Once Byletta returned from the Swangan country estate, the next order of business was the victory party. Since only she and Arnald were due to attend, Count Swangan had chosen to remain in the country for a while longer. Not that he had a choice—Bardu had assured Byletta he wouldn’t allow the count to run back to the capital early.
They had only been away for ten days, so the weather in the capital was much the same as it had been before they left. The only difference was that the sun’s rays had decreased slightly in intensity. The temperature was higher than it had been at the Swangan country estate, which made it feel extra hot to the returnees.
But even in the summer heat, the military uniforms to be worn to the victory party seemed to remain thick.
Byletta had checked in with Arnald about it, but he’d been distinctly unfazed. He was the type of person who didn’t let the heat get to him. He must have a unique constitution for it.
Many of the dresses that had been made to pair with the warm military uniforms were also made out of thicker fabrics.
Even though they were party dresses, they were completely different than the attire for a normal, everyday party. The stars of the show were meant to be the uniform-clad men, while the guests on their arms were mere window dressing. Arnald had made it clear that he wanted Byletta to attend with him, but really, there wasn’t that much a soldier’s wife was usually required to do at events such as these. Typically, their duties were to look after their husbands and take care of the home while they were away. That was it. And since this party would be solely in her husband’s domain, Byletta didn’t see the point of attending at all.
Thinking of her mother back home, she sipped on a post-breakfast cup of tea. The rest of the family had already finished eating, which was only natural given that it was already ten o’clock. Have I ever slept in this late before? Byletta wondered. Perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her, but she felt lightheaded.
Whatever sluggishness she felt, it certainly wasn’t from her journey back to the estate.
Arnald had appeared in her room the previous night, wanting. He hadn’t touched her at all while they were inspecting the estate, but as soon as they’d returned, he’d insisted on having her. The deed made her question her own senses. He’d seemed like a different person yet again. Still, it was too mortifying to ask him if he’d gotten bored with her yet.
It might have been to increase his chances of winning the bet, but she found his treatment cruel. She had no right to refuse his advances. All she could do was react to what he wanted her to do. She deeply regretted the fact that she hadn’t added any provisions to their contract that gave her room to do otherwise.
The root of all the evil in her life was currently sitting beside her, elegantly sipping tea. His face was the very picture of innocence.
Arnald’s mornings started early, and yet he had still appeared in the dining room for breakfast at the same time as Byletta. This had resulted in the two of them eating alone together. Even worse, he’d chosen to sit right next to her.
It was inexplicable why he had to sit so close to her when there was an entire dining room to take advantage of. She was pained by the expressions on the faces of the servants who’d been waiting on them. They kept shooting Byletta smiles and complimenting her and Arnald on how friendly they seemed with each other, not knowing that she was going to win the bet between them and divorce him in half a month. She wanted to scream that they were severely mistaken.
“There are plenty of empty seats. Do you have to sit right next to me?”
“I feel out of sorts if I don’t sit where I usually do. Please, keep eating,” Arnald responded calmly.
Byletta hated this man from the bottom of her heart.
Up until now, his seat had been Byletta’s. But now, she’d been displaced to Milena’s typical seat. I suppose he used to sit there before I came to this house, Byletta thought with annoyance. It seemed childish to assert that it had been her seat while he was away. In any case, it wasn’t the seating arrangements that were truly bothering her—it was his attitude.
“Your staring is going to burn a hole right through me.” Byletta shot Arnald a glare, and he slowly blinked.
Was he not aware of how stupid he looked? He was always pulling the same face, whether they were at the estate, traveling, or eating together. What did it mean? Every time he looked at her like that, she always wanted to ask him if he was trying to pick a fight. And that morning, she finally snapped.
“I’m sorry,” Arnald said. “I was just inspecting your appearance.”
“You don’t have to stare at me day after day. I’m not suddenly going to turn into somebody else. Anyway, it’s a bit late to care about my appearance now. You were the one who went off to war without ever seeing my face. Most people are more curious about what their wife looks like.”
“I’m not staring because of that. I just received a portrait of you from when we were first matched, and I was thinking that you appear to have softened up a lot since then.”
Byletta was about to ask him what he meant by that when she found a completely different string of words tumbling out of her mouth.
“You looked at my portrait?”
“Of course I did. It’s only natural that I’m curious about my wife, isn’t it? Do you feel I have changed as well?”