Gabriella was abruptly roused from her slumber by the jolting sensation of her blanket being yanked away by her personal maid, Lydia, who seemed to have all the subtlety of a charging rhinoceros. With a start, Gabriella was about to unleash a tirade of curses when she remembered she wasn't in her cozy bed back home, but rather in the midst of a fantastical tale.

The rude awakening didn't stop there. Lydia's sneer could have curdled milk as she reminded Gabriella of her place in the pecking order, throwing around threats like confetti at a circus.

But Gabriella wasn't about to let Lydia's sour attitude ruin her day. After all, she had more pressing matters to attend to, like figuring out how to navigate this fantasy medieval maze without making a fool of herself.

After a rather awkward evening where Asher, bless his chivalrous heart, had given her some much-needed space, they bid each other farewell on surprisingly amicable terms. He even gave her a friendly pat on the head and a kiss on the cheek before retiring for the night.

Gabriella couldn't help but chuckle to herself as she watched Asher's gallant exit. "Well, that was... something," she murmured, shaking her head in bemusement as she waited for her maid to come back with her wash basin. Despite the initial awkwardness of their arrangement, they had managed to navigate the delicate dance of courtship with all the finesse of a drunken bear on ice skates.

As Gabriella prepared to start her day, she couldn't shake the memory of Asher's assurances from her mind. "Despite his uncertainties about love, he would ensure I receive all the dignity and authority befitting my status as a duchess," she repeated to herself, rolling her eyes at the thought of her noble husband.

But amidst her skepticism, Gabriella couldn't deny the genuine warmth in Asher's eyes as he spoke those words. Perhaps, she mused, there was more to this so-called stoic Duke than met the eye—though she wasn't about to hold her breath waiting for him to break into a sonnet anytime soon.

With a resigned sigh, Gabriella surveyed her surroundings, taking in the opulent furnishings of her new chambers with a mixture of awe and trepidation. The room was a veritable shrine to excess, with gilded mirrors and ornate tapestries adorning every available surface—a far cry from the sleek, minimalist aesthetic she preferred back home.

"And they say romance is dead," Gabriella muttered under her breath, stifling a giggle as she surveyed yet another over-the-top display of courtly affection. But despite the absurdity of it all, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement at the prospect of experiencing this whole new world.

With a determined set to her jaw, Gabriella resolved to make the most of her status as Duchess of Rothchester—even if it meant putting up with the occasional bout of medieval melodrama. After all, if Asher could manage to be halfway decent, then surely she could rise to the occasion and be the best darn duchess this kingdom had ever seen–or not. "Meh, I just like to laze around. What best Duchess… haha!"

But her musings were abruptly interrupted by the sight of a grimy basin of water being placed before her by none other than Lydia herself. Gabriella's brow furrowed in confusion. "What's this?" she inquired innocently, though she already had a sinking feeling in her stomach.

Lydia, with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, replied, "Why, it's water for washing your face, my lady," her tone dripping with condescension.

Gabriella inwardly cursed the maid's audacity as she mustered up a saccharine smile. But when Lydia proceeded to slosh the frigid, murky water onto Gabriella's face, all pretense of politeness vanished like a puff of smoke.

Gabriella's eyes narrowed into icy slits as she fixed Lydia with a withering glare. "Lydia," she began, her voice as cold as the water dripping down her chin, "The fuck you think you're doing?"

Forget about keeping the curses in. Gabriella felt like her head would explode if she kept everything in.

Lydia's eyes widened in terror as she stammered out a feeble excuse, but before she could finish, Gabriella hurled the basin across the room with all the finesse of a disgruntled tavern patron. The basin missed Lydia's head by a hair's breadth, eliciting a startled yelp from the maid.

Lydia recoiled in shock, her eyes widening in fear as she realized she had crossed a line she couldn't uncross. But before she could utter a single word of apology, Gabriella fixed her with a gaze that could cut through steel, her voice cutting through the air like a knife.

"Lydia," Gabriella's tone was as cold as the water she had just thrown, "What's your job?"

The color drained from Lydia's face as she stumbled over her words, her arrogance crumbling in the face of Gabriella's newfound confidence. "I-I am appointed to you by his majest–"

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

But Gabriella didn't even let her finish. With a fire burning in her eyes, she fixed Lydia with a glare that could melt stone, her voice dripping with venom as she repeated her question. "What. Is. Your. Job?"

Lydia wilted under Gabriella's scathing gaze, her usual bravado replaced by a sense of humility. "A-a servant… for princess," she muttered, her voice barely audible as she lowered her head in shame.

"Call me with my proper title." She commanded. "What is my position in this house?"

"Y-you're the D-duchess."

