Chapter 14

Asla felt an odd twinge of betrayal as she stared down the hallway where May had vanished. When Enoch shut the door, cutting off her view, she let out a deep sigh.

“How long does it take to reach the capital by train?”

“Half a day.”

“…That’s impressive.”

As the steam engine began gliding forward, a vibration pulsed through the table beneath her hand.  

The train rumbled ahead—thud-thud-thud—and the scenery outside the window slowly shifted. Watching the changing landscape, Asla murmured, “The world changed this quickly… and I was the only one left behind.”

“You weren’t the only one,” Enoch replied quietly. “Besides, there are still plenty of nobles—and commoners—who dismiss these kinds of innovations as frivolous. The temple is even worse. Their prejudice runs deep.”

“They’re just cowards afraid of becoming obsolete.” Asla replied with biting cynicism.  

Even as the lands of the Holy Kingdom began to rot for mysterious reasons, her father and the high priests refused to admit that the divine soil was decaying.  

Had they prepared when the signs first appeared, the collapse of the Holy Kingdom might not have been so tragic.  

The last king, queen, and twelve high priests—how pathetically afraid they were.

Asla, caught in bitter memories, wore a worn and weathered expression. Watching her, Enoch’s thick eyebrows twitched slightly.  

He clenched his fist, then unbuttoned his jacket.

Seeing him remove his jacket and hang it neatly on the wall, then unfasten the top button of his white shirt, Asla blurted out without thinking,

“I didn’t expect you to be the kind of man who unbuttons like that…”

“What does that mean?”

When Enoch began rolling up his sleeves after undoing the cufflinks, Asla hesitated.

“I always thought you were… very proper. You always have been.”

“…That’s because you said you liked that sort of thing.”

“I did?”

Asla widened her eyes in surprise. Enoch bit his lip and covered his mouth with his hand.  

She tilted her head—was it just her imagination, or had his ears and nape turned red?

With a frustrated sigh, Enoch leaned back in his chair.

“Was I wrong?”

“Ah, well…”

Asla hesitated for a moment.  

Had she ever said she liked men who strictly followed etiquette?  

Well, maybe. She had liked how Enoch looked when he behaved that way. But it wasn’t the etiquette itself she admired—it was him.  

If he had dressed with a touch of roguishness, she probably would’ve liked that, too.

Just as she was flustered by the thought, Asla suddenly realized something she hadn’t considered and asked carefully,

“Have you… really cared all this time about what I liked?”

“Of course. I’m your husband.”

Enoch nodded solemnly, and Asla felt a strange, hollow weight settle in her chest.

‘He says he cared about what I liked…’  

He says he paid attention to her tastes in clothes and manners—  

‘Then how could he have been so unaware… of how I was suffering, trapped in the Ventus mansion?’  

The contradiction gnawed at her.

Suppressing her irritation, Asla turned her head, keeping her expression calm as always.

“You don’t have to anymore. Just live however you want now.”

“…However I want?”

While she turned her gaze to the view outside the window, something dangerous flickered in Enoch’s black eyes.

Asla was watching the faraway fields when she noticed his reflection in the glass—and jumped, startled.  

He was suddenly seated right beside her, and their eyes met at a shockingly close distance. She gasped.

His dark eyes were framed by unexpectedly fine silver lashes, delicate and soft despite his bold brows.  

It was hard to believe his breath was brushing so close against her cheek.

Asla stammered, flustered.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I tried to become the man you wanted,” Enoch said softly. “But I’m done with that now.”

Asla stared blankly as Enoch reached out and pressed his hand against the window.  

Her gaze dropped to the veins protruding on his forearm, exposed beneath his rolled-up sleeves—and she gulped.  

Only then did she realize she was completely surrounded by him.

Though Enoch wore a lazy smile, his eyes burned with the ferocity of a starved lion.  

Instinctively, Asla leaned back to escape his looming presence, but there was nowhere left to run.

“Would you care to explain this behavior, Duke Enoch Ventus?”

“I’ve always wanted to do as I pleased,” he said calmly. “But after hearing what you said last night, I realized how foolish I was—following all those absurd codes from the Holy Kingdom.”

Asla, for a moment, felt like the foolish one. He was following the Holy Kingdom’s code? But that would mean…  

Her gaze flicked to his lips, now so close they nearly brushed her own, and she spoke in a trembling voice.

“What I said last night… that wasn’t…”

“You said you wanted to kiss me too,” he interrupted.

For a heartbeat, Asla thought she saw flames ignite in his dark eyes. His voice, like a devil’s whisper, muddled her thoughts.  

They were supposed to be getting divorced—this was all wrong.

“If you’d allow me,” Enoch murmured, his voice thick with hunger, “Shall we kiss?”

His lips, so close and whispering against her skin, were wickedly tempting.  

Enoch Ventus’s kiss—the one she had dreamed of for years.  

She wanted to drink in every bit of that heat, every breath he exhaled.

But barely holding onto clarity, Asla pressed her fingertips against his lips, pushing him back.  

His disappointment was written clearly in his eyes, and she swallowed hard, trying to steady her dry throat.

