ONE NIGHT STAND WITH HOT DUKE-Chapter 144: Old decision
Sigrid turned sharply. The crease between her brows deepened. "For what?" she asked quietly, though pressure weighed behind her voice. "What more could you possibly say to him?"
Marquess rose from his chair. His cloak shifted with the tension in his body, as though the burden of years was finally demanding to be borne consciously.
"We cannot keep waiting," he replied. "If this continues, that bond will destroy everything Demian, Ivanka, even the stability they have always prided themselves on."
Sigrid folded her arms. "You intend to admit your mistake before the Emperor?"
Marquess let out a short, bitter laugh. "The Emperor has never cared about mistakes. He only cares about consequences."
He took several steps toward the window. The night outside was thick with darkness, the torches of the palace flickering like watchful eyes. It was the same sight as years ago the night they chose to force fate to bow to human will.
"What are you going to do?" Sigrid asked again, more cautiously this time.
Marquess did not answer at once.
The past slipped back in.
The imperial audience chamber had been flooded with light. The Emperor sat upon his throne, his expression calm far too calm for a decision that would forever alter the life of a child.
"This is the only way," the Emperor had said.
Marquess still remembered the tightness in his chest. "If we force him, this bond may become a disaster in the future."
The Emperor’s gaze had been flat. "A disaster for whom? For Demian? Or for the Empire?"
There had been no correct answer in that room.
And in the end, for the sake of stability, for the sake of order, they chose to sacrifice a single will.
"You realize," Sigrid said, pulling him back to the present, "that if you go to the Emperor now, you are not merely asking for a solution. You are challenging an old decision."
Marquess nodded slowly. "I know."
He turned back to her. His face was hard, yet in his eyes there was something new resolve, born of guilt that had been buried for far too long.
"We must do something," he said firmly. "Either undo the ritual, or open a path for Demian to release the bond without killing Ivanka."
Sigrid fell silent.
"You know the risk," the elder finally said. "If the old bond collapses completely, the curse sealed within Demian’s blood could awaken. And if his true bond fully activates—"
"The Empire will no longer have control," Marquess cut in.
They stared at one another.
It was the greatest fear they had never dared to speak aloud.
"But if we do nothing," Marquess continued, his voice lowering, "we will repeat the same mistake. Only this time, the victims will not be a child but a dying woman... and a man ready to destroy everything for the sake of freedom."
Sigrid exhaled slowly. "The Emperor does not like being forced to face the past."
"I will not force him," Marquess replied. "I will remind him."
He stepped toward the door. His hand paused briefly on the handle, and then he said without turning back, "Fate has moved too far. And for the first time... I believe we must allow it to choose its own path."
The door closed slowly behind him.
Sigrid remained where she stood, staring at it for a long time. In her heart, one bitter truth echoed that whatever would be decided tonight, the Empire was no longer facing a mere heir but a destiny they had bound long ago... and which was now beginning to rebel.
Demian arrived at the castle as dusk was nearly swallowed by night.
The hooves of the escort horses came to a halt in the front courtyard, and without waiting any longer, he stepped down from the carriage. His cloak still carried the scent of travel, his face set in stone, his mind crowded with images that refused to fade Ivanka lying pale and motionless, the hollow gaze of Marquess Kosler, and the word death still hanging like a threat that had yet to take shape.
The castle’s main doors opened.
Demian stepped inside.
The air within felt cold and quiet, as if the castle itself was holding its breath. The echo of his boots rang softly across the stone floor as he walked down the corridor. He had no intention of stopping, no intention of speaking to anyone tonight.
Then he halted. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦
At the end of the corridor stood a maid.
Bianca.
She was carrying a basket of clean linens, her posture slightly bowed like any other servant. But when her gaze accidentally met Demian’s, her expression changed instantly. The basket nearly slipped from her hands before she quickly lowered her head in a deep bow.
Too fast.Too aware.
Demian observed her for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. His eyes were sharp, though his face remained unreadable. He said nothing, offered no reprimand, not even the slightest acknowledgment.
He walked past her.
Bianca remained bowed, her heart pounding violently. She could still feel the duke’s presence even after his footsteps had moved several steps away cold, heavy, and oppressive, like a towering shadow over her head.
But before Demian could disappear completely, Bianca’s voice broke the silence.
"Your Grace."
The tone was hesitant. Almost as if she regretted calling him, yet the words had already escaped.
Demian stopped.
The corridor fell silent again. No one else was there only the two of them and the torches flickering softly along the walls. Slowly, Demian turned his head.
"Yes?" he said shortly.
Bianca swallowed. She lifted her face slightly, just enough to reveal an anxious expression that was not entirely feigned.
"How is Lady Ivanka?" she asked. Her voice was gentle, but there was something beneath it something beyond the politeness of a servant.
The question made Demian fall silent for a moment.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
He studied Bianca longer this time, as though weighing the meaning behind that single, simple sentence. Then, in a low, cold voice, he said, "Why do you want to know?"
