Chapter 9

　　Grand Duke Berk was also a man utterly obsessed with his work. If she were a regular soldier, his workaholism wouldn’t have mattered much. But Chloe was Brigadier General Berk’s aide, and if Brigadier General Berk didn’t leave work, it meant there was no end to Chloe’s workday either. Only after enduring a solid week of non-stop overtime did Chloe finally grasp the true reason for the bed in the aide’s office.

　　I should have run away at full speed the moment I saw that bed!

　　Unfortunately, there were even more disqualifying factors. His mysophobia and the grueling overtime schedule were just a tiny fraction of the multitude of reasons why the aide recruitment notice had been circulated as far as the Navy in the distant south.

　　The Royal Guard was notorious for gathering only the most intractable among the notoriously stubborn, and Brigadier General Berk was considered their pinnacle. He was truly un-royal yet royal. The "un-royal" part was his habit of reporting for duty at dawn and not leaving until midnight.

　　So, the "royal" part? Was how he was unfathomably harsh on those who erred or failed to perform adequately. Chloe had genuinely never encountered anyone with such a diverse and elaborate repertoire for punishing subordinates.

　　"One month pay cut."

　　"Get down and do push-ups immediately."

　　"Conduct service inspection."

　　Disciplinary actions and pay cuts were a constant occurrence. As the Royal Guard was directly under the royal family, most of its members were children of nobles. But Brigadier General Berk cared little for such distinctions, providing his subordinates with diverse and utterly exasperating, experiential punishments. Among them, the worst in Chloe’s estimation was the pay cut.

　　I applied for this position solely for the steady paycheck, and now a pay cut!

　　For the record, overtime and weekend allowances were paid regularly. However, Chloe didn’t count allowances as a benefit. Getting paid for work done was a matter of course, not a bonus.

　　"I want to be discharged…"

　　It took Chloe exactly two weeks to adopt the common lament among the Guard members.

　　If Brigadier General Berk had been a superior who was not only harsh but also incompetent, the Guard would have long ago dispersed like mist. However, from an aide’s perspective, the fact that he was competent was hardly a cause for joy either. Because a capable person was also a workaholic, he not only sought out work, but even non-existent tasks seemed to materialize. Perhaps because Brigadier General Berk was a war hero, it was common for him to manage everything from the most menial tasks to matters of state secrecy.

　　The schedule was brutal, the thought of leaving work a distant dream, and she would receive disciplinary punishment before she could even catch her breath.

　　That was the reason every aide appointed before Chloe requested a transfer to another unit without lasting long. Of course, more men were dismissed due to the Brigadier General’s thunderous rebukes and exacting nature.

　　The sight of Brigadier General Berk’s aides being replaced day after day could not have pleased his superiors. Grand Marshal Victor of the Royal Army seethed at this. Although Curtis was a headache bestowed by the King, his crucial position could not be left vacant.

　　Therefore, the first thing Victor did was block the aides’ transfer requests. A new policy was enacted, requiring three years of service before a transfer was possible. When that happened, the tormented aides filed for discharge. If discharge was blocked, they seemed poised to desert. So the higher-ups offered incentives. But it was too late. The rumors had already spread like wildfire throughout the Army. Eventually, the higher-ups, racking their brains, posted the notice even to the Navy.

　　And Chloe Amboise was the one who perfectly walked into that trap.

　　Thanks to the nineteen aides who had fled before her, the transfer application Chloe received was laden with a staggering number of defensive clauses. Phrases like, "if Chloe were to abscond, she would not be forgiven in the name of the King, Grand Marshal Victor, and the Dragon Ibaneres!" were particularly prominent.

　　It wasn’t that Chloe hadn’t steeled herself.

　　With great pay comes great responsibility.

　　With that very mindset, Chloe had stamped her seal and begun her service. After all, the pay was four times what she’d earned in the Navy.

　　Some might have called her foolish, asking if money truly outweighed health.

　　But that’s a sentiment only those without dependents could afford, she’d thought.

　　Such had been her reasoning. Yet, three months later, she found herself gravely contemplating which was the lesser evil: becoming a criminal of the state for murdering the Hero of Ivanes, or leaping from the pinnacle of the Ivanes Outer Castle.

　　Now, however, an opportunity had arisen—a chance to repay him for all the torment he had inflicted.

* * *

　　To be precise, Chloe felt a distinct surge of glee.

　　"You want me to kneel? Before you?" Curtis scowled.

　　Chloe met his gaze with a firm, "Yes."

　　To think that the perfect war hero couldn’t swim and was constitutionally prone to seasickness. Learning that fact had indeed made the Grand Duke a little less insufferable. The sight of his usually cold, handsome face crumpled into a rare grimace only amplified her delight.

