* * *
“Haa, they say first love is supposed to hurt.”
“Bullshit. If you’ve got the time to think like that, go train or something.”
Martius shook his head irritably and walked away.
So he’s finally realized he’s in love with his older brother, huh?
Tsk tsk.
How pathetic.
Martius was confident that the Duke of Graham would never let go of his brother.
Otherwise, their father wouldn’t be losing money in gambling again.
Thanks to the gambling Timothy had sparked, the wealth they’d been rebuilding started crumbling once more.
Their mother, clearly on edge, kept telling their father to stop, but he just snapped back, saying more money would come in soon anyway.
Considering the arguments that erupted every time he dropped by the house, it looked like the Viscount family would be going bankrupt any day now.
“Well, I belong to the knight order, so I won’t starve at least.”
Thinking carelessly, Martius lightly kicked Yuri’s slumped calf.
“Let’s go drink.”
“I’m not really in the mood to—argh, fine, fine.”
Yuri had been staring at the terrace where the Duke and Duchess had gone out.
Martius gave him another solid kick, and Yuri raised his hands in surrender.
“Love is a luxury, a freaking luxury. You’re not even a full-fledged servant, just a trainee. What the hell do you think you’re doing falling in love? Back in my day, I didn’t even have time to look at other people.”
Listening to Martius’s nagging, Yuri moved toward the food.
Several knights from the 2nd Order had gathered around and were shaking their heads at the conversation.
“He’s young—can’t blame him for feeling that way!”
“Pfft. He’s gotta become a knight first, right?”
Cackle cackle.
They jeered, taking swigs of their drinks as if they’d found something to tease Yuri about.
They all knew he had feelings for the Duchess.
It was always safer to kill such feelings early on, so together, they teased him—half out of camaraderie, half as a warning.
Flutter, flutter.
As soon as he stepped onto the terrace, Sylvian undid the stifling collar button, shaking his neckline.
The cold wind rushed in, finally letting him breathe.
“Whew.”
“You might catch a cold.”
As the heat in Sylvian’s face began to cool, Zeroth took off his coat and draped it over his shoulders.
He too was dressed lightly, but he looked completely unfazed by the biting cold.
“Thank you.”
Sylvian wanted to flutter the coat a little more, but he obediently wrapped it around himself.
A dull pressure settled in his lower belly.
It wasn’t just warmth causing it.
“I didn’t expect the heat cycle to hit now.”
After the first cycle, Paul had said the next one would come soon, but it never did.
There had been occasional symptoms—heat rising, a stronger pheromone scent—but the cycle never fully began, worrying Paul endlessly.
“Hmm.”
Sylvian buried his face in Zeroth’s coat, deeply inhaling his scent to calm the nausea.
“Sylvian?”
Zeroth called softly, noticing him burying his face in the coat like he was savoring the scent.
His eyes looked hazy, heat rising again, not even registering his voice.
Zeroth’s heart clenched.
“Ah.”
Sylvian let out a faint sigh, and Zeroth immediately snapped to attention.
The pheromones hadn’t been released yet, but this kind of reaction only meant one thing.
“Is this… your heat cycle?”
“Nngh.”
No answer came, just a weak groan.
“Damn it.”
Of all places, the palace?!
The heat was supposed to come on gradually, not explode like this.
Sylvian’s body was like a ticking bomb—it went off whenever it wanted.
“The opera… sniff.”
He might not get another chance to see it for a while.
Realizing that, Sylvian’s eyes filled with tears.
Zeroth scooped him up without hesitation.
“Let’s go to the Marquess Rooster’s theater. We can go tomorrow.”
“We… we can’t. Sniff.”
He already knew—once the heat cycle started, it wasn’t something that’d go away overnight.
Sylvian’s voice was sulky with frustration, and Zeroth tried not to laugh.
“Can you suppress your pheromones until we leave the ballroom?”
“Yes.”
Strangely, the pheromones weren’t coming out.
After a few tries, Sylvian gave up and wrapped his arms around Zeroth’s neck.
Learning to ride… he wondered if he could do it in the next few days.
Right now, he wanted that more than anything, even more than getting through the heat cycle.
“We’re going home.”
“I’ll… I’ll walk.”
If he was carried out, people would whisper for sure.
“Your face is completely flushed. Do you think I’m gonna let those bastards see you like this?”
Zeroth had zero intention of showing Sylvian’s heated, vulnerable face to anyone else.
His tone turned sharp.
Sylvian flinched and tried to pull away, but soon gave up, resting his head on Zeroth’s shoulder.
“They’ll just think you’re exhausted. The coat covers everything.”
People were already worried about Sylvian’s condition.
The fact that the real reason he looked ready to collapse was a heat cycle almost made Zeroth laugh—but his face remained grim as he opened the terrace door.
“Your Grace?”
“My wife isn’t feeling well. We must return at once.”
“Shall I summon a physician?”
A few nobles nearby asked as Zeroth came out with a stern expression.
He shook his head and moved quickly.
“Your Grace?”
“Marquis.”
Karl blocked his path toward the door.
“Is the Duchess alright?”
“He’s fine. Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to rest at the palace than go straight home?”
Karl reminded him of the room prepared in the imperial palace.
A few high-ranking nobles, including Zeroth, had private rooms there.
“It’s nothing serious. We’re returning.”
Too many eyes in the palace.
Zeroth had no intention of laying a hand on Sylvian here.
Now that the symptoms had started, once night came, desire would overwhelm him beyond control.
“I see.”
“Let’s meet again soon.”
Sylvian’s limbs hung limp.
Was he really that exhausted?
The terrace was often used for secret meetings, but judging by the Duke’s expression, it did seem like the Duchess had truly collapsed.
He did look pale earlier—too pale for someone just feeling a little warm.
“It’d be bad if he died too soon.”
Karl clicked his tongue inwardly as he watched Sylvian being carried off.
“Ugh…”
“Are you alright?”
Sylvian let out a weak moan under the covers, and Luaia quickly peeked in from beside him.
She gently wiped the sweat from his pale forehead with a damp towel.
“The pheromones are supposed to be released, but you’re suppressing them too well. Now they’re blocked.”
Luaia was near tears, wondering how such a thing could happen.
The last heat cycle had been practically a miracle.
When the Duke had rushed home from the party yesterday with a grim face, everyone assumed another cycle had begun—they were almost happy.
But this time, for some reason, the Duchess’s pheromones weren’t being released.
They’d contacted Count Holt’s family in a hurry, and the Countess had come herself.
She said Yuri, too, had suffered issues with heat cycles due to excessive potion use.
In these cases, an alpha had to help release the pheromone gland—but parental pheromones were gentler on their children, so the pain was less severe.
‘Agh! Aaaagh!’
The moment the Duke entered the bedroom and deliberately triggered the Duchess’s pheromone release, pained screams erupted.
‘What… is happening here?’
‘He’s unmarked. The shock must be overwhelming.’
The Duchess writhed in pain all night.
* * *
