"Hmph, knew you were still dislike me. Come, bathe with me, or I won't wash!"
Sylas hurriedly complied.
Getting her to bathe and reduce her odor was a good thing.
As the saying went, even if no hope was in sight, that was no reason not to make oneself more comfortable.
From then on, he coaxed Victoria daily to wash and dress, tidying her up until she was neat and presentable.
The already mature and beautiful Victoria, dressed like this, seemed to have grown over a decade younger.
Initially, Victoria was resentful, but later, whenever she met an acquaintance, they would praise her improved appearance, saying she must have a capable and virtuous husband at home.
It reflected well on her, and gradually, she even began to feel proud of it.
This was the feeling of having a family—someone to care for her, someone to serve her.
Returning home to hot food and soup was happiness.
She entrusted all household matters to Sylas with great confidence.
Then, she poured all her passion and energy into the court reforms.
She needed talent, the kind of talent without deep-rooted connections.
To this end, she asked Isolde for many prisoners of war from Lyonesse.
Among them was Jade.
This former Chancellor of Lyonesse was highly capable and not a local power in Aethelred.
Using her to get things done meant success would be credited to Victoria, and failure would mean Jade could be dealt with.
After gathering her personnel, Victoria began her reforms with bold decisive actions.
The vigorous reform of Aethelred thus commenced.
The weather grew colder.
Sylas had already donned cotton garments.
His room gradually reflected his interests and hobbies.
Large quantities of books were placed in the bedchamber.
These days, Victoria often did not return home.
She had established her own administrative office outside.
To demonstrate her work ethic of not returning home until the job was done, she found a new mansion to serve as her office.
Thus, only Sylas remained in the Marquess's manor.
He lay in his bedchamber, leaning against pillows, reading books every day.
The Marquess's household was more or less managed.
He had no desire to interact with Aethelred's upper echelons.
Huddled in his bedroom, he felt quite content.
Reading calmed his mind, allowing him to temporarily forget his current predicament.
Today, snowflakes drifted outside.
Sylas stayed indoors, burning coal in the hearth, brewing light tea, holding a book of poetry, reading and murmuring silently to himself.
Reciting poetry left a pleasant taste.
Just then, the door was suddenly knocked.
Sylas didn't get up, merely saying softly, "Enter."
He saw Page stealthily push the door open, looking at him with a helpless expression.
Sylas asked faintly, "What is it?"
"Young Master… Her Majesty is here," Page said awkwardly.
"What?"
Sylas didn't hear clearly at first, then he stood up in alarm.
Before he could speak, he saw Isolde, draped in a crimson cloak, push past Page and stride boldly into the bedchamber of her subject's spouse.
"Go, stand guard at the door. Don't let anyone in."
Isolde kicked Page.
Page scrambled away to stand guard at the door promptly.
Sylas was instantly flustered, at a loss.
He looked at Isolde, his whole body feeling prickly with discomfort.
Why had the Empress suddenly come to the Marquess's manor?
Isolde pushed back the hood of her cloak. She brushed the snow off herself and said impatiently, "Come help me brush off the snow. Do you want me to freeze to death?"
Sylas slowly walked over.
His fear of Isolde rendered him speechless.
So far, he hadn't even managed a word of greeting.
As he drew near, Isolde looked the Lord of the Marquess's manor up and down.
He wore a grey-brown robe, his hair tied into a bun.
Simple and elegant attire, refined and courteous.
Perhaps these past few days of peaceful living had granted Sylas an additional air of serene calm. Like a placid lake, increasingly clear and transparent.
But the moment Isolde saw him, she wanted to stir up this lake, to muddy its waters.
How could a conquered slave lead a stable life?
Not allowed!
"Your Majesty… why has Your Majesty come through the snow?"
Sylas used a blanket to brush the snow off her.
His voice trembled, clearly fearful.
Isolde untied her cloak and tossed it onto him casually, then quite consciously walked towards his bed.
Sylas hung up her clothes for her and saw Isolde lie down on his bed again, kick off her deerskin boots, pull over the quilt, and cover herself.
Sylas's head spun.
Were you here to sleep?
Do you not have quilts in the palace?
How can you come to a subject's house to sleep?
Sylas was at a loss; he was quite afraid Victoria would return.
If Victoria saw this, Isolde would surely humiliate him in front of her.
He would be the one to suffer in the end.
He stepped forward to plead: "Your Majesty, please return to the palace. This place…"
"Sylas, you're living quite the leisurely life. I think you've forgotten your status."
Isolde's small feet kicked around under his quilt.
Sylas's quilt was indeed comfortable, and it smelled quite nice!
"Your Majesty, am I not now Marshal Victoria's consort?" Sylas said, eyes downcast.
"Who said you are?"
"Uh… Your Majesty's …"
Isolde patted the quilt and said, "If I say it is, then it is?
Then I say, come here and warm my feet. Will you come?
I'm freezing to death."
Sylas was caught between laughter and tears. He argued, "There is a distinction between ruler and subject. Your Majesty should still observe propriety."
"Less nonsense. Come here. I'm unbearably cold."
Isolde was unrelenting.
Sylas could only sit on the edge of the bed and, as she demanded, reach his hands under the quilt to hold Isolde's two small feet.
She might have stepped in the snow, as her jade feet were icy cold; she wasn't lying.
Isolde leaned close to his ear and whispered something.
Sylas quickly shook his head in refusal.
"No, no."
"Why not? It's not like you haven't before. You did it for Victoria."
"You even know about that?"
Isolde shot him a resentful glare and said, "You probably don't know, but your Lady Sovereign is out drinking now. When she gets drunk, she praises you.
Making meals, serving baths. Presentable in the hall, capable in the kitchen.
Everyone in the Marquess's household is managed obediently.
A regular virtuous husband.
Oh my, our little Lord Sylas has become a virtuous husband.
It makes my heart itch back in the palace.
Sylas, are you deliberately trying to anger me?"
Isolde's tone grew stranger as she spoke, becoming increasingly sarcastic towards the end.
Sylas warmed her feet, head bowed, and said, "I have to live, don't I…"
Isolde kicked his arm irritably, hugged her shoulders, and leaned against the headboard.
Over these days, every time she closed her eyes, she saw Sylas.
Today, she simply couldn't control her longing.
Now that Victoria was busy with work, she had sneaked over to find Sylas.
She thought she might feel awkward and embarrassed after entering.
But unexpectedly, once inside, it felt like returning home.
The feeling was too familiar.
Why feel awkward around Sylas?
So, she very deftly lay down on the bed.
Sylas's bedchamber was really so comfortable~ Hehe.
She simply stopped pretending, reached out, tugged Sylas's sleeve, and said, "I miss you quite a bit. Keep me company, hear me?"
"It's not proper. I am your subject's spouse…"
Isolde said impatiently, "What spouse? Are you even worthy?
You're just a toy I gave to Victoria. She's busy working now and isn't playing with you.
What's wrong with me getting reacquainted?"