"And you're making me use dirty water?" Gabriella crossed her arms. "If my husband saw this and knew how I was treated in the Kingdom, do you think the Empire would be happy? Will your head still be above your shoulders if Father was to know that his perfect plan was ruined by a single lowly maid like you?"

Upon the mention of death, Lydia's face paled and she quickly prostrated herself in front of Gabriella.

"My apologies, Your Grace! Please forgive me!"

….

As the news of Gabriella's chaotic morning reached Duke Rothchester's ears, Asher couldn't help but scrunch up his nose in confusion. "So my wife started wreaking havoc as soon as she woke up?" he mused, baffled by the sudden transformation of the seemingly innocent Gabriella he had known just the day before. "What on earth could have prompted her to go on a rampage?"

His servant relayed the maid's account of the morning's events, painting a picture of Gabriella hurling objects around the room in a fit of displeasure over the decor. "It seems like this kind of behavior was a regular occurrence back in Rassec," the servant added, further mystifying Asher about the true nature of his new bride.

It was like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. One moment, Gabriella was sweet and demure, and the next, she was unleashing chaos like a whirlwind. Asher couldn't help but wonder which version of Gabriella was the real one, or if perhaps there was a third, even more perplexing side to her personality that he had yet to discover.

"Well then, make sure to decorate the room as per my wife's preference," Asher ordered with a casual flick of his wrist as if he were simply requesting a cup of tea rather than acquiescing to the demands of a disgruntled duchess. His butler and assistant exchanged incredulous glances, their eyebrows reaching for the sky in unison, silently questioning whether their esteemed Duke had been replaced by an impostor or perhaps taken leave of his senses.

The butler, ever the embodiment of decorum, cleared his throat delicately before daring to speak. "Forgive me for saying so, Your Grace, but are you feeling quite alright? It's just that... well, this behavior is rather out of character."

Asher merely shrugged, a bemused smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Oh, I'm perfectly fine, thank you," he replied breezily as if he were discussing the weather rather than his wife's sudden penchant for interior design dictatorship. "I just think it's best to keep her happy, you know? Happy wife, happy life, and all that."

His assistant, who had been silently observing the exchange with a mixture of confusion and amusement, couldn't help but interject. "But Your Grace, isn't it a bit... unorthodox to indulge her every whim like this? What if she starts demanding golden unicorns next?"

Asher chuckled at the thought, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, if she wants golden unicorns, then by all means, we shall find a way to procure them! After all, what's a little extravagance between spouses?" he exclaimed, his words laced with a hint of mischief.

The butler and assistant exchanged another bewildered glance, silently resigning themselves to the fact that they were now living in the twilight zone of marital accommodation, where golden unicorns and garish room decor reigned supreme.

"Achoo!" Gabriella sneezed rather unladylike as she strolled down the aisle connecting the castle buildings, her delicate footsteps leaving imprints in the freshly fallen snow. She couldn't help but mutter to herself, "Gosh, isn't this too cliche?"

The image of the aloof Duke of the North, ruling over his icy domain with a frosty demeanor, played out in her mind like a scene from an overly dramatic play. It seemed almost too perfect, like something straight out of a fairy tale—except with more snow and less singing woodland creatures.

As she made her way toward the snow-filled garden of the Rothchester estate, Gabriella couldn't help but marvel at the sheer magnitude of the winter wonderland before her. The snow-capped trees glistened in the sunlight, casting long shadows across the pristine landscape. It was like stepping into a painting—a breathtaking masterpiece of nature's design.

But amidst the beauty of the snowy landscape, Gabriella couldn't shake the feeling of chilliness seeping into her bones. "Note to self: invest in thicker socks," she muttered under her breath, huddling deeper into her coat in a futile attempt to ward off the biting cold.

Despite the freezing temperatures, the people of Rothchester seemed unfazed by the wintry conditions, going about their daily lives with the same gusto as if it were a balmy summer's day. Gabriella couldn't help but admire their resilience, even as she silently cursed her own susceptibility to the cold.

And as she wandered through the bustling streets of the city, Gabriella couldn't help but notice the difference between the bustling metropolis of Rothchester and the dilapidated slums she had seen in her own time. Here, the streets were alive with activity, the markets teeming with vendors hawking their wares, and the air filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread and sizzling meats.

It was a far cry from the desolate streets of her own era, where poverty and hardship seemed to be an ever-present reality. And for a moment, Gabriella allowed herself to imagine what life might have been like if she had been born in this time and place—a time of prosperity and plenty, where even the most humble of citizens had a chance to thrive.

But as the cold wind whipped through the streets, snapping her back to reality, Gabriella couldn't help but feel a pang of homesickness for the world she had left behind. With a wistful sigh, she turned her gaze towards the towering spires of the Rothchester castle, her heart heavy with longing for the familiar comforts of home.