Bab 7: 'Why don't you call me Lex'

It was the same night again, seven years ago. Amelia was awoken by footsteps, which seemed to her like running through the halls; to whom those footsteps belonged, she didn't know. It might've belonged to the servants, it might've belonged to the errand boy; for what reason they were sort of in a hurry, and at such an hour of the night, she didn't know either. The banquet that was held in celebration of her birthday exhausted her greatly. She met and talked to a lot more people than she expected.

Amelia pulled the blanket over her head and went back to sleep. She didn't know how long it had been over, but when she opened her eyes, there was so much noise that she couldn't even hear herself asking. Still confused, she looked up and saw that she was in his father's secretary's arms. His face looked distorted. Though he wasn't so old yet, he wasn't young either, and as a healthy ten-year-old, she wasn't weightless. So being in his arms while he made quick strides and panting made Amelia wonder if she was dreaming.

How could this man carry her from her bedroom through the stairs and out?

And why was she out? Where's Mister Vance bringing her? Was this some kind of event for her birthday? But the banquet's long over, and she's very exhausted. All she wanted was to sleep.

The young lady kept on staring at Vance, wondering. She noticed all the sweat and the terror that filled his eyes; terror and worry all in one in his disheveled state—she had never seen him like that.

It took Amelia long enough time to finally realize—to realize why she had to be carried out. Why she saw their servants and the knights all frantically going back and forth with buckets of water. There were crying and wailing, and some she heard chanting prayers.

Mister Vance stopped and held her against his chest tightly before continuing to run, telling her not to look back.

But she was already looking back; she stared blankly at the massive red-orange monster that engulfed her home. Memories she made with everyone were all vanishing into fine ashes.

"Mother… Father…" she said, but her voice was coarse, and her throat was too dry that it ached.

"Lia," Vance breathed heavily between words, he placed her down, his hands on her shoulders, shaking her lightly. "Are you okay? Please answer me." He pleaded as his eyes welled.

Amelia heard him clearly, but it seemed like she never learned the alphabet. She just stood there frozen to where she was put down. The grass beneath her felt like tiny needles, pricking the palm of her feet. It hurt her. She felt like it was bleeding.

Failing to answer, Vance hugged her tightly and buried her face on his chest; he smelled like wood chips and smoke. He got blood on his shoulder and a burned arm. Amelia peeked through her lashes and saw the crinkling of the side of his shut eyes. The sound of his sobs reverberated from his chest to hers.

Right then, as if the whole universe aligned, everything that Amelia denied all this time dawned on her and made sense.

She understood very well what was happening. She knew why her father's secretary was crying, why he was injured, why he smelled like burned firewood. She understood all the noise, all the commotion—the monster at her house—so unwelcomed and so sudden.

'But why,' she thought, who could've done such a thing? It was her birthday. Do things happen like this on one's birthday?

Amelia felt dizzy. She understood everything, but what she couldn't understand was why did it happen? Who did it?

"Mister Vance," Amelia managed to utter after some time, her eyes still fixed on her house, not even blinking. "Mother was… but she was pregnant," Amelia sounded robotic, and Vance's face was stamped with horror as tears rolled down his face again.

Amelia scratched her forehead and said, "I forgot what the name was. We—we thought about it together. Mother and I…" She felt the muscles around her eyes and lips twitching. Her hands were shaking too, and she kept on swallowing nothing but air and saliva.

As if the chants were effective—or maybe the Heavens pitied her for losing so much in such a drastic way, rain fell heavily that night.

**********

Amelia's eyes suddenly opened, stopping her hellish dream. She panted heavily as cold sweat trailed down from her face and her back—not to mention that poison she had to endure for so long earlier.

'It might be because of the poison,' Amelia reasoned, but as soon as she managed to settle her thoughts, she stiffened when she realized that she wasn't hugging a pillow. Bewildered, the duchess inched away, and when she recognized who those beautiful amber eyes that stared back at her belonged to, her mouth gaped.

There was a moment of stillness between them before the duchess shook her head and backed away, gathering the blanket about her.

Alexander looked equally flustered, but Amelia was even more so. She tried to gather what little memory she had of what occurred before Alexander arrived at the drawing room. The duchess remembered how she felt faint, and the duke had to carry her—from there, she wasn't sure anymore.

Looking around, Amelia gathered that she's at her secret chamber; and if that's the case, Arabella or Ancel must've led him inside.

'I do remember taking an antidote,' Amelia thought as she noticed the half-full glass of water on her bedside table.

But what happened after? Where's her lady-in-waiting or her knight? Why was she alone with the duke—and more importantly, why were her arms around him? It wasn't Alexander who had his arms around her, but her around him.

Amelia looked warily at the duke and swallowed discreetly. She never thought of herself bold enough to initiate anything to a man—let alone someone like Alexander Clement, who's known to be a master in bed.

"Relax, you had a bad dream. I didn't do anything," Alexander raised his hand and moved away from the bed and into where he formerly sat.

'Of course,' Amelia thought. No matter how frivolous the rumors were about him, he wouldn't attack an ill lady—poisoned, matter-of-factly.

