The morning sun spilled across the grand windows of the Lionhart estate, illuminating the polished marble floors of Duchess Janette's private chambers.
She stood before the tall mirror, running a brush carefully through her long, lustrous red hair. Each stroke made the strands catch the light like fire, yet the reflection staring back at her felt dim.
Her crimson eyes, sharp and striking to everyone else, revealed only a weariness she had learned to hide behind practiced smiles.
"Five years," she murmured softly to her reflection. "Five years of marriage, and still…" Her voice faded.
Her thoughts, as always, turned to Duke Killian Lionhart. The man admired across the empire for his valor and unwavering sense of duty. A man who belonged, it seemed, to the empire first, and only second—if at all—to his wife.
She tied back her hair with deliberate care, as if order in her appearance could quiet the disorder in her heart.
Today she was expected at Countess Elvina's gathering, a chance for her to show presence at court and to remind the empire that the Duchess of Lionhart was not invisible.
Killian had promised—only days before—that he would accompany her. And yet, when she had sent word this morning, his reply had been only that he was occupied in his study.
A familiar sting returned. Promises were delicate things, and her husband often broke them without malice, without even seeming to notice the cracks they left behind.
Janette decided not to wait. She would go to him and ask him again personally.
The echo of her heels followed her down the wide hall to the Duke's study. She paused at the heavy oak doors before knocking softly.
"Enter," came his voice, clipped and firm.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The study smelled faintly of ink and parchment, the air filled with the quiet rustle of maps and ledgers.
Killian sat at his desk, broad shoulders slightly bent, dark hair falling across his brow as his eyes scanned over lines of figures and troop positions. His presence carried authority effortlessly, as though even the walls obeyed his discipline.
For a long moment, he did not look up.
Janette folded her hands in front of her gown. "My lord husband," she said gently, "I had come to see if you were ready for the countess's gathering."
Killian finally raised his head. His eyes—cool, steel gray—met hers, but there was no warmth in them, only the practiced calm of a man perpetually at war with the world.
"I will not be going," he said simply.
The words landed heavily, though his tone was as casual as if he had declined a meal.
Janette drew in a quiet breath, forcing composure. "Not going?" she repeated, though she had known it already in her heart.
"But… you said you would accompany me. Don't you remember?"
Killian's gaze flicked back down to the documents before him.
"Circumstances have changed. Reports from the border require my attention. I cannot waste an evening on idle talk and vanity."
Her fingers tightened around the folds of her gown.
"Idle talk? These gatherings are not idle, Killian. They are where alliances are nurtured, where whispers begin before they reach the throne. You know this as well, I—"
He sighed, setting his quill down at last. "Janette. You are more than capable of representing our house alone. The nobles respect you."
"Respect?" The word caught in her throat, half laugh, half sob. "They whisper of me as a wife abandoned, as a woman left childless. Do you not see the mockery I endure every time you send me alone into their halls?"
Killian's jaw tightened, though his expression remained controlled. "Let them whisper. Words do not wound a Lionhart. Only weakness does."
Janette's voice trembled despite her effort to steady it. "And what of a wife who longs for her husband's presence? Is that weakness too?"
Silence filled the space between them. Killian's eyes softened for the briefest flicker of a moment—so brief that Janette almost doubted she had seen it at all. Then, just as quickly, the mask of duty returned.
"My responsibilities are greater than appearances," he said. "If you feel hurt, it is not my intent. But I cannot place sentiment above the empire's needs."
Janette lowered her gaze, the sting sharper because of how calmly he dismissed what to her felt like a wound. She had given him her heart years ago—first out of admiration, then out of love that grew in silence. And he had given her duty in return.
"I understand," she whispered, though in truth, she did not. She had heard such words since the first month of their marriage, and still they pierced her as if new.
She turned to leave, but hesitated at the door. Her heart, stubborn and aching, pushed her to speak once more.
"When I was a little girl..." She said, facing towards the door, "..my father, the Grand Duke, taught me that honor is not only in victory or in strength of arms. It is also in the keeping of one's word."
Turning back, she looked at him, "Do you remember what you told me three days ago, Killian? You said you would be by my side tonight. Do you not think your word matters as much to me as your battles matter to the empire?"
Killian's hand stilled upon the desk. He did not answer at once, and when he did, his tone was quieter, though no less firm. "Janette… I will make it up to you."
She gave a faint, sad smile. "I no longer know what that means."
The door closed softly behind her as she walked out.
Back in her chambers, Janette sat at her vanity, staring at her reflection once more. The loneliness in her eyes seemed sharper now, though her face remained calm. She thought of her father, Grand Duke Alexandro Cassio—the man who had always spoken to her with pride, who had taught her to study, to debate, to hold her head high even when others doubted her.
He had once said to her, "Janette, you have a mind sharper than most men of court. Use it, and never let anyone make you small. Even if you are unseen, you must see yourself."
Her lips trembled faintly as she remembered. Those words had guided her through years of cold silences, through the endless courtly jabs about her worth. Tonight, she would have to hold them close again.
Janette drew in a breath and decided to take a bath.
It was also because her father was coming to visit her that she was excited about. She decided to dress rather simple and not to wear anything extravagant. A silk molted dress, chosen carefully, draped over her slender frame.
She fastened her earrings with steady hands, though inside her chest a quiet ache refused to fade.