Eileen stared blankly at the newspaper, her eyes fixed on the photo on the cover, an image from their wedding the day before. She closed her eyes tightly and opened them again, hoping the headline had magically changed.
"Is that me? " she murmured.
It was hard to believe. Eileen continued staring at the newspaper, motionless. Cesare, who was savoring his strongly infused tea while scanning the headlines, glanced at her. Noticing, with a calm gesture, he picked up the copy of La Verita from the table and handed it to her.
Without meeting his eyes, Eileen hesitated to accept the newspaper he offered her. Cesare waited patiently, understanding her reluctance.
Finally, she gathered her courage and accepted the newspaper from his hands.
Perhaps she had squeezed too hard, because the paper crumpled under her fingers. Her trembling hands held the newspaper as she stared at the photo.
The image showed Cesare exactly as he was at the wedding, although, to be honest, it didn't do him justice. He was infinitely more impressive in person.
Although the photograph depicted a man with unmistakable and noble features, it failed to convey that unique, dangerous, magnetic, yet irresistibly hypnotic presence. The black and white print failed to capture the intensity of his red irises.
'It would be so nice if they could see the color of their eyes' .
She thought, with a mixture of regret and longing, knowing that the people of the Empire would never witness the true beauty of that detail. Slowly, she looked away.
She observed the unknown woman standing beside Cesare. Wearing a delicately embroidered wedding dress, with curls cascading over her shoulders, her figure exuded a serene elegance. A shy, almost innocent smile adorned the bride's face in the faded photograph.
Porcelain features, large eyes, and a delicate nose—undeniable beauty. Eileen couldn't distinguish the color of her hair or eyes, but it hardly mattered. That woman wasn't her.
A knot of confusion tightened in her chest. It could only be a mistake in the revelation, some glitch that superimposed another woman's face onto hers. The initial shock gave way to a strange relief. That ethereal creature, a perfect complement to Cesare, seemed a far more suitable archduchess than she, with all her awkward simplicity.
The only pain was knowing there was no true record of that significant moment. So many photos taken, and none seemed to capture the memory they should have shared. Eileen sighed, defeated, and folded the newspaper.
Cesare, still absorbed in his own copy, set his teacup down on the table with a soft clinking sound. His attentive gaze met Eileen's huddled body.
— Eileen? — he called, his voice thick with concern.
She tried to smile, but the gesture faltered under the weight of his gaze. Without saying anything, she pushed the newspaper across the table. Her hand trembled slightly.
"The wedding photo… " the voice finally managed to say, almost a whisper. " It seems there's been some mistake."
Cesare raised an eyebrow, examining the newspaper. He stared at Eileen for a moment, then let out a brief "Hmm ," and said:
— It's true, this photo doesn't do you justice. Especially your beautiful eyes.
He pointed out the flaws in the photograph and handed the newspaper back to Eileen. Surprised, she alternated her gaze between the paper and her husband.
But... this is strange...
Are you upset because it didn't turn out well?
— What? That's not the problem, the person in the photo is beautiful, like a fairy.
She bit her lip, trying to contain her frustration. Why didn't he understand? That woman in the photograph wasn't her. Or perhaps he simply didn't care.
Already upset that she didn't have a wedding photo she recognized as her own, Cesare's seemingly casual comment made her feel even worse. Eileen carefully unfolded the crumpled newspaper and showed it to him once more.
Look... it's not my face. It looks like they printed the photo with someone else's face on it.
She tried to speak carefully, without sounding childish or complaining, simply stating a fact. Cesare was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on her.
Eileen.
- Yes?
As he settled down beside her, Eileen replied in a small, almost subdued voice.
The robe opened slightly, revealing part of his chest, a sight too daring for that time of day. Briefly, she got lost in that detail, but returned to reality when she felt his warm touch on her face.
"You are my wife ," Cesare said, with firmness and sweetness in his voice.
The obviousness of the statement confused her, but she nodded hesitantly.
On our wedding day, you promised to obey your husband, and I swore to trust you completely. Remember?
