather tiny room she's already accustomed to. Back at her father's manor in Strolis, her room is fit for a count's daughter, equipped with a receiving space and dressers. This room is half of that, since it is a just random room a floor down the lords' chambers. The first day Amalia was here, she asked Edmund to prepare a bed away from the Keep, to which the butler had disagreed. This is the compromise, and Amalia has come to like this room.
Amalia sees a shadow just in front of the window nearest the door. Her breathing hitches, and for a moment she freezes, until she remembers that she keeps a knife in her pillow. She slowly stretches her arm and feels the knife, but before she can point it at the trespasser, she sees a fraction of his face—she would never forget those same golden eyes as the Duke of Adendiff who left her right after their marriage. Amalia tries to calm her nerves but still holds onto her knife as if her life depends on it.
"It is nice to see you're back, Your Grace," she says, trying to focus the duke's attention away from her hand. Henrick walks a little bit closer to the bed, and now his face is fully lit by the lamp on Amalia's bedside.
Henrick might have grown shorter, or maybe broader that it seemed like he became shorter. His silver hair is longer than Amalia had imagined, with the tips almost reaching his eyelashes. His skin is darker, albeit it made him more beautiful than she remembers. If only he was with the right wife, he would everyday be complimented because of his looks.
"I came because I haven't seen you with Edmund," Henrick remarks calmly. Amalia looks up at him, stopping herself from spewing some sarcasm. It isn't her fault that he didn't send a letter nor any word of his arrival tonight, and he arrived when it's already her bedtime. Everything about welcoming his arrival is out of her control, and somehow felt unfair that she is being questioned about it.
"I apologize," she replies instead. "I could've prepared if I only knew you would come back tonight."
"Of course."
"I have prepared a victory celebration the moment I heard the news," Amalia continues, "although, it is set in a fortnight as per your scheduled return."
Henrick nods. "Most of my men will return in a fortnight anyway."
"Then I shall proceed as scheduled."
Amalia starts to lie back on her bed and closes her eyes. The night is still young, and sleep is easily claiming her after a few words. She can't focus on what the duke is saying, but she can hear the warmth and depth of his voice.
"I didn't mean to offend you," she hears Henrick say. Amalia nods, her retort being clouded by sleep.
"Take a bath before going to bed," she says as she shifts to the other side, knife now forgotten, and pulling her blanket closer to her chin. "It'll help with your rest." She hums in comfort before sleep finally takes her.
***
"Wife?" Henrick whispers, touching the tips of her raven hair. Amalia just murmurs, but her eyes are already closed. Amused, he chuckles, and then takes his leave so his wife could continue her slumber. He still doesn't know so much about her, as he went to help with the war in the south for three years, only to come back home after Kristoff, the second prince who led the Ereon army, is done with most of the treaty. He just knows Amalia only married him to please her sick father, but still clueless on how she could sleep so peacefully in the presence of himself.
He might ask the next day, but right now, he plans to take a bath and get some rest like his wife had suggested.
"Did the duchess greet you, Your Grace?" Edmund asks as he sees Henrick out of Amalia's door. Henrick nods and gives him his helm.
"She's asleep now."
"I am sure she is tired. Her day was long."
"Was it?"
"Yes. She took over most things while you were away," he informs. "From trade to the stables, Her Grace has arranged everything to perfection as she awaits your return."
Henrick nods quietly. Of course, his wife would not sit still for three years. Her family is old, close to the throne, and rich, so he is sure the count's children are trained to be lords.
"And why is she not in the duchess's room?"
"She was adamant in taking any room except the lords' chambers, Your Grace."
Henrick purses his lips as he feels a clench in his chest. He couldn't read Amalia as is—how come she took care of his land like a duchess but never slept in the room she so deserves?
Edmund scurries behind him. "She says she will only occupy the room with your permission in person, so we have been waiting for your return."
"Prepare her a fulfilling breakfast tomorrow," he tells Edmund, "and urge her to take the duchess's chamber."
"Of course, Your Grace," Edmund smiles. "Will you be eating with her?"
"We shall see."
***
The mornings are usually busier for Amalia. In Crane County, she did nothing but to assist her brother, Alexei, but now, she has to do everything. Adendiff might be lesser in people, but is bigger in mass and closer to the land of the Free Tribes, and so they needed more men to guard the perimeters. Amalia likes to think that she has been doing her job monitoring the borders.
But now that the duke is back, her job will be much, much less. Starting today, she will have more time in managing the household and throwing parties.