The duchess shook her head and looked at her hands. She reached for the glass of water that Arabella left and propped herself to get out of bed, but Alexander stood before she had the chance to lower her feet.

"Arabella said you should rest." Amelia leaned back slightly to look at the duke directly.

"I'll be sicker if I stayed in bed for too long." The duchess lowered her head to hide her blushed cheeks when her palm landed on his muscled core. She just wanted to brush him aside, but he was steadier than she thought. "Let me sit down, at least."

Only four people knew the way to the secret chamber: her, Mister Vance, Arabella, and Sir Ancel. It's a place where she did most of her thinking—and hiding from unwelcomed, mostly annoying guests, like suitors, for example.

"So," Alexander sounded from the center table. "At what age did you start taking poison immunity?"

"Fourteen." Came her reply as she sat down on her chair. Her eyes were directed at the small vents as her fingers tapped the table in a rhythm. "Aren't you leaving? It must be nighttime by now."

"I had Symon take the leave first. I'll go back when this problem is solved."

"This is House Florence's problem. I'll take care of it myself." She said without looking back.

"I was poisoned too, for your information. This isn't your House's business anymore." Amelia briefly looked at him. She wanted to ask if he was okay, but she didn't want to appear overly familiar.

When Amelia left House Mulford after staying there for two years, she still hadn't gotten over the fact that she almost died and that the people responsible for her parent's death and unborn sibling weren't caught. Even the mighty Mulfords haven't acquitted anyone yet. For all she knew, they could be patiently lying in wait to attack her.

She grew up full of love, care, smiles, and laughter. She slept peacefully, thinking that her nanny would wake her up in the morning and she'd have breakfast with her father, wander through the garden and go to fittings, and have tea with her mother. But all those vanished in just a snap of someone's finger. In the years that followed, her thoughts revolved around the fact that she might be dead the next second—so she decided that she needed to prepare herself. The prodigal young duchess was even taught the Mulford's famous sword art.

Amelia was frustrated, and at the same time, scared for her life. She pestered Duke Mulford day in and day out to let her be immune to poison. The duke ignored her at first, but Amelia started doing hunger strikes and not sleeping, which annoyed the hell out of Vernon Mulford. She even gave him a five-page written proposal of how it would be beneficial to her, the only living heir of House Florence, to be immune to almost all kinds of poison.

"When will I be ready? When I'm dead?" Amelia remembered shouting as tears flowed down her then-hallowed cheeks.

Duke Mulford inhaled sharply and sternly looked at the young duchess, "How will you survive the first poison trials when you're that skinny?" he asked. Amelia took it as approval and happily went out of the duke's study to head to the kitchen to eat. She trained even harder with her swordsmanship, ultimately surpassing most of the knight trainees in Aclador.

The duchess shook her head as she reminisced when she thought she would genuinely die as her poison trials became more elaborate and extensive. There were times when antidotes were given at least a day or two after.

"I'm okay, by the way. Thanks for asking." Alexander casually said, which stopped Amelia from her thoughts, "I am also immune to poison to the point that it doesn't bother me at all."

Amelia just stared at him, and the duke shrugged his shoulders.

Though Amelia had prepared for the worst when she returned to Osmea, nothing ever happened to her. She spent five years in her palace undisturbed as if nothing happened. No one tried to harm her; no one tried to burn her home again. Though most people would've been relaxed about it as the years passed uneventfully, it was the opposite for Amelia.

Every day that nothing happened to her, her thoughts became darker, and her anxiety about it grew bigger. It was like the calm before the storm.

How could she find her true peace when no one's disrupting it? When no one dared to plot against her so they could be dealt with? It was as if time stopped. But because of a single man who barged into her life, uninvited, it was as if her world started moving again.

If she knew that it would take only a proposal from House Clement for people to come at her, she would've proposed to him much sooner.

'Am I that excited to die?' she kidded herself.

"If you keep staring at me with those expectant eyes, I'd want to kiss you," Amelia was red to the ears when Alexander broke the silence.

"I didn't mean to stare. I—I was thinking."

"Thinking?" The duke tilted his head slightly to the side, and Amelia couldn't help but secretly smile about it. "Well, can you tell me what's in your mind, my duchess?"

"A—about you," Amelia's heart raced as she gazed back at the duke, who was now leaning in front of her table.

Alexander's brow raised, a bit flustered at the duchess' plain reply, "That was… uhm…" he cleared his throat. "…unexpected," he whispered as he returned to his seat with his back turned to the duchess.

"I'm considering your—proposal, Duke Clement."

The duke's shoulders visibly flinched, "Oh?"

"I am going to take everything that you offered earlier—maybe I'll even ask for more. But in return, you will have the full support of House Florence at your disposal."

The word 'disposal' didn't sit well with Amelia. It was as if she sold her duchy and her people for her personal gain.

Silence engulfed the room as Alexander wondered, tilting his head again slightly from one side to the other. He has yet to make eye contact with Amelia, and it's making her guts tighten.

Has he changed his mind after what happened? Does he think that she has something to do with his poisoning? Was her House's, the oldest in the empire, support not enough for whatever he's trying to achieve?

