As Ivan stirred from his slumber, his gaze softened as it fell upon Arya nestled in his embrace. She lay there, her serene face illuminated by the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. He couldn't help but admire the delicate curve of her cheek, the way her hair cascaded over her shoulders like silk, and the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each peaceful breath.
Carefully, he attempted to free his arm from beneath her head, but as he moved, Arya stirred, a soft murmur escaping her lips. With a tender smile, Ivan froze, not wanting to disturb her peaceful rest. Instead, he remained still, content to watch her sleeping form, feeling a warmth spread through him at the intimacy of the moment. In the quiet of the morning, with only the soft sound of her breathing, he realized how vunarable she is, her beauty unmatched to none and she was his. At the thought a smile spread his lips as he cares her cheek.
Last night, memories flooded his mind, revealing a side he never knew existed. Despite his title, he always felt the need to be cautious, wary of how others would judge him. The weight of his responsibilities burdened him, and past betrayals made him guarded, carefully considering every word he spoke. But last night was different; he found himself talking to her freely, without inhibition or fear. It was a night he truly lived, rediscovering a sense of freedom he had long forgotten. Despite his hardened heart, he found himself wanting to believe in trust once more. She didn't judge him like others did; with her, he could simply be himself. It dawned on him that he had never given her a chance—to be his friend, his partner, his confidante, his duchess.
He has only seen her as a Basilisk, as his enemy. He never knew this side of her. But now, he wants to know more. Is it alright to be this greedy? Is it alright to want more? To be her friend? He doesn't know how to make that possibility into a reality, but he knows what he wants.
Arya stirred as she opened her eyes to a broad chest before her, confused she looks up; Ivan's gaze met hers. Shocked, she could not utter a word. Ivan asked with a smile, "Good morning! Did you have a good night's sleep?" Realization of her being in his arms shocked her, her face turned as red as a beetroot. Embarrassed, she leaped upright from his arms, stutter as she spoke, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to."
Facing the opposite side, Arya thought, 'No, wait, he saw my sleeping face. Is there any drool on my face? My face looks okay, right? Did I move too much in my sleep? I hope not.' She kept touching her face and hair. Ivan just kept his gaze on her without knowing the waves inside her head. He made a fake coughing sound, "Ahem... umhm." She looked at Ivan, feeling embarrassed. She sat at the side of the bed in a thunderbolt pose. Ivan wanted to befriend her but seeing her reaction he had realized he has a long run ahead. A sigh escaped his lips, startling Arya.
"I should get going. I will meet you at the breakfast table then," Ivan said, getting up from the bed. Politely, he added, "Oh, and thank you... for last night." Arya looked at him with a warm, sunny expression overlapping her smile as she said, "Anytime." Ivan flinched at her words; the warmth she gave him at that moment made him blush a little. Looking sideways, he said, "I will see you then," and he left, his ears tinged with red.
While Ivan was engrossed in remembering her warm smile, Arya, on the other hand, felt that she finally made some progress in their relationship. It was like he took a step forward towards her. And that made her feel ecstatic.
At the breakfast table :
Ivan and Arya joined the breakfast table, along with Quinn. As they ate, Quinn noticed something was off. Ivan and Arya were acting differently, with a subtle awkwardness. "Hmm... something's up," he thought as he chewed his food. "Madam, thanks to you, I had a wonderful stay here. But I'm afraid I've been slacking off too much. I'm thinking of returning to the state this afternoon," he said.
Hearing that, Ivan strangely felt relieved, a satisfied smile appearing on his lips, though Arya and Quinn didn't notice. "Why not stay a little longer? You could enjoy the first ball of winter," Arya suggested with a smile, inadvertently making Ivan feel downcast, although she didn't notice his change in mood.
"I would love to, but if I delay anymore, I'm afraid Aiden would come hunting me," Quinn chuckled as he spoke.
"A shame," Arya playfully commented.
