Noir moved with natural elegance, gliding through the corridors like she belonged to every room she entered. Calm and focused, she had no need to raise her voice. Her words were measured, her pace steady, and the staff responded to her presence with silent efficiency. She was the duchess, but more than that, she was the one who kept the vast estate breathing.
Behind her, Klein followed like a shadow.
He didn't speak. He didn't interrupt. He simply watched.
From the outside, it might've looked strange. The Duke of Moonlight, a figure revered across the empire, walking a step behind his wife as if he were some silent attendant. But no one said anything. They didn't dare.
He was still the Duke. A Saint-level martial artist. The only man who stood equal to Emperor Arthur Pendragon. His reputation alone demanded silence. His presence held weight.
And yet he walked behind Noir without pride, without impatience.
He was watching, learning.
They started the day in the study, where sunlight poured through the tall windows and danced across the wooden floor. Noir reviewed the final report for the east wing's repairs, her fingers moving over neat rows of figures in the estate's ledgers. She murmured quiet instructions to a servant standing nearby, then signed the document with a small nod.
Efficient. Sharp. Confident.
Klein stood to the side, arms crossed, saying nothing. But his mind worked quickly. The numbers made sense. The allocations were smart. She had a good grasp of the estate's finances, and he could see the logic in her decisions without needing further explanation.
He had inherited Klein's memories, and they helped—somewhat. But there were gaps. Emotions he didn't feel. Habits he didn't understand. It was one thing to remember being Duke Klein Moonlight. It was another thing entirely to live it.
So he watched her instead.
Next came the ration meeting with the steward. A thin, gray-haired man presented lists of supplies to be distributed to the lower district for winter—grain, fuel, clothing, and heating enchantments. Noir listened to the details without showing fatigue, adjusting the numbers with quiet confidence.
"They'll need more coal than this," she said. "Last year, the storms lasted longer than expected."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Klein listened in silence, arms still crossed.
"You could reallocate from the northern village," he offered quietly. "They've stocked excess and their wards are newer."
Noir turned slightly toward him, raising a brow. Her tone was neutral. "That's a good point."
She made the adjustment without hesitation. She didn't question how he knew, and he didn't explain. That was how it needed to be.
Then they were on the move again.
The kitchen came next. Warm, busy, and filled with smells that reminded Klein how little he'd eaten growing up. The head chef laid out the seasonal menu options. Dishes meant to comfort, to impress, and to use the best of the winter harvest.
Noir listened, then suggested refinements—less spice here, substitute an ingredient there. Klein watched quietly until one item caught his eye.
"The oranges won't be ready by then," he said, glancing at a tart recipe. "The grove's still under restoration. You'll get green fruit."
The chef paled. "Yes, Your Grace. I—I'll revise it at once."
Noir glanced at him again. "You remember the harvest schedule?"
"I remember enough," Klein replied, his voice quiet.
And then the silence resumed.
He followed her from room to room. From the servant quarter reports to a short exchange with a local merchant about supply lines. At no point did he take over. He simply watched and helped where he could—handing her a file, catching a fallen sheet of paper before it hit the floor. Nothing grand. Just small, quiet acts.
It was the servants who noticed first.
They tried not to look, but their eyes kept flicking to the tall figure behind Noir. The Duke, who once commanded with sheer will alone, was now walking the estate not with force—but with intention. He wasn't aloof. He wasn't cold. He was present.
Noir noticed it too.
She hadn't expected him to follow her all day. The old Klein never had. Even when they were newly married, he treated estate matters as hers alone—duties beneath his concern. But now, he watched every move, absorbing every detail.
And he asked small questions.
"How many servants are assigned during winter?"
"Do the outer farms use different rations than the village?"
"Who decides the shift rotations for the night guards?"
She answered each without hesitation. Her voice remained calm, but her gaze lingered on him longer with each response.
At first, she wondered if this was some ploy—a test of her systems, perhaps. But no… there was no judgment in his eyes. No arrogance. He wasn't looking for mistakes.
He was genuinely trying to understand.
They continued through the afternoon.
In the hallway outside her office, she paused and turned toward him. "You don't have to follow me the whole day."
"I want to," he said simply.
It wasn't charming. It wasn't flattering. But it was honest. She studied him for a second, then turned away without a word.
They walked on.
By dusk, they had reviewed nearly everything scheduled for the day. Klein hadn't spoken much since noon, and neither had she. But the silence between them wasn't cold. It wasn't uncomfortable either.
It was… neutral. Steady. Like two people who didn't need to fill the air with empty conversation.
As she signed the last set of ledgers and handed them off, she looked toward him again. "You're quiet."
"Do you prefer I talk more?"
"No," she said. Then added after a pause, "I just find it… different."
He didn't respond. But he smiled faintly.
She stared at him for another moment before turning back toward the hallway.
"You'll make the servants nervous if you keep this up," she said as they walked side by side.
"They'll get used to it."
That made her lips twitch—something between a smile and a sigh. She didn't press further.
Whatever had changed in him, she wasn't sure she understood it. But she didn't feel the need to pull away. Not today.
And as they returned to the calmer halls of the main residence, servants bowing low as they passed, Noir let her pace slow just enough to match his steps exactly.