Another small, shy nod from Eileen was met with a loving look from Cesare. His large hand remained on her cheek as he continued:
So, tell me, Eileen… who should you trust? Your husband, who is here alive beside you, or a voice from the past?
Eileen reflected for a moment, but soon gave the answer Cesare was expecting.
— In my husband…
Cesare then concluded bluntly:
The wedding photo in the newspaper is yours.
The words died in her mouth. She wanted to protest, to insist on the difference she saw, but his crimson gaze paralyzed her, laden with unwavering certainty. His voice, low and pleasant, glided past her ears like a soft whisper:
— You are beautiful, Eileen. Not just to me, but to everyone. That's a fact, not an opinion.
A slight smile lingered on his lips.
— Didn't you say that you looked like a fairy?
A blush crept up Eileen's neck, a stark contrast to the woman in the photo.
"I only said that because... I thought it was someone else ," he stammered, trying to explain himself.
Smiling, the man reached out, gently pinched her cheek, and stood up.
Finish reading the article. I'll be right back.
Alone, Eileen was left with the echo of his voice in the air. Her gaze returned to the newspaper, the forgotten breakfast on the table, a testament to her disorientation.
'Is it really me?' —he thought again.
If Cesare said it was her, it could only be true. Still, the confusion throbbed like a nagging headache. She turned the page, trying to escape the cover photo, and the tension eased a little.
Deciding to follow Cesare's instructions, Eileen began reading the article carefully on the second page.
It can be said, without exaggeration, that it was a scene worthy of being taken directly from the founding myth of the Traon Empire.
Archduke Erzet and his wife captivated all the guests with their unimaginable beauty…
The article's effusive praise, comparing the wedding to the very founding myth of the Traon Empire, sent shivers down Eileen's spine. The writer described her appearance in such detail that it seemed intrusive, almost fabricated. Had she and Cesare really attended the same ceremony?
'The newspaper should be pro-Empire.'
He thought, trying to convince himself.
Still, she needed to trust Cesare's word. He never lied. Although he didn't always reveal the whole truth, he never deceived her.
'But to think that I... am the woman in this photo...'
She took a deep breath, trying to process the idea, and looked back at the cover image. The headache returned, now mixed with the tiredness she still felt from her wedding night, a physical manifestation of the discomfort that gnawed at her.
Finally, Eileen decided to stop thinking for a while and clear her mind by finding and reading an article unrelated to marriage. After a long search, she finally found a political article and began to read slowly.
[Count Domenico, as the new President of the Senate, foresees changes in the Parliament of Traon… Seeking to mediate between the royal family and the nobility…]
The day after the wedding ceremony, the Archduke's mansion remained as serene as ever. The only difference was the flowers scattered throughout the reception hall. Lilies exuded a sweet perfume, filling the air. But Count Domenico seemed oblivious to the flowers. Agitated, he paced nervously back and forth, with an anxious expression, like a cornered rat. Cesare, leaning back, observed his state with a crooked smile.
— Count Domenico.
"Your Grace! " exclaimed the man, hurrying towards her.
Cesare gestured slightly for him to sit down. The Count, his face agitated, sat down on the opposite sofa.
Leaning back on the cushions, with an almost playful air, he commented:
— On the very first day of my honeymoon? Couldn't you wait? I'm being forced to leave my wife alone in the room.
At this joke, the count's face contorted.
"It was Your Grace who created this situation ," he retorted, with a stern look. " Since when have you been so interested in politics? You've taken military control... are you eyeing the throne now?"
Despite the direct observation, Cesare did not respond. He merely twisted his lips into a wry smile. Finally, the Count's impatience surfaced, and he trembled with indignation.
"Are you going to exterminate all the nobles? If that is Your Grace's wish, say so now!"
In response, the Archduke laughed, almost amused.
— You're mistaken, Count. If I wanted to, I would have already taken the throne. After all, we are very… affectionate brothers.
His eyes, tinged with a deep red, curved into a serene smile. His well-defined lips moved slowly.
"And as for the nobles of the Empire… " he paused, as if savoring the moment while intercepting the count's words. "Even if they were all eliminated, my wishes still wouldn't be fulfilled."
To be continued…