Seeing their happy exchange, Ivan's mood did a 180-degree change. Arya felt a sudden chill around her shoulders, while Quinn felt a shiver as if icy spikes were poked all over his body.
In the afternoon, both Ivan and Arya emerged from the mansion to bid farewell to Baron Quinn. Holding Arya's hand, Quinn kissed the back of it. "Thank you for your hospitality, madam. It was a pleasant time," he said, his smile reaching the corners of his eyes.
"The pleasure was all mine," she replied with a polite smile. "I wish you a safe journey, Baron."
Turning to Ivan, Quinn expressed his gratitude. "Thank you for the opportunity you've given me. It's such a marvelous land, and it was an honor to be invited," he bowed his head gracefully.
"I hope you have a safe journey." Ivan's voice was stern as he shook hands with Quinn, simultaneously throwing a glare at him. As they shook hands, Quinn thought, 'Ah... Haha... He looks menacing,' feeling the grip tighten. 'Dear customer, you have a mad bull by your side.'
The travel carriage rode by the paths of the snowy mountains clip's to the Astroth city. Quinn's mind was playing ringing with questions regarding Ivan and Arya's relationship. While the duchess act like this marriage does not count as a real one, however on the other hand, the Duke's reaction tells otherwise. The image of Ivan throwing daggers at him with his glare was something, no one want to be introduce to. Even now he felt shivers while remembering that. While he was engrossed in his thoughts, a monster suddenly appreas from the mountain and banged at the side of his carriage. Resulting the carriage to rolling of the clip's. The monster roared as it saw the carriage fall and than run inside the mountain from where it came from. The Coachman was laid on the side of the buses by the mountain path, blood falling from his head, his one hand broken while his leg calf had a long cut, despite all this, he run to the clip's edges and shouted for Quinn, but heard no reply; terrified he rush towards the city.
Conversely, Quinn's fingers clenched desperately onto the coarse, gnarled vines that clung precariously to the mountain's rugged edges. Each throb of pain pulsated through his weakened body, his blood oozing steadily, forming a macabre trail along the rocky terrain. His vision blurred, the world around him morphing into a hazy tapestry of agony and despair.
Silent screams echoed within him as he fought against the crippling weight of his injuries, a silent testament to the cruel twist of fate that had befallen him. Unable to muster the strength for words, he cursed his wretched existence, the bitter irony of his situation eliciting a grim smirk that tugged at his cracked lips, only to dissolve into a pained grimace.
With grim determination, he clung to the vine, each fiber a lifeline in his battle against the abyss. Yet, in a cruel twist of fate, the very lifeline he had entrusted his hopes to betrayed him, tearing asunder with a sickening snap. Time seemed to slow as he plummeted into the abyss, the rush of wind tearing at his tattered form.
The jagged edges of the cliff tore at his battered flesh, each impact sending shockwaves of agony reverberating through his shattered frame. Helpless against the merciless onslaught of gravity, he tumbled downwards, a mere plaything of the unforgiving mountain. Each collision with the unyielding stone served as a brutal reminder of his mortality.
His body fell in front of a carriage; a lady's voice was heard as she came running to him. "Hey mister"; "hurry, put him inside the carriage"; "he is bleeding too much"; another voice was heard but it was quite thick than the other, "my lady, he is loosing conciseness"; "tell the Coachman to hurry"; "do no worry, we got you"; "tell them to hurry up"; "do not close your eyes"; "hey, look at me"; "keep your eyes on me".
While the ladies tried to give him first aid, his hazy, lifeless eyes tried to see that face but could not move an inch. In a low whisper he said, "help". Then darkness covered his sight, his body felt nothing. Despite her best efforts, the woman struggled to keep his eyes open, her breath quivering as she cradled his blood-soaked body. Her once vibrant dress now stained crimson, she pressed a napkin to his wounded head, desperate to stem the flow. Fear clenched her heart as she urgently commanded, "Quickly, we must haste!"
Whilst in this side a terrific accident did occurre, the duke mansion was in hurry to prepare for the upcoming ball.
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