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ᴏᴜʀ ᴀʀʀᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ᴅᴇᴍɪꜱᴇ | 𝑅𝑜𝓎𝒶𝓁𝓉𝓎 𝒜𝓊 | ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ!ᴠᴏx x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: (MDNI) hi so yeah I did this in one day after not writing for a fat minute so be forgiving

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: First day officially as the Duchess! Things seem to be going okay until you get a glimpse of what the people think of you. Then, to make matters worse, you fall into a lake! Antics ensue!!!

ᴄᴡ: reader is sad, gossip columns, falling, partial nudity, Vincent is softer (for this chapter...)

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.3k

ᴀʟʟ ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ

𓆩:¨༺✧ ♛ ✧༻¨:𓆪

You didn't bother moving a muscle from the bed you were forced into the previous night. Well, more accurately, you couldn't, It was as if an anchor hung from your waist and rooted you into the silk sheets below.

Vincent had awaken the same time you had: He sat up, stretched his arms, and slid off the bed. While walking into the bathroom, he stopped at the door, his head suddenly jerking towards you.

You squeezed your eyes shut so he wouldn't notice you awake; otherwise you'd have to more badgering from him. With an audible sigh, the Duke disappears into the bathroom, leaving you alone. The anchor lightens it's hold on you, the overwhelming and terrifying presence left the room and with him, so did some of your worries.

You found yourself having an out of body experience, merely observing the depressed duchess chained to the bannisters: Poor girl, destined for a life of monotony and duty, just as her parents hoped.

Freesia breaks this spell upon entering, "Rise and shine, my lady!". The dark haired maid dispells the drapes without a second thought.

Bright light pierces your eyes, making you to hide yourself in the soft blankets around you.

"Tsk-tsk, none of that," Freesia yanks the covers away from you, "you can't be a hermit all day. You have duties to attend.".

You groan and reluctantly sit up, "Can't I just have a day to rest and adjust?".

"I'm afraid there's no rest for the royals, my grace," she grabs your hand and pulls you into the dressing room.

The large room before you was covered floor to ceiling with gowns, shoes, coats, and various accessories fit for any occasion. "Good god," you exclaim, "I hadn't had this many clothes even in Austrica!".

"His Grace demanded the best for you," she nudges you with her elbow and smiles.

You roll your eyes, "Oh please, "his grace" wanted to flaunt me like a trophy. You can't seriously believe that after yesterday's debacle.".

"Might I remind you that I warned you the Duke wouldn't be happy with your sleeping arrangements. Vincent isn't as he seems, get on his good side and you'll see what I mean.".

"I have no desire to get in His Graces good graces," you mutter.

Freesia exhales softly and pulls a gown off of a hanger: a lovely, navy blue velvet dress with short sleeves and an empire waistline. The bust hemline featured gold patterns similar to the one you saw on Vincent's wedding suit.

"Am I supposed to match Vincent?" you ask.

"Not always," she grabs other accessories from around the room, "but since it's your first day out as The Duchess of Eurasia, I think it'd be proper to present yourself as an extension of the Duke. People here are quite fond of him.".

"He seems quite fond of himself," you grab the garments off Freesia's hands while she undressed you. The red nightgown she gave you the night before falls to your ankles and is replaced by the navy garment over your chemise.

Freesia slips a matching pair of pointed flats onto you with a small heel to them and wraps a white wool shawl around your shoulders. "There," she steps back to admire her handiwork, "quite the young lady you are!".

"Thank you, Freesia," you turn to look at yourself in the mirror, "You have good taste.".

A light blush colors your lady in waiting's cheeks, "Thank you, your grace. If you ask, you'll find that the duke agrees with that sentiment. He was less-fashionably inclined before I had met him, but I turned him into quite the young tulip.".

You bristle at the mention of Vincent. As sweet as Freesia is, it bugged you how Vincent's name had weaseled his way into the conversation through her.

"Right," you say, "so, what are my duties for today?".

"Oh they're quite simple! Though, I can't promise that'll always be that way," she walks you out of the dressing room and down the corridors of the palace.

Various paintings adorn the tall walls, many of which were of Vincent. One depicted him as a younger man with his parents, strangely, his eyes were a bright emerald and not the heterochromatic ones you saw yesterday: another one of him in a military uniform, his sash decorated with various medals and a scar running down his now blue mismatched eye.