A pity, she thinks.
"Breakfast is ready, Your Grace," she hears Jane call.
Jane is her friend and maid-in-waiting, the daughter of Baron Geisling. Geislings have long been in the Crane's court as aides or squires or knights, or ladies-in-waiting like Jane.
"Thank you, Jane," Amalia says and brings down the paper she is reading back to the table. They both walk to the mess hall, where as tradition goes, an Adendiff always eats—some tradition Amalia follows for the sake of keeping appearances as the lady of the castle.
"I thought you would stay in bed until lunch." She is surprised to see the duke already sitting at the end of the table.
Amalia looks back at the smirking Jane—she will definitely receive a scolding for this despicable plan—and then to the duke.
"Why?" she asks after a pause and walks to the other end of the table. But before she could sit, the duke called her and told her to sit beside him. Sighing, Amalia concedes and takes the chair by his left.
"I arrived late yesterday," he continues, glancing at her before exchanging her plate with his, meat already sliced into bite sized cuts, like it was nothing. "And I interrupted your sleep…"
"It's fine. I have a habit of waking early," she replies and contemplates if she will eat what the duke gave. Amalia almost salivates at the smell before getting her act back. She sits straight and glances at him, checking if he saw her drooling. And then, she continues acting like she is busy with her plate, praying that her stomach would not grumble. Well, having her meals without him is now a luxury and might have given her a bad habit.
"Do you need to be somewhere after this?"
"No," she licks her lower lip, "my morning is already free, thanks to you," she tries to smile, her hand unconsciously taking a glass but putting it to its place once she catches herself. "Ah, a small feast will be held this evening for you and the men already here. I shall inform Edmund of the proceedings after breakfast."
"My remark yesterday was a mistake. It was supposed to be a joke," he lifts a forkful of meat to his mouth, and Amalia wonders how he got that kind of grace. "I am sorry for that. I—it doesn't matter to me if we celebrate or not."
"It matters to your subordinates and their families," she replies.
"Yes, of course," he says with an immediate nod. "Then we must proceed with the one in a fortnight. It should be grand enough, so you can cancel the celebration tonight and just rest."
"I am already well rested, my lord."
"Edmund said you never sleep enough. You have been managing the whole of north at one point—which an effort you will be rewarded for—but now that I am here—"
"It was the case a year ago. I am well now. Better, in fact, as I realized lack of sleep can never kill me," she smiles, "And I do not need any reward, as I have done it for myself."
"But—"
"All is fine, Your Grace."
"Fine," Henrick sighs, and then moves on to another subject of his concern. "Ah, I should tell you that I have to travel to Strolis in a fortnight as the emperor wants to see me, but I can stay for the party you prepared."
"Oh," she mumbles, her eyes on the cut steak, "but I am sure the emperor needs you to be there as soon as possible…" Besides, Amalia thinks that any victory party hosted by the crown is far better than what she is doing.
"I can stay, I promise." His tone is warm, but when Amalia looks at him, his face is still blank. So much for expecting an expression. "I don't want to miss what you prepared for us."
Amalia nods.
"Also, the host of the party should be at the party."
"What do you mean?"
"Well— am I only assuming that you'd be with me in Strolis?"
You are, Amalia wants to say, but she gulps down the words, and shakes her head instead. "I will be there if you want."
Henrick says something under his breath, but Amalia doesn't hear it. Instead of asking, she ignores it and takes the opportunity to give the loaned ring back to the duke.
"Did you even wear it?" he asks. Amalia smiles tightly.
"On some occasions, yes." Silence comes thereafter, and when Amalia is sure that he will no longer talk or ask questions, she excuses herself and leaves the room.
She can only breathe properly when she is in the hall. Being with the duke or any other man other than her family is hard for Amalia, so she can only tolerate him for that long. She didn't know that what she has been dreaming all these years could bother her this much.
Her gift only showed for the first time when she was fourteen. At first, she didn't know that it was a sight, as she saw something normal and ludicrous unlike his brother's first time. She deemed it unimportant, just a way to win a round of chess against his brother, so she never had the chance to tell her family.
Prophetic dreams continued visiting her, but so normal and only in her daily life that they hardly affected anyone, even her—like how she dreamed about her father surprising her with a cat and it happened the next day, or how she would injure her ankle from a heeled shoe, so even if she knew it eventually will happen, she avoided wearing them for a while. All mundane, except for one.