Amelia's throat suddenly felt dry.

But as the duchess contemplated the worst thing that could happen, without warning, the duke stood unexpectedly, slamming his palms on the table. The duchess flinched, and her eyes widened.

When the duke remained standing with his head lowered, the duchess started to fret. The duke had his back towards her, so it's hard for Amelia to discern his expression.

Was he mad? Happy? Disappointed? Has his mind really changed?

"Have I offended you, Duke Clement? If I have, I apologize. I didn't mean to—if you'd just tell me, I am sure we can make this work between us." Amelia stood up anxiously, clenching her robe tighter around her.

She slowly walked around her table to come closer to the duke; still nothing. He didn't lift his head. He didn't make any other movements.

He was just there, breathing.

"Duke Clement?" Amelia called again.

Still, nothing.

And just like before, as if her hand had a mind of its own, she reached for the duke's arm and pulled him to face her.

"Lex?" The duke stiffened, and Amelia reddened.

She didn't mean to call him so casually. She meant to call him by his name, but what came out of her mouth was entirely different—yet it felt nothing new to Amelia. Like the name 'Lex' had been floating in her head for a long time.

While Amelia was busy worrying herself, she let out a short shriek when a strong arm hooked her waist and pulled her closer. The heat from his body seeped through her clothing stupefied the duchess.

It suddenly felt hot and the space too small.

Back at Aclador, she's trained with numerous men; had close physical combat training, with some of them even half-naked. Some were much bigger and more muscular than Alexander Clement, yet why does it feel different from back then?

"Duke Clement, wa-wait. It's too—"

"Why don't you call me Lex again and maybe I'll let you go?" a playful smile drew on Alexander's face as his breath brushed the side of the duchess' ear, and she shivered at the sensation. The hairs on her back and nape stood, as her knees felt soft.

She gulped, "Wh-what are you doing?" Amelia tried to push him away, but the duke quickly held her wrist.

Amelia turned to glare at him but was speechless as his amber eyes were already on her; they were soft and warm as if looking, asking, her for something. But she didn't know what it was.

Silence fell again between them. Amelia's breath started to race, and her heart pounded stronger than before, and she'd bet that the duke felt it too.

"You must get used to this if we're to be wed, my duchess. I am a very affectionate person even in public," Alexander said in a low voice, almost a whisper. This time, the duke lowered himself so that his forehead was resting on her shoulder. He brought Amelia's hand on his back, so it looked like they were hugging each other.

Amelia was beet red up to her ears again. She didn't know how to respond in such a different kind of provocation. And as if the moment weren't enough to put her thoughts in chaos, Alexander swiftly released her and went down to one knee.

"W-wh-what are—"

Amelia could feel her knees weaken for the nth time, and her head seemed to be up in the clouds as the pair of eyes she came to adore stared at her so dearly.

"Amelia Cicely Florence," he paused to place his other hand on top of Amelia's, "Marry me."

It was those three words that undid Amelia.

She suddenly felt nauseous and lightheaded. Her hands were sweaty and shaking. Amelia wanted to say something, but it was as if she didn't know any words.

How should she react? How should she answer? Would a simple yes suffice? Didn't he already propose at her mother's inner garden? Didn't they already came into an agreement, or was that different?

Remembering the time she spent contemplating earlier this morning, Amelia thought she had prepared for all of it. But she definitely left out the part where the duke would earnestly ask her hand because she never thought he'd be serious in an intimate and somewhat unexpected kind of way.

Amelia knew that she needed to compose herself. She repeatedly told herself that Alexander was only after her because of her name's power and influence for whatever plan he needed it for. Yet, gazing back at his warm eyes, all those thoughts vanished. For once, she thought, his feelings might really be genuine towards her.

"Uhn…" Amelia nodded her head, looking the other way.

"What is it? Tell me," he coaxed as he held her hands separately this time. "I want to hear it from you directly."

"I will?" she sounded unsure herself, but the duke paid no heed. Instead, he smiled at her and stood up.

"You will what?" his tone was gentle yet playful.

"I will… marry you." She said in a whisper, still not looking directly at the duke.

Amelia stiffened again as Alexander's arms made it's way around her waist once more, and this time their foreheads touched.

"Thank you, Cice…."

The Duchess didn't understand what he was thankful for; was it because she said yes or was it because whatever he was plotting could finally move? But Amelia wasn't even halfway through the things she wanted to think about when she felt his lips on her forehead.

Amelia blinked faster, and her heart pounded louder. She twinged at the sudden pang on a specific part of her head. Some sort of unexplainable emotion stirred within her.

'What could it be?' she thought.

"Thank you, Cice..." Alexander repeated, and by the time Amelia inched away to look at him, Alexander quickly closed the gap between them.

But it wasn't like the kiss they shared at the banquet. Something soft and warm brushed Amelia's lips and demanded entrance. As Amelia wriggled her way out, the duke caged her tighter. And as she caved into her instincts, the duchess found herself weak in the knees again then her eyes closed and her lips slowly parted.