Before you could inquire about it, Freesia leads you off down the staircase. "Where are you taking me?" you ask.

Freesia smiles softly as you walk into the front courtyard, "I'm going to take you around Eurasia so you can patronage one of our many institutions.".

"Oh!" your lips curl upward for the first time since you've arrived, "That actually sounds... exciting.".

"Glad you think so, your grace.".

A coachmen helps you and Freesia into the carriage, your hands drumming on your lap with excitement. "I used to help my mother with dispersing charity," you mention, "it was one of the few times things were civil between us.".

A hum leaves her throat approvingly, "Sounds lovely.".

"It was.".

"Perhaps the duke may accompany you on one of these visits someday!".

You huff and slump against the side of the carriage, "Freesia, please, no more talk of Vincent today. Quite frankly I'm trying to forget all about him.".

A soft, reassuring hand comfortably rests on your thigh, "I know it may seem as though I'm on his side, but I assure you, you are my lady. My duty lies with you, I just want the two of you to get along. He is your husband, after all.".

"Right," you sigh softly, "I know you mean well, and I appreciate this sentiment, I just need a break is all.".

"As you wish," she retreats to her side of the carriage and continues the journey in silence.

𓆩:¨༺✧ ♛ ✧༻¨:𓆪

Some time later, you arrived to the beautiful countryside of Eurasia. The land was filled with scenic views, mountains, ponds, lakes, little towns, and, most importantly, an orphanage that was in desperate need for refurbishment.

You watched as the young children ate a meager serving of porridge in a crowded, dirty, environment. You couldn't believe that this was someones— a young child's, no less— everyday routine. From then on, you were resolved to help. After talking with the orphans, you decided to make adjustments so that you'd come visit every weekend to help out.

The staff was brought to tears upon finding out you decided to not only "grace them with your presence", but to also donate a large amount to their cause. You make arrangements with Freesia to make sure the donation gets approval from the Duke and head back to the castle.

Things seemed to be going okay. Aside from your less then friendly relations with Vincent, your duties went smooth and Freesia proved to be a lovely companion! That is, until you saw the staff anxiously muttering together over a newspaper.

Upon returning back to the estate, you walk into the drawing room and see a huddle of servants surrounding the newspaper that was supposed to be brought to you that morning. "Is everything alright?" you ask.

The staff jumps at your response, each one covering the papers while lying through their teeth:

"N-Nothing to see, your grace!"

"Yes, just discussing our duties!"

"'Your Grace, It's best if you return to the Duke, he's expecting you now."

You furrow your eyebrows and push past the servants to see what they were gawking at. On the mahogany table was the weekly paper flipped onto a large column named the "The Ton Tableau":

The Infamous Duke Of Eurasia has been married to the offspring of the King and Queen of Austrica. Reader, you may believe that such a coupling between two formidable individuals would result in a lovely child, however, her reputation precedes her as quite the chit!

During their vows, the young princess couldn't even mutter the words I do! It seems our new Duchess will have a hard time adjusting to her new role (which is quite shocking considering who she was raised by). Thus, it begs the question, is Her Grace truly fitting for our Duke Vincent, or will we find her husband carrying the slack she seems to bring?

Your eyes scan every single word of slander and folly. The paper slams down on the table, the staff gasping at the emotional reaction, and you storm off in a huff. It was one thing for Vincent to judge you, but for a whole country to see unwarranted defamation against you just to spread some trivial gossip? It angered you far more than anything you'd experienced thus far.

Freesia chases after you, "Your Grace, please! It's not so bad!".

"Freesia, I wish to be alone!" you yell, continuing to march outside into the lush gardens. You cross over the hydrangea shrubs and walk down into the trees until your stopped by gently running river.

Pinching the sides of your dress, you lift the heavy layers of fabric and sit on the river bed, your gown billowing at your legs. Your fingers dip into the crystal clear aqua, the soft water running through your fingers as curious fish swim by.

Air fills your lungs and leaves you with a satisfying breath. This was one of the only moments you had to yourself, and it took you reaching your breaking point to get it! It felt as though you were the only sane person here.

