Call Me Properly

Caleb's words spun around Princess Dione's head for what felt like forever. In reality, it had only been a day since the conversation took place and she still could not bring herself to believe it.

Duke Devland was...sick?

How was that possible? He did not look the part at all and, if anything, he looked especially vibrant and energetic compared to his peers. But still, she had asked everyone she could think of to gather any information she could. 

She even interrogated the maids in charge of serving him but they were adamant that they could not even step into the crack of the guest chamber where the Duke temporarily resided. They would leave his food at the door faithfully every mealtime and while they would return to see empty bowls, not even a shadow of the man could be seen.

It was then that she decided to take matters into her own hands, regardless of Caleb's incessant pleas that she not. He regretted telling her that the Duke was ill and refused to comment further on what exactly that meant so she could not rely on him at all.

In order to have a private conversation with Duke Devland, Dione left both Marianne and Caleb behind.

Maybe it was because of the fiasco with Valerie's maid a few days ago but as she walked through the halls towards the guest wing of the palace, all the maids respectfully bowed their heads and greeted her. Their attitudes had reverted back to the respectful manner they used when the Late Emperor was alive and at the very least, Dione no longer had to worry about being openly despised by lowly maids.

"Ah, is that for Duke Devland?" Dione stopped a maidservant at the entrance of the guest wing. 

The short maid carrying the tray of food was stunned to come face to face with Princess Dione. She stumbled over her words, "Y-Your Highness! Ah, yes this is the Duke's lunch for the day, I was just carrying it to his chambers."

"I'll do it."

"…Yes?" The servant's expression was one of confusion. She took a couple of seconds before she finally figured out that the Princess' hands were stretched out in order to take to tray herself. Her eyes widened and she feverishly nodded her head, "Of course Your Highness, I apologize for my lack of understanding."

Looking at how the tray of food shook as the maidservant trembled subtly, Dione did not say anything further. She took the tray wordlessly and dismissed the maid as she entered the guest wing.

It doesn't take her long to stop in front of the Duke's chamber door. As she stands there with the tray in her hands and the large, opulent door towering over her, she begins to feel a bit nervous.

The Duke is sick.

Her soon-to-be husband for the next three years, is terminally ill.

What if, on the other side of this door, she finds him to be a very stark contrast to the man she knew him as? In her eyes, the Duke had been an incredibly strong man, vibrant and energetic even in comparison to his peers or other knights.

Now with the news of his illness revealed to her, she worried that she would find him in a vulnerable state.

Just how bad was it for him to not appear in front of her for a long time? Would his skin be pale or a sickly yellow color? Would he be restricted to his bed with little to no strength left?

Dione shook these thoughts from her head. They were useless. What she needed now was to figure out a game plan for the both of them moving forward. They had to meet with Saintess Naraina to form the contract and then leave for the North as soon as possible. She would never get her answers just standing here in fear.

Steeling her resolve, she raised her hand to knock on the door.

No answer.

She knocked again, this time a bit harder and the tray of food almost slipped from her hand. When there was still no answer from the other side, she held her breath in anticipation and slowly creaked the door open.

Instead of seeing a sickly, vulnerable man as she expected, Dione was greeted with the sight of a sweaty Duke Devland training with a dummy in the corner of the spacious bedroom chamber.

"I thought I informed you all to leave the food at the door…Dione?" Azriel's irritated voice was the first thing to register in Dione's head as she entered the room. When he turned around to scold what he mistook as a maid, shock flooded his expression but he quickly recovered.

His eyes trail down to the tray in her hands and a small smirk tugs at his lips, "Performing your wifely duties already, Your Highness?"

"What are you doing?" Dione's cheeks flare at his teasing but more so at his attire. 

He's dressed quite simply, in a white tunic with rolled sleeves and a plain pair of pants. Because of his sweat, the tunic sticks to his skin like a second glove, making it slightly see-through and defining the outline of his chiseled chest and toned abs.

His top did not leave much to the imagination and clearly displayed his sculpted physique in all its glory, leaving Dione flustered.

"Training," Azriel replied, lifting the heavy sword in his hand. "I could not have gotten the title of the Salian Empire's War God if I slacked off all the time."

The Princess's eyes were cast at the floor in an attempt to avoid looking at the provocative man in front of her. "Could you not just do that in the knight's training grounds? Why are you here of all places?"

"Too weak." It was a short, simple statement that was straight to the point but it still made Dione roll her eyes. 

Those knights that he called weak as if talking of an insignificant fly were palace knights. They were the protectors of the royal family themselves, how could they possibly be weak? 

But thinking again, the Duke was responsible for endless victories on the battlefield and oftentimes used his own men from the North. The knights in the capital really might not be able to match up to even half the Duke.

"Are you a statue, Your Highness?" Azriel's voice brought her back from her wandering thoughts. She looked up to see him gesturing her toward a large oak desk near the chamber's window.

Dione had been standing at the door, holding it open with her body. Finally, she entered the room all the way, walked over to the desk, and placed the food down.

Her eyes were trained on the food tray in her hands as she walked past him, still a bit flustered at seeing him that way. She hears the Duke laugh, closer to her than he was before, and turns.

Her eyes widen in disbelief and her voice comes out in a yell, "You…where is your shirt?! How can you be so scandalous!"

Dione immediately covers her face in his hands, the tips of her ears beet red. He was so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his body in flooding waves and the vibrating in his laugh as he chuckled softly.

"The shirt got too wet so it was better the remove it. Don't tell me you're shy over only this much?" Azriel leaned in closer, his hard chest kissing the top of her head and his breath tickling the tips of her already red ears. "Your Highness, as husband and wife won't we be doing much more scandalous activities…in the bedroom?"

"Duke Devland!"

She could feel her face reddening by the second. at the end of the day, she was still just an inexperienced woman. As a proper princess, she had never even seen Ezra, a man she dreamed of for years, without a shirt. Furthermore, there had never been a man to tease her so openly like this. It was inevitable that she would become shy.

"Azriel," he corrected. "I told you the last time, didn't I? Say my name. Say my name properly and I'll stop teasing you like this, little rabbit."

"…Azriel." A few seconds went by with only silence and her own heart thumping loudly in her chest. She swallowed the dryness in her throat and called his name so softly that it could barely be heard.

The Duke did not want to make things too difficult for the Princess and stepped back from her. When Dione felt him move a distance away from her, she peeked through a small opening in her fingers with her hands still over her face.

Though she couldn't see his expression through her limited view, she could very well see his bare chest and the defined eight-pack he sported that shined under the light, slick with the sweat of his rigorous training.

For a second, she completely forgot what she had come here for.