Chapter 32: Newlywed Life Does Not Begin with a “Good Morning” Kiss
What kind of morning could be called a happy one.
Waking to birdsong, the scent of freshly brewed coffee in the air, smiling together with the one you love.
Stories often describe mornings that way.
But reality carries a bit more physical weight.
“…Claude.
You’re heavy.”
“Mmm…”
A large canopy bed.
Buried beneath the finest feather duvet.
A sturdy arm was wrapped firmly around my waist.
Warm body heat pressed against my back, accompanied by the steady rhythm of his breathing.
One month had passed since the start of our married life.
Life in the White Palace, our new residence as royal consorts, was comfortable in every way—except for one problem.
Every morning, my husband the Chancellor regressed into an infant.
“Please wake up.
It’s already seven.”
I shifted, trying to slip out of his arms.
Instead of loosening, his grip tightened further.
“…No.”
“That is not an acceptable response.
You have the regular council meeting today, don’t you?”
“I don’t want to go…
I’m low on Eliana…”
He buried his face into the hollow of my neck and inhaled deeply.
It was like watching someone desperately use an oxygen inhaler.
It tickled.
“We were together all day yesterday too.”
“Sleep time doesn’t count.”
“That logic is outrageous.”
I sighed.
Ever since returning from the honeymoon, his clinginess had been steadily increasing.
Outside, he apparently ruled as the ‘Ice Chancellor,’ but at home he was like this.
The gap was absurd.
“Five more minutes…
No, ten…”
“No.
Sleeping in is a privilege reserved for holidays.”
I steeled my heart and said it firmly.
“Claude.
You promised me, didn’t you.
‘I will strictly protect leaving work on time, and we’ll have dinner together every night.’”
“…I did.”
“In order to leave on time, you must start work on time.
Being late in the morning plants the seeds of overtime at night, you know?”
Logical persuasion.
For a former corporate slave like me, this was an absolute truth.
Those who spare five minutes in the morning lose an hour at night.
Claude let out a groan and slowly lifted his head.
His ash-gray hair was sticking up with bedhead.
Half-lidded, dissatisfied eyes stared at me.
“…You’re always right.”
“It’s a wife’s duty.”
“…Then give me the energy to go to work.”
He pursed his lips.
An easy-to-read demand.
Suppressing a wry smile, I turned toward him.
“Yes, yes.
…Have a good day, dear.”
I pressed my lips lightly to his.
I meant to stop there, but his hand cradled the back of my head, deepening the angle.
“…Mm.”
Way too intense for the morning.
The oxygen level dropped.
When he finally released me about a minute later, he looked thoroughly satisfied.
“…Alright.
Now I can fight until noon.”
“Please make it until night.”
“I’ll do my best.”
He sprang out of bed lightly, rang the bell, and summoned his attendants.
In an instant, his expression reverted to that of the Ice Chancellor.
No matter how many times I saw it, that switch always impressed me.
As I straightened the rumpled sheets, I looked out the window.
Another clear day.
Even going to my workplace—the Second Library—felt like it would be pleasant.
A peaceful morning.
That was what I thought.
Up until that moment.
After seeing Claude off and finishing my preparations, I headed to the dining room.
There, my head lady-in-waiting, Sylvia, was waiting.
“Good morning, Lady Eliana.”
“Good morning, Sylvia.
…You look pale.”
Despite her perfect poker face, a faint vertical crease had formed between her brows.
That expression meant she had witnessed something incomprehensible.
“…You noticed.”
As she poured tea, she spoke gravely.
“In truth, His Majesty has once again…
No, rather, he has invited a new guest.”
“The King.
Another hunt?”
“No.
This time, it’s ‘art.’”
Sylvia looked displeased.
“He has invited a renowned genius architect from the Western Federation.
A man named Leonardo.”
“An architect?”
“Yes.
Apparently, there is a plan to renovate part of the aging palace into an artistic space.”
A bad feeling crept up.
None of the projects born from King Louis’s ‘spur-of-the-moment ideas’ had ever turned out well.
And people labeled ‘genius’ often lacked something called common sense.
“…What kind of person is this architect?”
“In one word, ‘avant-garde.’”
Sylvia chose her words carefully.
“According to his aesthetic, functionality comes second.
He openly claims that ‘for the sake of beauty, residents should accept a certain level of inconvenience.’”
“…That’s the worst.”
I bit into my toast.
When it comes to living spaces, the most important thing is comfort.
Cool in summer, warm in winter, easy to clean.
That is my aesthetic.
‘Accept inconvenience’ was the complete opposite of my energy-saving lifestyle philosophy.
“Well, it shouldn’t have anything to do with my library.
It’s in a remote spot, and there’s no renovation budget allocated there.”
I was optimistic.
The Second Library was my sanctuary.
No one approached it, and I made sure they didn’t.
Claude had even placed protective wards around it.
“…If that is the case, then all is well.”
The way Sylvia trailed off bothered me slightly, but I finished my tea.
“Well then, time to head to work.”
I passed through the palace gardens.
Spring flowers were in full bloom, and the breeze felt pleasant.
Humming softly, I headed toward the northern tower.
The usual path.
The usual dappled sunlight.
And the familiar sight of the old stone tower.
That was my castle.
Opening the heavy wooden door and settling into a spotless space with my half-finished book was my blissful routine.
…Or at least, it was supposed to be.
“…Huh?”
I stopped dead.
I rubbed my eyes.
Then looked again.
The entrance to my beloved library had changed.
“W-What is that…?”
The heavy oak door, steeped in history, was gone.
In its place was a grotesque structure of warped steel beams and jagged glass.
There was no handle.
It wasn’t even clear how to open it.
It looked like either a barrier rejecting intruders or a failed piece of modern art.
“…You’re kidding.”
I rushed closer.
Up close, it was even worse.
The gaps between the glass let drafts seep in.
My carefully maintained temperature control was ruined.
“Who did this to my sanctuary?!”
Anger surged up inside me.
Stronger than when my engagement was broken.
Stronger than when they tried to force a heavy dress on me.
An invasion of my living environment was a declaration of war.
“…It won’t open.”
Pushing and pulling did nothing.
Looking closer, I spotted a small pedal-like object near the floor.
Do I step on this?
When I tried, the door slid diagonally with a shrill, chalkboard-scraping sound.
“Zero functionality…!”
Fuming, I stepped inside.
And then.
Even deeper despair awaited me.
“Oh?
Are you the manager of this place?”
In the center of the room.
Standing where my beloved plush sofa used to be was a man dressed flamboyantly.
A fluorescent-colored mantle.
Mismatched socks.
And blueprints clutched in his hand.
“Your workplace was dead.
…So I’m breathing life into it.”
He pointed to where my sofa had been.
No—where it had been.
Now there sat a sharply angled glass chair that looked painfully uncomfortable.
“…Where is my sofa?”
I asked in a low voice.
“Oh, that tasteless lump of fabric?
It wasn’t beautiful, so I threw it out into the hallway.”
Snap.
Something inside me broke.
My second-nap spot.
The place where Claude and I relaxed together.
He called it tasteless?
I took a deep breath.
Just as Sylvia had warned.
This man must be the so-called genius architect, Leonardo.
I stepped forward.
Wearing a gentle lady’s smile.
Though I was quite sure my eyes were not smiling at all.
“…Nice to meet you, unlawful intruder.”
I gathered magic in my right hand.
Not an attack spell.
Just a bit of ‘cleaning.’
I would simply teach him which of us was the unnecessary trash in this room.
“Welcome to my castle.
…This renovation is going to cost you dearly.”