DLYTL 21

Chapter – 21

“Is that money really coming from the viscount? And the debt forgiveness and marriage were things Lord Warren promised back when he was still a prince. The only thing that changed is the person involved.”

“Hah! You don’t remember how you paid extra to the royal family just because you hesitated to marry your daughter off to a murderous fiend? I’d say that was a scheme to squeeze out more money. That princess is obviously in on it too.”

No matter how much Roil argued, the vassals—including the viscount—did not look kindly on Psyche.

If anything, they lifted their chins arrogantly and cast sharp glances at her.

‘Some of this resentment is probably directed at the duke himself as well, but…’

To them, she was nothing more than the useless princess brought in with extra money by the monster who killed his adoptive father.

That was exactly how the vassals saw her.

After leaving the manor, Psyche sent Anna back and walked alone along the garden path.

Each time a cool breeze blew, the soft fabric of her dress brushed against her skin.

Familiar with the grounds, she headed toward the training field. There, she spotted a man practicing swordsmanship against a log.

The muscles of his back moved fluidly beneath a thin, sweat-soaked shirt.

Without turning around, Icaly spoke indifferently.

“You’ve taken a wrong turn.”

Then he lifted his sword again.

He must have assumed she’d wandered here by mistake, unfamiliar with the manor grounds.

Instead of turning back, Psyche stood still and watched him.

“I think I came to the right place.”

Only then did Icaly turn around to look at her.

Psyche met his gaze with the same deep brown eyes she’d had as a child.

But for some reason, the warmth she once carried was nowhere to be found.

Come to think of it, Hans had also said that when he first met her, she seemed like a dry, cold person.

That struck Icaly as strange.

Her eyes looked worn down by long years, dulled as if all light had been rubbed away—and within them was reflected his own image.

“What do you want from me?”

“I heard you carried me to my room last night.”

“So that’s what this is about… Did you come all this way just to thank me?”

He laughed quietly. Psyche paused, trying to gauge the meaning behind his laughter.

“Yes. I came to thank you. It must have been troublesome.”

“You weren’t very heavy.”

As if it truly meant nothing, he turned his back again. Psyche spoke bluntly to him.

“Even if I wasn’t, please don’t do that again.”

Icaly lowered his sword and looked at her as if asking what she meant.

With an expression devoid of emotion, Psyche said,

“Next time, just have someone else do it—or wake me up. There’s no need for you to go through the trouble.”

“Ha…”

Icaly wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and let out a dry laugh. The brief softness in his face vanished, replaced once more by hardness.

For a moment, he’d felt strangely restless at the thought that she had come looking for him herself. Now he felt foolish.

So foolish—for it to crash so easily.

Placing his hands on his hips, Icaly faced her directly.

His displeasure was written plainly on his face.

“If you were uncomfortable with me touching you, just say that.”

“That’s not it.”

“Then were you worried I might have done something to you in your bedroom? Is that what disgusts you?”

Psyche frowned. At the blunt question, she let out a small sigh.

“That’s not what I meant. I just…”

She parted her lips repeatedly, searching for the right words. Then, at last, she asked the question she’d never dared to voice.

“…Do you love me?”

Shock flashed across Icaly’s face.

“…What did you say?”

After watching the crack form in his expression, Psyche spoke calmly, voicing the thoughts she’d carried for so long.

“We may be husband and wife, but you don’t love me. If you want us to look like a good couple, then please do it only when others are watching.”

“……”

“You married me out of pity, because you felt sorry for my situation—and because you paid money to do so. Isn’t that right?”

Icaly’s face twisted.

Psyche recalled the humiliation she’d endured when she met Warren in front of the Glass Garden, and later when their marriage was discussed.

Of course, Warren had treated her that way entirely because of Icaly.

She had promised to behave obediently if it meant he wouldn’t harass Icaly.

Naively, she’d believed him.

But then again, for women, marrying a man who looked down on them was hardly uncommon.

As royalty, she might have been slightly better off—but in the end, she was bound to be sold to whoever offered the highest price.

She might have married a man who only needed her title and spent her life ignored, or lived a purely transactional marriage where both parties kept lovers.

A political marriage bordering on a sale—it was only natural to accept such things.

A political marriage.

