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From the moment Lucius got out of bed, Deatrice felt beyond embarrassed and ashamed. So when he pulled out the small weapon, she was unable to hide her utter surprise.
Without any hesitation, he rolled up his sleeves and sliced the dagger against his skin.
He didn’t even look at her.
He moved closer to the bed, and a few drops of blood dripped from the fresh wound, staining the pure white bed sheets with its striking red color.
“Why so surprised? Did you really think I would sleep with you?” He chuckled coldly, casually bandaging the wound with a spare cloth.
When she didn’t say anything, Lucius looked away.
“Rest assured. Today, or any day in the future, I will never sleep with you.” His words had practically dismissed the feelings imbued on his fingertips when had touched her skin earlier, as if everything was simply her hallucinations.
Deatrice reddened at his obvious display of contempt, “What do you mean? You’re going to have a mistress, then?”
“Depends.”
He held his glass again. But soon after, he grimaced as he pressed his hands to his temples, feeling a slight headache. Deatrice tightly gripped her clothes between her fingers, clenching her fists at his nonchalant demeanor.
“But even if you indulge yourself with a concubine, you cannot avoid your marital duties. What would happen if someone else bore your child and I didn’t?”
He gave a scornful laugh, “Why? Scared of illegitimate children again?”
She shut her mouth.
Seeing her speechless, Lucius smiled and picked up his glass again. “I can just adopt a child, I don’t care about successors.”
Adoption.
It was mostly the case when the wife died early or that the wife was unable to have children. Deatrice knew how humiliated she would be in the society if rumors of the latter were to spread. She couldn’t stomach the mocking gazes that would be directed at her in the future.
“Why humiliate me like this?”
His face hardened, as if her words were ridiculous, “Then, do you want me to sleep with you?”
“…it’s not a matter of whether I want to sleep with you or not. Married couples are obligated to—”
Silence.
“…”
“You and I… we need to keep that duty.” she continued.
Deatrice explained things again as her face turned crimson from having her feathers all ruffled up, but one look at his apathetic expression easily forced her to shut her mouth immediately.
That face…
She had only seen this expression of him only once, but it was something that was firmly engraved in her mind.
Six years ago…
She didn’t know exactly what it meant. For all she knew, beneath that calm exterior, his anger might’ve already been raging inside him.
She saw that look when she had described him as someone dirty and vulgar.
“So,” He approached her, speaking in a deep voice that caused chills to crawl up her spine, “do you expect me to f*ck you, Deatrice?”
She frowned at his vulgar remark, but Lucius didn’t stop speaking even after seeing the change in her expression.
“Those vague words that you keep hankering for, like the ‘duty’ you speak of, only means that we have sex with each other? Do you understand? It means I would get to f*ck you.”
He took one oppressive step towards her, “You scrunch your face at the sight of me and feel appalled by my touch. So tell me, Deatrice, can you actually endure a whole night of my skin against yours?”
“Don’t speak vulgarly! And when did I make my face—”
“Get off me! How dare an illegitimate child touch me?!’” he uttered emotionlessly, almost robotically.
Her breath hitched.
“Sounds familiar?” a derisive smile graced his lips, “You said that to me six years ago.”
Deatrice felt herself choke.
She didn’t think he would remember her each and every word back then. She looked up at him with her flushed face tainted by shame.
“Why? Did you assume that I would forget all about it? Besides, if we have children, it meant that my bastardly blood would have to settle inside your womb.”
He slowly climbed on top of her and arrogantly looked down on her. “You wouldn’t want that, don’t you? I certainly don’t, as it would be a sin to tarnish such a pure lineage.”
Deatrice felt her eyes turning moist, but she refused to let tears fall. “…I have apologized to you, and you said you understood…”
“…”
“…you said you… understood…”
Her voice cracked at the end, and then there was silence once more.
His big hand moved to touch her cheek and Deatrice inhaled sharply. But the fragile tenderness of it was such a stark contrast to his ruthless words that it threw her emotions into extreme disarray.
The abrupt difference in treatment was too huge.
Why are you treating me like this?
And how could you have changed so much…