The sight that bothers Amalia had visited her the day of her sixteenth birthday: it was of herself dying in the hands of her husband. It was supposed to be the first sight she would have told her family, but it seemed odd to tell it before debut, as if finding an excuse not to marry, and so like any other dream, she never breathed a word of it.
Instead, she insisted on not debuting. Still, the exact same dream would visit her every year until her inevitable debut at eighteen, and then for the next four years, and so she vowed to never marry, almost always avoiding men or parties in general. She rebelled against her family who wished to see her married, until his father conceded and never said the word marriage again.
But then her father fell sick, so she made a choice to marry after years of avoiding it like plague. She thought that she will get used to her married life, but maybe getting used to something that will inevitably kill her will never be possible.
"Your Grace," she hears Jane call her. Amalia stops in her tracks and turns to her maid. She walks nearer, and then hands out a letter when she is within her reach. "This came from Lord Alexei while you are having breakfast," she says.
Amalia only nods, and then stares at the letter. It is rare for Alexei to send letters, and somehow Amalia prefers it that way. It's not that Amalia and Alexei are on bad terms, but it was like an unspoken rule between the siblings since Alexei's dream. Besides, Amalia receives more letters containing information of their rather dire situations than the ones that humor her. The last was about the emperor's refusal to increase its help in the north for its defense against the Free Tribes, as the war in the south is still happening.
Both Amalia and Alexei had a sight of the Free Tribes nearing, but thankfully not near enough when reinforcements from Crane came to Frealwood. The Free Tribes and their beasts retreated after the Battle of Rolphe. If the Free Tribes inched closer to the border or were more in numbers, then she would've never forgiven the emperor.
But now, since it is a matter behind her, she tries to forget it.
Alexei's handwriting is neat and flowy, unlike the duke's rough ones as if he is always in panic. Unlike his last letter, Amalia receives some good news. Alexei wrote about their father's steadying health, and that he already heard about the blooming peace in the south, so he is expecting the couple to visit Crane before travelling to the capital.
Amalia sighs. She misses her father, but she would rather not stay in Crane…
Why are you so afraid of sleeping in the same bed with Henrick? She scolds herself. He is your husband, and you need to produce an heir quickly!
While it is correct, she is also scared. She never had any experiences with marital duties since she had never shared a bed with the duke, and while she and Alexei both received lessons in marital duties during their studies in Lemore, their mother's homeland in the south and most famous for having the best professors, Amalia only learned them through books.
With another sigh and a letter in her hand, she asks Jane to not follow her and walks to the stables. She is greeted by the stablemaster, Gilda—a brawny and tall woman with kind, blue eyes and soft blonde curls that she almost always hides in her hat—and some of her men, and she retrieves her horse for a short ride. She eats a large breakfast in the village within the castle walls, visits some villages outside of those walls, and then the store she established since the duke was gone, has her lunch in a pub, and then goes back after.
When she reaches the stables, it is already dusk, but she sees Henrick sitting by the corner near the entrance, his head hanging low, with Gilda by his side. Amalia frowns, thinking that she shouldn't be guilty as it is impossible for Henrick to wait for her for hours.
"Your Grace!" Gilda calls before running toward her. Amalia sees a glimpse of the duke looking up at her before she could get down from her horse. "His Grace was so worried—he has been sitting their since lunch. Was he not informed of your excursion?"
Worried? Amalia couldn't help but doubt the word. Still, her frown deepens, bothered that the duke skipped his lunch just to wait for her.
"He is far too busy, and I did not have the time to do so," she replies and gives the stablemaster her horse's reins. "Take care of Cielo. It'll take care of the duke."
"Of course, Your Grace."
"Amalia." He is already standing when she reaches him. Amalia is sure she will be scolded, and she is ready for it, but not in his next move. Henrick extends his hand and waits for her to take it. She does, of course, and walks with the duke in silence.
"Will you not ask me where I've gone?" Amalia asks after they reach the hall. Henrick looks at her, his eyes dark. He definitely wants to ask something, but in the end he shakes his head.
"It doesn't matter, as I am sure you did what you needed to do."
"Hmm."
"But next time, please take a guard with you," he says, his voice still deep but sounds kind of troubled. Amalia takes a glance at him to see what is wrong, but since the duke's head is down and his face is being covered by his hair, she couldn't do anything but sigh.
"Alright," she says after a beat. The duke will surely stop her excursions if she doesn't agree.
Besides, one of her duties right now is to appease the duke so she can stay alive until the day she receives her award: their divorce.