Bianca froze.
The question was not an accusation but it was not an invitation to honesty either. It was a warning wrapped in calmness. She realized that before her stood soone who was not easily deceived and more dangerously, soone who did not always care about explanations.
"I..." Bianca drew a slow breath. "I only heard that Lady Ivanka is ill. I was worried, Your Grace."
Demian did not respond imdiately.
In his mind, Valerie’s face flickered her request to have Bianca reassigned, the cool tone laced with caution. He rembered how Valerie had called her cunning. And now, standing before him, Bianca indeed seed far too careful for soone who was rely concerned.
"Your concern is not your responsibility," Demian said at last. His voice was flat, not raised, yet enough to make Bianca lower her head again. "There are people far more entitled to think about it."
Bianca tightened her grip on the basket. "Forgive , Your Grace. I did not intend to overstep."
Demian watched her for another second then turned away.
"Do not repeat it," he said curtly.
He walked off, leaving Bianca standing alone in a corridor that felt far colder than before.
But when Demian’s footsteps disappeared around the corner, Bianca slowly lifted her head. Anxiety still lingered on her face yet deep beneath it, sothing far more concealed remained.
Demian started walking again.
But he had not taken ten steps when a door along the corridor opened slowly, almost without a sound. And from it, Valerie stepped out.
Her dress was simple, her hair loosely pinned up. Her face was pale, yet her eyes were sharp. She had seen everything.
"Demian."
That single word was enough to stop him.
Valerie stood a few steps away from him, her gaze not on Demian’s face but toward the end of the corridor where Bianca had been standing monts before. Though the maid was gone now, the trace of their conversation still seed to linger in the air.
"Why did she ask you about Ivanka?" Valerie asked at last. Her voice was calm too calm. "Did you see Ivanka today as well?"
Demian let out a slow breath. For a mont, he looked tired not the weariness of the body, but the exhaustion of soone being pulled in two different directions.
"Ivanka is ill," he said shortly.
Valerie nodded faintly. "And that has sothing to do with you."
It was not a question. It was a statent.
Demian turned to look at her. "Valerie, I—"
"You don’t need to explain," Valerie cut in quickly.
She stepped closer. Not aggressively, not in haste. But the reduced distance was enough for Demian to see the subtle tension in her jaw a sign that she was holding back sothing far greater than simple anger.
"You once promised," Valerie continued, her voice now trembling slightly, "that you would sever your bond."
Demian opened his mouth, but she interrupted again.
"But you lied."
The word fell softly. Not loud. Not dramatic. And precisely because of that, it cut deeper.
"I didn’t lie," Demian said imdiately. "I will do it."
"When?" Valerie asked.
Demian fell silent.
The silence lasted long enough to beco an answer in itself.
Valerie looked at him intently. A gaze that did not seek justification, nor wait for another promise. She was simply... assessing him. As though, for the first ti, she was truly seeing Demian not as a duke, not as a man who desired her but as soone divided.
If you can’t...if it truly can’t be done.
"Then why not let go instead?" Valerie said at last.
The words made Demian flinch.
"What?" His voice ca out sharper than he intended.
Valerie did not retreat. "If your bond with Ivanka is that important. If her health is suffering because of your decisions. If everyone the emperor, the elders, her family keeps pulling you back there..."
She took a breath, straightening her shoulders. "Then let go. So your relationship with Ivanka Kosler can recover."
The corridor seed to narrow.
Demian stared at Valerie as though he had been struck by sothing he had never prepared for. "Do you know what you’re saying?"
"I do," Valerie replied softly. "I know very well."
She touched her abdon without realizing it a small, instinctive movent, yet unmistakable. Demian’s eyes followed the gesture, and the pressure in his chest tightened further.
"You want to return to a bond I never chose," Demian said in a low voice. "And abandon you?"
"I want to stop being the reason," Valerie answered. "The reason you fight your past. The reason soone else is ill. The reason everyone panics."
Demian stepped forward. "You are not the reason. You’re—"
"I am the consequence," Valerie cut in.
She offered a faint smile, one that never reached her eyes. "And I’m tired of being that."
Demian shook his head slowly. "I will not let you go."
"Then you also won’t let Ivanka go," Valerie shot back. "And look what that has caused."
She held his gaze for a long mont, as though waiting for him to deny it or at least to grow angry. But Demian only stood there, his jaw clenched, his eyes filled with a conflict he could not voice.
"If you remain bound to her," Valerie continued quietly, "and stay with as well... then one day, soone will be destroyed."
She lifted her chin. "I just don’t know... whether it will be , Ivanka, or this child."
Demian let out a long breath, as though the entire conversation had pressed down on his chest all at once.
"Enough," he said at last, his voice lower, more tired than before. "For now, don’t think too much. I’m tired, Valerie."
Valerie looked at him. For a long mont.
There was no anger on Demian’s face, no defense only honest exhaustion, the weariness of soone constantly pulled between the past and the future, never allowed to stand fully in the present. And sohow, that made Valerie’s chest tighten even more.
"All right," she said softly.
She gave a small nod and lowered her gaze. No more words followed. No more questions. Valerie turned away, her steps calm, as though she truly intended to end the conversation and leave.
But after only one step Demian’s hand caught her wrist. Not rough. Not forceful. But firm enough to stop her. Valerie froze.
"Demian..." her voice was barely audible.
"I want you,"
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