Was no one concerned with the Duke's behavior? Why were you so casually forced into this role? You look up to the cloudy sky and wish that someone up above noticed that maybe you didn't deserve this.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you fold your wet hands in your lap and pray to whatever, if any, being was watching over you. "Please," you think, "send me a sign that things will be okay.".

"Y/N, what the hell do you think your doing?!"

Your tranquility comes to a short stop upon hearing your husbands voice yell at you from a horse. A dark cloak envelopes his shoulders, his outfit much more casual then yesterdays: he had a white dress shirt, a navy vest with gold vines on it, a silk cravat, black pants, and tall black boots.

Standing up, you face the man with a scowl, "Can I not have one moment of privacy?".

"No!" he maneuvers off the saddle of his Shire and hops down to charge toward you, "do you know why that is?".

You scoff, "Let me guess, because I'm your "wife"?"

"It's because you have a duty as duchess to be presentable and amicable at all times!" he shouts, a white streak of hair falling from its neat swoop.

"Well clearly I already failed!" tears well in your eyes, your gaze drifting downward in shame, "the paper—"

"Oh for Christ's-" he pinches the space between his eyebrows, "Who cares what those trifling columnists say?! They know nothing.".

"Vincent, be serious," you say, walking towards him on the rocks, "you and I both know that things haven't exactly gone on to an easy start.".

Vincent groans, "You know what? If you truly believe what the journal said was true, then maybe they are right."

"I beg your pardon?"

"If your so sensitive that you let a little comment bother you this much, then maybe you aren't cut out for royalty," he looks down at you with a flat expression, "I see why your parents were so eager to pawn you off.".

Anger rises in you and flushes your face beat red. "You jackass!" you march toward him, waiting to give him a piece of your mind, when, suddenly, you lose your footing on a mossy rock and fall into the river. Vincent tries to grab your arm as you trip, but ends up landing atop you.

His arms brace himself on either side of you, his bicep inches away from your face and for a second, you almost felt yourself blush. Hovering over you, his chest heaves with adrenaline and anger, "Are you hurt?!".

"No, I'm fine!" You attempt to push him away, but, before you can even lift your arm, Vox hoists you up and carries you out of the river. "What are you doing!" you protest, "I can walk.".

"Evidently not," he climbs out of the rocks with you in his arms and walks into the field where his horse was grazing some grass. You're haphazardly tossed onto the saddle with him following suit. The firm planes of his chest press against your back, a chill running down your spine (and not just from the cold).

The horse gallops towards a small cottage you assumed was the horse stables. You journey in a tense silence while clouds gather in an angry formation, a light drizzle falling on you.

A raindrop hits your nose, making you shudder, "M-My nose is wet-".

"No kidding.".

"No, Vox, it's raining!"

He looks up and sees the sky start to bellow and shriek, rain now pouring down on you. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," he commands the horse faster towards the stables before making a hard stop at the front of the door.

You nearly fly off the horse from the sudden halt, but, luckily, Vox plants his large hand on your waist to keep you in place. The building before you was made up of creme colored brick and a dark grey roof, moss and overgrown bougainvillea decorating the intricate brickwork.

Vincent hops of the horse and offers a polite hand for you to get down. Hesitantly, you take his hand in a firm grip and land on the muddy grass.

He grabs the lead and walks in the stables with you following closely behind. The stable smelled faintly of manure and hay, not the most pleasant scent compared to the petrichor outside.

The Shire goes into the stall and brushes against Vincent affectionately. He chuckles and pets the base of neck, a smile on his face, one you hadn't seen before.

"What's his name?" you ask softly.

"Hm?" he snaps his head toward you, his smile falling into an indifferent expression, "Oh, the horse. His name is Al.".

"Does that name mean anything?"

His hand falls from the horse's neck, a frown crossing his features. He stills for a moment before turning back toward you, "We'll have to stay here until the rain clears. Based on the clouds, it could be all night.".

"All night?" you scrunch your face in confusion, "how can you even tell?".

He walks over to a stall window and tilts his head, gesturing you over to him. You stand beside him and study the stormy scene outside.

"You see those tall dark clouds?" he points to them, "those are cumulonimbus clouds, which usually means your in for a hell of a storm.".