Her marriage was a promise and a contract.

Whether it had been with Warren or with Icaly, being disregarded by her husband and wasting her life was simply part of the deal.

That was all the contract entailed.

They had traded money, not love.

But because she’d married her first love, she had foolishly struggled for his affection.

For four long years.

“…You didn’t marry me because you loved me.”

When Warren lost his leg and was driven out of the dukedom by Icaly, she had felt relieved.

Relieved that she wouldn’t have to marry a man she hated.

But objectively speaking, the person who had been willing to pay off the debt was gone. For the royal family, it was a disaster.

And then, when she lost her marriage prospects and wandered aimlessly, she must have looked pitiful.

That must be why he married her.

Determined not to be hurt anymore, Psyche chose to believe that.

“Perhaps it was because of old affection between us. That’s why you married me. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have spent such a fortune to pay off the royal family’s debt.”

“……”

“I finally understand now. You showed me great kindness. If it weren’t for you, I would have been sold off to someone else after Warren, and suffered the same fate.”

Icaly fell silent, as though he’d lost the ability to speak.

Psyche quietly watched his expression darken.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to thank you sincerely. What I’m trying to say is—I know my place now. You don’t need to concern yourself with me.”

“…Speak clearly.”

His words came out clipped, grinding through his teeth.

Strange emotions surfaced on his face—flaring like fire, then freezing over again and again.

“Please don’t treat me like your wife.”

“……”

“Don’t take care of me. Don’t hold my hand. Don’t personally carry me to bed late at night. There’s no need.”

She let out a faint sigh.

She didn’t want to be confused anymore.

“Don’t make me misunderstand. We didn’t marry for love.”

“……”

“If we need to look like a couple in public, then please do so only when others are watching. That’s all I ask.”

Only now did she realize the mistake she had made in her previous life.

In that life, Icaly had never loved her. She alone had loved him.

He had merely saved her from being sold off to some man who wouldn’t care about her at all.

Out of childhood affection.

‘And I, not even realizing that, begged him for love every single day. Of course it must have annoyed him. I was foolish.’

That was probably why he had pushed her away.

In her past life, she had been intoxicated by marrying her first love—but a political marriage was an adult matter.

The only one who truly believed they were husband and wife was Psyche herself.

She recalled that bitter truth and smiled to herself in self-mockery.

“…Pity? An act of charity?”

He frowned deeply, as if he couldn’t understand.

After Psyche left the training field in silence, he returned to his room.

Dusk had already begun to settle. He scanned the bluish twilight before turning his gaze outside the window.

Beyond it stretched a black ridgeline.

As darkness slowly descended, the boundary between sky and mountains blurred and disappeared.

Resting his chin on his hand, Icaly sank into thought.

Psyche believed he had married her out of pity—because she had lost her engagement due to him.

That he had felt responsible for nullifying her marriage by driving Warren away.

It was true that when he killed his adoptive father and expelled Warren, the first person he thought of was Psyche. Only her.

Suggesting a new marriage to the Doson royal family in Warren’s place had been almost impulsive.

And when the royal family, after much deliberation, accepted his proposal—he had been happy.

No matter what, he would be bound to her as husband and wife.

But there was something he hadn’t anticipated.

His own infamous reputation as a patricidal murderer—and whether Psyche would still like him.

When they met at the manor during the negotiations with Warren, she had welcomed him warmly. But so much had changed since then.

From orphan and princess—

To murderer and princess.

Self-loathing engulfed him. He wasn’t sure he could endure it if she looked at him with disgust.

If even you despise me, then how am I supposed to live?

There was nothing left around him.

Only her—bound to him by the fragile tie of marriage.

Marriage would be a safe shelter for her, now that she’d lost her prospects.

That was why he couldn’t easily annul it. He couldn’t subject her to the disgrace of being rejected twice by the same family.

So at first, he thought that even if she hated him, she would eventually resign herself to it.

If he let her spend money freely, attend parties.

If he never touched her, and let her live safely within the walls.

“…Was I wrong?”

Her question had been something he’d never once imagined.

Did he love her?

His mouth felt strangely dry as he brushed his fingers over his lips.

Words he couldn’t bring himself to say—buried under deep self-loathing and inferiority—lingered unspoken.