Amor Vincit Omnia (✓)

♕ Chapter 2

"I hope my letter was a clear statement of my expectations of you." The Duke said huskily, not looking once at Freya.

Freya narrowed her eyes, steadied her breath and responded: "Of course, milord. I am aware of my position – an obedient wife who deals with social matters only and sips the words of your vile acquaintances. A supposedly narrow-minded woman, an object, a property, and part of a game she is not even allowed to play." She ended her speech with an apparent victory, slaughtered later by his retort.

"I am on the verge of marrying a woman I absolutely despise, so you are not the only one who loathes this arrangement. Unfortunately, for both of us, you were ferociously requested by the crowd and therefore, even my opinion is unnecessary."

"I am sure your ego must have suffered terribly. You are using the word crowd as if they were dim-witted peasants with no judgment whatsoever. They are people just like us!" Freya exclaimed, not knowing why she felt the need to defend them.

"You cannot compare an uneducated person with the Duke himself." He said, approaching her with carefully-chosen steps.

"I can, because I know they have more soul than you will ever have."

For a moment, she thought the colour of his eyes shifted into a darker shade of blue, and his knuckles turned white. It must have been a matter of shadows, because as soon as he closed the gap between them completely, the supposition vanished into thin air.

"I can hurt you so subtly that you will fail to notice. Do not provoke me." The Duke growled, narrowing his eyes to the point where his pupils looked like a crescent.

"Sir, it is time." John announced, scattering the tension filling the room.

The Duke offered his arm and Freya obediently accepted it. Even if they barely touched each other, she could still feel a disturbing sensation of warmth flooding her. It must be my frustration. Before reaching the velvet stairs, John handed them two glasses of champagne. The forthcoming toast was welcomed by the ceremonially-displayed guests, each of them holding a glass of the same expensive liquid.

"We are happily celebrating our marriage, a prelude to a prolific rebirth of the Duchy. Let us toast in honour of this event!" The Duke exclaimed, his lips curving into a treacherous smile.

"Long live the Duke!"

"Wasn't this saying addressed to the Queen?" Freya asked in a whispering voice, watching everyone going to their seats.

"It is a subtle form of mockery. Even the Queen knows that the Duchy of Eastbroke outreached her."

Freya remained silent. If he exceeded the Queen herself, her chances of rebellion were quickly reduced to none.

They reached the central table, the one enclosed by the most important royals. Freya only remembered their titles. Shame on you, for valuing titles over names! She scolded herself, analyzing the guests' features as much as her seat permitted.

"What a lovely dress you have, Freya!"

"Yes, and the hair is marvellous! Who is your stylist?"

"Your make-up is amazing!"

Freya could feel their hypocrisy just like animals could sense the coming of a storm. The burden weighed on her again and she suddenly felt the need to sit. The Duke soon followed her and started talking about trivial things, with an easiness who startled Freya. If he was able to mimic others' demeanour so well, how many things about him remained unknown?

Hearing the guests' conversations, Freya realized one resemblance with the servants – the compulsion of never calling the Duke by his first name. This exaggerated diplomacy turned her blood into venom. After a couple of minutes, Julian touched her thigh, forcing her to be verbally-active. Only after she got rid of the burning sensation of his touch did she fully engage in the discussion.