You hum thoughtfully and hold your arm out the window, letting the rain fall on you before a sharp ball of ice slams down on your finger. "Ouch!" you retreat back inside and wince at the bruise forming.

"Let me see," he holds his hand out for you to put yours out. You hesitate at first, but then relent and let him take it. "Hmm," he rubs his thumb over your finger, his fingers gracing your hand a little too long before giving his assessment, "You'll be okay. But, with the hail, we'll definitely have to stay the night here. It's not safe to cross the garden.".

A sharp exhale escapes you, "Right then.". You suddenly feel the weight of muddy trail of your velvet gown and soiled soggy shoes. Might as well get comfortable if your gonna be here all night.

Slowly, you peel the gown away until your left in nothing but your thin white chemise. Vox takes his gaze away from the window and lands on you.

A blush rises to his cheeks, "Good god, woman!". The rain had filtered through your clothes and seeped into the chemise, making the fabric translucent.

The short stay under the garment was clearly visible to Vincent; your breasts peaked out of it and pressed against the see through garment, a glimpse of nipple just barely visible.

Vincent turns away and suddenly you feel a heat rise in your cheeks. You cross your arms over your chest when, while holding contact with the ceiling the whole time, Vincent slides the cloak off his shoulders and hands it to you.

"Thanks," you mutter, sliding the warm wool over you, "won't you be cold?".

He shakes his head, "Don't worry about me. There's some blankets around here somewhere, I'll grab them and set up a place for us to sleep.".

You hold the cloak closer to you shivering body as Vox walks to a cabinet where various knit blankets were help. He layers two down in an empty stall and gestures for you to sit.

You walk over and sit down on the plush hay covered with the soft cloth. He sits beside you and looks down at you expectantly, "Well?".

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to rest?".

"I am resting.".

Vincent huffs, "Against me, like a wife would with her husband.".

"I'm perfectly fine where I am," you defiantly retort, finding comfort agains the stall's wall.

Vincent tosses a blanket at you and wraps one against himself. "Of course," he murmurs, leaning against the wall inches away from you.

An awkward silence, save for the sharp patter of hail and boom of thunder outside, fills the air between you and prevents any comfortable rest. Vincent fixes his gaze straight ahead, he seemed to have a million things on his mind with the way his eyes occasionally squinted and forehead vein throbbed.

In an attempt to be "cordial"— though, admittedly, it killed you that you actually cared about your time spent with Vincent—you clear your throat, "So, how do you know so much about the weather anyhow?".

"Wha-?" he turns toward you, breaking whatever train of thought occupied him, "I studied meteorology during my Grand Tour in England. I met a friend of my Tutor's who specialized in it and he taught me quite a bit.".

It suprised you that Vincent had taken up studying during his tour. Quite frankly, you assumed that, like many men who went on a tour of Europe, Vincent would just meander around sleeping with women and avoiding his aristocratic duties.

"Well, it's quite refreshing to meet a man with such," you wince, the words stuck in your throat, "focus.". You finally mutter the compliment, a wave of nausea going over you.

"Yes well, I wasn't all focused during my trip.".

"Oh?" you perk up.

"I met a lot of people who certainly took my chart off course," he smirks at the memory, a laugh leaving his lips as he recalls his friends.

"Oh, the great Duke of Eurasia slacking off?" you tease "Who were these scoundrels leading you astray.".

The smile faded. What was once a sweet memory soon turned sour: something in what you said clearly provoked a bad memory. "Sorry."

"For?"

"It seems I said something to upset you.".

"You didn't," he replies, but his face tells a different story. After awhile, a smile returns on his face, "There's maybe one story worth telling, though.".

You smile and listen to his story. The picture he painted of a young Duke falling into the Seine by accident and having to drunkenly climb his way out was certainly different then the Vincent you know now. He was definitely more stoic now, and whether that was due to aging or a bad experience was up in the air.

He continues telling stories to you until his voice blends in with the noise outside, and your eyelids feel heavy, and Vincent's shoulder looks much more comfortable then the brick wall.

The word's die in Vincent's throat when he feels your weight settle against him. He looks down and sees you fast asleep against him, a smile crossing his lips. Holding the blanket tight against you, he presses a kiss to your head and joins you in slumber with his head atop yours.

𓆩:¨༺✧ ♛ ✧༻¨:𓆪

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