Milas stood in the hallway beside the Duke's assistant and contemplated every life choice that had led him here.
The floor was polished enough that his reflection stared back at him. Soft light illuminated the ceiling's decorative patterns, and the air smelled faintly of flowers—probably from the garden drifting inside through the open windows.
The assistant stood with his hands folded behind his back, posture impeccable—Ciara would applaud him—eyes forward, expression neutral enough to pass as decorative furniture meant to keep intruders out.
But none of that made the silence any easier to endure. Not that Milas hadn't tried to break it.
He tried four times.
"So…," he began, testing the waters, "the Duke seems busy."
No response.
Milas tried again after a few seconds, glancing sideways.
"I mean, I don't blame him. Big decisions and all. Marriage, empire, dramatic life choices—"
Still nothing.
The man did not even blink.
But Milas had to keep going.
"…Is this one of those professional silence things? Because I respect that. Really. Impressive discipline. Was it a job requirement? I'd crack in under one minute."
The assistant remained unmoved.
Milas sighed.
He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms, studying the ceiling patterns while speaking to absolutely no one.
"Cold duke, terrifying reputation, frost forming on windows when he enters a room… Any other helpful rumors you want to share? No? Just checking."
Nothing.
Not even a twitch.
Wow, Milas thought. That guy is either extremely loyal or maybe a secret AI human robot experiment.
Minutes dragged by until finally the door to the room slid open.
Milas straightened up immediately.
Count Isaac emerged first.
Shoulders sagging, face red, clothing slightly out of place.
Milas blinked.
"…How did it go?"
The Count stopped in front of him, stared for a moment, then simply shook his head.
Then he reached out and patted Milas on the shoulder once.
Then twice.
A sympathetic, weary sort of pat.
Then he turned and trudged down the corridor without another word.
Milas stood there, staring after him.
"That's ominous," Milas mumbled.
The assistant stepped forward smoothly and slipped into the room, the door closing behind him.
Leaving Milas alone.
He glanced around.
Two guards stood at the end of the corridor, pretending very hard that they were not watching him.
He shifted again, resisting the urge to run.
Everything is going to be fine, he told himself. He couldn't have shown more obvious flaws.
---
Inside the room—
Finnian stood near the window, hands clasped behind his back, gaze fixed on the flowers in the garden.
"Lady Ciara will not return," he said calmly.
The words landed heavily.
Luca, who had just entered, inhaled softly.
"…I suspected as much."
Luca thought back to the man in the corridor.
He was too casual.
He leaned against the wall, fidgeted, and observed the ceiling.
No noble waiting outside for a private conversation behaved like this. They obsessed over posture. They carefully selected their words, fearing they could unknowingly insult the other party. They did not lean against walls or speak to aides so casually, especially when all their words would be reported to their masters.
Haaah.
Luca rubbed his eyes and slowly exhaled.
That man's behavior did not align with the clothing he wore.
"My lord, I suspect he is not nobility."
Duke Finnian just nodded.
"So the Count already confessed." Luca frowned, his jaw clenching. "How could he do such a thing? After everything you gave them—"
The Duke raised a hand to interrupt him.
Luca exhaled slowly through his nose before continuing, calmer this time.
"I fear we have no alternatives. At least none that can be arranged in a few hours." Luca hesitated only a moment before adding, "And regrettably… there are not exactly candidates lining up for you."
Finnian glanced over his shoulder and threw Luca a cold stare.
"Call him in."
Luca bowed his head.
"As you wish."
---
"We will proceed with a contract marriage."
Finnian's voice was calm, carrying no particular emotion.
"You will act as my partner during the imperial contest. After we win, we will maintain the arrangement for two additional years in order to stabilize the transition of power."
Milas blinked once.
Only once.
But internally he screamed.
Two years?
He was so shocked that he wasn't even shocked by the amount of words the Duke could say in one sitting.
Although Milas was pretty sure he managed to keep his expression neutral, the brief twitch of his eyebrows was apparently enough to betray his thoughts.
"…One year," Finnian changed after a moment, tone still calm. "We will divorce after one year."
"Is it that easy to divorce the Emperor after proving yourselves the perfect couple?" Milas was not convinced.
The assistant, standing slightly behind the Duke, folded his hands.
"While it is unconventional for the imperial couple to separate so soon after the coronation," he added mildly, "it is not as though the throne itself can be revoked just because of a divorce. The public will simply… adjust."
Milas' mouth twitched.
The assistant sounded like he was discussing a delayed shuttle instead of rewriting centuries of imperial tradition.
Well, who cared? Nobles always knew how to bend the rules to their benefit.
Both of them looked disturbingly confident.
Not hopeful.
Confident. Almost as if they were sure to win.
Milas studied Finnian's face carefully—the eyes that seemed to freeze you with their cold stare, the straight mouth, the furrowed brows.
The face of someone who could do anything for the throne.
Or maybe for power.
Maybe the man didn't want to be just a powerful man, but the most powerful man.
Milas was sure that the assistant had noticed his not-so-noble demeanor in the corridor and told his master.
But since they still wanted to go through with this even when they knew he was lower class, then maybe he was—
Power hungry.
How unfortunate.
Milas' thoughts took a sharp turn into darker territory.
His gaze flickered briefly to Luca, then back to Finnian.
If he signs a contract with me, then he becomes involved.
Accomplice was a strong word.
But mutual destruction was a powerful motivator.
Milas did not enjoy thinking like this.
Unfortunately, survival rarely consulted personal taste.
If Finnian turned on him later, Milas could drag him down with him in the process.
He didn't believe the public would excuse something like that, especially if it happened in front of the whole empire. There was no way they could brush such a huge deception under the rug.
Though he didn't like the idea of going down with someone, it was better than having no bargaining chips.
Milas felt his shoulders loosen.
Just slightly.
A relaxed smile curved onto his face, smooth enough to pass for confidence.
"Good," he said lightly. "Then we should sign quickly. I heard we need to leave for the capital star immediately."
Finnian's gaze sharpened.
He studied the man across from him without speaking.
Most people avoided meeting his eyes.
They looked at the floor, at Luca, or at the wall behind him.
But the man opposite him did none of those things.
He sat there casually, expression slightly amused, as though inside he was not nervous, trying his best to hide muscles that looked ready to jump up and run.
Perhaps he should at least praise him for the effort.
So Finnian forced his features into something gentler—something he thought resembled a smile.
"Yes…" he said after a pause. "We don't have time to waste. Luca."
Milas watched that so-called gentle smile settle onto the Duke's face and felt cold sweat trickle down his back.
That was worse than the expressionless face.
Much worse.
Luca, standing at the side, watched this out of the corner of his eye and stared at the ceiling, speechless.
He alone recognized the pattern: the careful pause, the measured tone, the deliberate attempt at softness that somehow made everything worse.
Luca had long since accepted that his lord's idea of kindness was indistinguishable from a threat to anyone unfamiliar with him.
Tragically, the man currently seated across from them was very unfamiliar.
He closed his eyes.
My lord, please stop trying to smile or even your last marriage candidate is going to run away.