　　Had she been just a whisper more delighted, she might have brazenly demanded, Ideally, you should do it tomorrow morning at sunrise, on the drill field, in front of everyone!

　　But something felt off.

　　"I see," Curtis mused, stroking his chin as Chloe’s audacious demand hung in the air. Then, he nodded.

　　"Fine. I shall."

　　"…Pardon?" Chloe blinked, doubting her own ears. He would kneel… just like that? So easily?

　　This isn’t right, she thought, a knot forming in her stomach.

　　"Your Highness, do you understand the implication of what I just said…?"

　　"I understand," Curtis cut in. "One crucial step was indeed missing."

　　"What?" Chloe breathed, utterly perplexed. "A crucial step?"

　　As Chloe tilted her head in confusion, Curtis pulled something from his desk drawer. He rose and strode toward her. His pace was so swift that Chloe had no time to speak. Reaching her in an instant, Curtis loomed over her, and Chloe found herself completely overwhelmed.

　　What in the…, she thought, a chill running down her spine. He was the Third Prince, a man who had been far larger in stature than his peers since childhood, a soldier seasoned by six years on the battlefield. Perhaps losing her mind from three months of constant overtime had made her forget what kind of man he was—a fatal blunder.

　　The pressure radiating from Curtis as he stood looking down at her was immense, amplified by the combination of his inhumanly beautiful face and his cold expression.

　　And so, Chloe abruptly began to re-evaluate her actions.

　　Did I… go too far? she wondered. It was self-evident that she held the upper hand in this situation, but to demand he kneel and beg so brazenly? Staring at the Grand Duke’s expressionless face, she felt a sudden jolt of fear. Should she apologize now? No, no. Should she claim it was all a joke?

　　Curtis, however, did not wait for Chloe’s reconsideration or apology.

　　"Warrant Officer Amboise," he said, his voice level.

　　"Yes…?" Chloe’s eyes darted to his hand, a frantic thought seizing her: Surely he hasn’t pulled a gun from that drawer? Am I about to be summarily executed for insulting royalty? A maelstrom of terrifying questions swirled in her mind as cold sweat pooled in her palms.

　　Just then, a sudden movement sent a breeze rustling past her. Chloe blinked involuntarily, and in the next instant, an astonishing sight unfolded before her: Curtis Sean Berk had dropped to one knee, assuming a perfectly formal posture.

　　Unfortunately, it was quite different from the picture Chloe had envisioned.

　　"This is the ring my mother received when the late King proposed to her," Curtis announced.

　　Huh?! A ring?!

　　As if in answer to Chloe’s unspoken question, a luxurious ring box lay open in his hand. Inside, an enormous amethyst gleamed, its myriad facets catching the light, as beautiful as the hand that held it.

　　"Marry me."

　　Chloe’s mind went blank.

　　Not because the man before her was impossibly beautiful, but because she couldn’t begin to fathom where things had veered so wildly off course.

* * *

　　At this juncture, it is necessary to delve into the inner workings of Curtis Sean Berk’s mind.

　　In truth, Curtis had always regarded his aide, Chloe Amboise, quite favorably—a view that stemmed from a self-awareness deeper than one might expect.

　　He possessed a fastidious personality, bordering on what his guards uncharitably dubbed a "crazy bastard" or a "devil," coupled with mysophobia and a relentless workaholism. The latter, admittedly, was primarily a coping mechanism; he buried himself in tasks to forget the indignity of his demotion to the Royal Guard. Regardless, he knew his office was a harsh environment for any aide.

　　Yet Chloe had persevered under him for three months.

　　While not without her minor shortcomings, her administrative work was remarkably clean, especially considering her origins in the notoriously disorganized Navy. This stood in stark contrast to his previous aides, all of whom, overwhelmed by the deluge of work, had left their desks and tasks in a messy, chaotic state.

　　He’d summarily dismissed those who went unwashed for days, even off the battlefield, and those whose frequent mistakes were simply blamed on being "busy." There was no reason to keep such individuals in his office.

　　Chloe, however, he quite liked. The way she always tied her hair back tightly, how she meticulously organized her surroundings, and, consequently, her near-absence of mistakes—all of which pleased him.

　　Of course, Chloe’s meticulousness stemmed from the long-standing responsibility of caring for her three younger siblings, but whether Curtis knew this or not, her superior remained entirely satisfied.

　　Reports of her being a miser, and of occasionally winning sums bordering on extortion from colleagues in card games, meant nothing to him. To Curtis, the fact that her miserly nature fueled her willingness to work overtime without complaint was an excellent quality. As for her gambling winnings—the fool, he reasoned, was the one who lost.

　　Indeed, his satisfaction ran so deep that he could even overlook Chloe calling him a "crazy bastard" behind his back, finding it, well, rather charming.