“Just… listen to me for a moment.”

“Speak,” he replied—his voice muffled slightly by her fingers, making him sound a bit annoyed.

She flinched when she felt the soft, hot movement of his lips beneath her hand, and quickly pulled away.  

Meeting his gaze head-on, still caged in by his body, Asla said firmly:

“I’m going to divorce you.”

“…I know. That’s why we’re on our way to the capital.”

“Let’s be clear, then. Do you agree?”

Enoch didn’t reply. She watched as the heat in his eyes died away, replaced by a chilling cold.  

He pulled his arm back and leaned away from her.

“Asla,” he said, rubbing at his tired eyes.

“Do I look like the kind of man who’d agree to a divorce? Do I seem like someone who’d kiss a woman he was about to leave? Don’t treat me like some animal in heat who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Asla flushed at his blunt words. ‘In heat’?  

A pang of guilt struck her—was that really how her actions last night had come across?

“Then why are you coming with me to the temple? I’m on my way to finalize a divorce.”

“Because I respect your decision!” Enoch’s voice rose slightly as he looked at her with wounded eyes.

Startled, Asla froze.  

He let out a strained sigh, pressing a hand to his forehead as though trying to keep himself together.

“Asla… you were right. No matter my reasons, I didn’t know what you were going through—how you were tormented by my sister-in-law and the servants. Starting with that damn dress covered in coal tar… and I’m sure the more I dig, the more I’ll uncover.”

“….”

It dawned on Asla then—Enoch hadn’t taken the tar-stained dress to discard it.  

He had taken it to confront the maid responsible.  

Her expression slowly stiffened.  

‘Was that really what had shocked him so deeply?’

There had been worse things. Much worse.

Asla gave a bitter smile at the thought, and Enoch seemed to sense it.  

He bit his lip, anguish flickering in his eyes.

“You’ve endured so much without complaint… So maybe the reason you’re asking for a divorce now is because even the time for forgiveness has passed. And that’s why—I can’t even ask you to forgive me anymore.”

Forgiveness.

Asla was swept up in a strange feeling.  

To think that this strong, unyielding man could look at her with such softened eyes and ask for forgiveness—  

It sent a sharp sting through her throat.

But soon, she understood.  

She had endured, again and again, but Enoch was right—too much time had passed for forgiveness to even matter anymore.

In some ways, he knew her far better than she knew herself.  

Even after all that time apart.

Asla smiled faintly, lips parting.

“You’re right, Enoch Ventus.”

Enoch’s face darkened at her quiet response.  

And that made her sad.

The truth was, what had hurt the most was how indifferent he’d been—how he hadn’t even spared his own wife a glance.  

It didn’t have to be love. Even the smallest bit of attention would have changed everything.

She quietly watched Enoch stagger back to the seat across from her and asked:

“Kiss.”

“…?” Enoch blinked at her, baffled.  

She shrugged.

“Why didn’t you kiss me? Why didn’t we sleep together, like a married couple should? If what you said earlier is true… maybe just that kind of intimacy would’ve kept us from falling apart like this.”

“…Ha.”

Enoch let out a breathless scoff, staring in disbelief at Asla’s blunt question, delivered with such a straight face.  

He rubbed his brow, clearly at a loss, while Asla asked:

“You said you were following the Holy Kingdom’s Code? Why? Since when?”

“Because… you’re a noble princess of the Holy Kingdom…”

“…What?”

Asla stared at him, dumbfounded.  

The Holy Kingdom’s Code?

That included all the etiquette and conduct expected of royalty in the Holy Kingdom—strict, ascetic, and painfully rigid.

There was one part that young Asla had especially loathed: the rules around physical intimacy and sexual relations.  

She had drawn thick red lines through those sections in her own copy of the code, actively erasing them.

And yet, Enoch… had followed them.

She didn’t even know who had given him that insane rulebook.  

Asla dropped her head onto the table, arms folded beneath her.

She had no idea how to fix this suffocating mess.  

She hated that their already twisted relationship had to be resolved through something like divorce.

“…Are you feeling unwell, Asla?”

“I’m just tired.”

Her voice wavered. She felt tears prickle in her eyes.  

It wasn’t fair.  

Still hiding her face in her arms, she asked—without looking at him:

“How do you know Priest Ian Hertha?”

“Don’t talk about that bastard.”

“…You just called a priest ‘that bastard.’”

The hostility in his voice made her glance up slightly.  

Enoch met her gaze—his expression just as tense as his voice had been.

“You’re planning to divorce me… and go to Ian Hertha, is that it?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Her frown deepened at the implication, and Enoch let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“Asla.”

“…Yes, Enoch.”

“I don’t want to divorce you. Won’t you stay by my side? I’m finally ready to live this life with you.”

“You’re finally ready?”

She looked at him as if he’d just spoken in riddles.  

Then, without warning, Enoch reached across the table, gently gathered a handful of her soft, rose-colored hair, and brought it to his lips.

Asla froze, caught off guard by his gesture.  

She said nothing, paralyzed.

A strange thought crossed her mind—that her hair, brushing against his lips, was lucky.  

And that made her ears burn red.