APIBAGS Chapter 78

Typical—I'd barely finished wondering where he was and he shows up right on cue. Very male-lead energy.

"Are you all right, my lady?"

"Other than a few drops of wine, yes."

"Fortunate I was not late."

Gabriel smiled with a relief so open it bore no resemblance to the cool composure I'd come to associate with him. It wasn't the practiced, picture-perfect smile he put on to observe propriety, and it wasn't the complicated, guarded smile he wore while keeping his inner workings hidden from me. It was simply the relief of having reached me in time, coming through without any varnish over it.

My arm was doing that crawling-ant thing—and more than anything, it felt awful to push away someone who'd just shielded me.

Something feels off about this... Is this why clichés are said to be eternal?

"You didn't need to shield me."

"I wanted to hear something other than that."

"...Thank you."

I never asked to be saved—he just swoops in on his own initiative and now he wants a thank-you, apparently. Whether that was the answer he'd wanted, Gabriel's smile brightened further. Too clean a smile—I felt myself being purified right out of existence just looking at it.

I tapped at his arm to signal he could let go, and Gabriel hesitated a beat before releasing the arm he'd wrapped around me. Duke Hosaquin, who had created this entire mess himself, fixed the completely blameless Gabriel with a glare that could strip paint. Who's supposed to be angry here?!

"Sir Gabriel. Do you know whose cause you've just championed?"

"Yes. More clearly than anyone else in the world."

It must be bewildering to see someone defending the villainess—but Gabriel has gone further than that; whether I'm a possessor or a ghost is entirely beside the point to him.

Duke Hosaquin pressed his fingers hard into the deep furrows between his brows, kneading at the tension there. Even so, having vented his anger seemed to have calmed him somewhat compared to a moment ago—until the whispers around him reached his ears: "The duke threw a wine glass at his own granddaughter," and, upon hearing that, the heat rose in him all over again. Duke Hosaquin fixed me with a steady, measured glare and pronounced his verdict.

"Hear me and remember it well. Amaranth had no daughter. You are not my granddaughter."

He still had unresolved feelings for the late Countess—but me, Rohanson the Second, he despised enough to erase entirely.

"I turned a blind eye these years because Amaranth asked it of me. I may have permitted it, but you cannot be—will never be—my blood. Even if it cost me my life. Never."

He even pinpointed what he assumed my motive to be. Right—I had approached the moment rumors of his poor health began to spread, so it was natural he'd conclude I was after an inheritance.

But the more important thing was something else he'd said. Listening to the duke, it seemed the late Countess had been in contact with him all along, in her own way. I'd assumed they'd severed ties completely and never spoken again—so what was this about her asking him to look away?

And what did "look away" mean? Was there some kind of secret about her birth? But they resembled each other so closely—it couldn't be a child the Count had brought home from outside the marriage.

Could it be the reverse—a child Amaranth had outside the marriage? She was the spitting image of Amaranth alone, like the woman had given birth entirely on her own. Had the duke, rigid and unbending as he was, cut off contact because she'd had a child out of wedlock?

That's actually quite convincing...

With so little to go on, my head was ready to split. I needed to get my hands on the second volume of Amaranth's diary and dig for the truth as soon as possible. But Duke Hosaquin had just declared he'd never hand over his estate, and he'd gone and thrown a wine glass—would the Count hold up his end of the deal the way things stood now? I should have played this a bit more carefully.

Duke Hosaquin left without so much as an apology, only deepening my confusion as he went.

"Since you and I both witnessed this in the Emperor's domain, it would be no more than fitting for my head to be taken. I'll go ahead to offer His Highness my private apologies. You had best see to your treatment promptly."

See treatment? What does that—

At that moment, Gabriel lurched.

I moved quickly, arms around his waist to catch his weight.

"Sir Gabriel!"

Lady Toten startled and cried out. I was equally shaken, trying to piece together what "see to your treatment" had been referring to.

The answer came quickly. Now that I thought about it—why were Duke Hosaquin's hands empty? Shouldn't he be holding a wine glass?

Oh no. What the—

What ran down from that hair wasn't just wine. He threw the glass. Duke Hosaquin threw the actual wine glass. Th-that, THAT wretched—not old man—that miserable old codger. You injure someone and you can't even apologize? Can't even pretend to be sorry?

I was glaring at Duke Hosaquin's retreating back, seething, when Gabriel chose this moment to be absurd.

"Are you worried about me?"

Obviously! I was so dumbfounded I couldn't even speak. If he weren't injured I'd have smacked the back of his head like Daisy would. What are you even smiling at, you idiot?!

I hadn't replied at all, but he seemed to take my silence as a yes—Gabriel narrowed his eyes, studied me for a long moment, and curved his mouth upward again. He's taken a wine glass to the head. Something minor must have gone wrong in the brain. He's got a cracked skull and he's enjoying being worried over? He's enjoying it?

I was afraid I'd just triggered the wrong flag—the kind where Gabriel starts deliberately getting hurt to get my attention from here on out. I shook my head and pushed back.

"You stepped in on your own and got hurt on your own. Why should I be worried?"

"And yet you're expressing anger on my behalf."

"Am I angry?"

"Yes, my lady. You tend to drop your formal speech when you're angry."

Did I just use informal speech? Apparently so. I've been told a noble must maintain composure under any circumstances—Dolly would weep to see this. All that training, undone. Sorry, Dolly. The contents inside have only been a noble for three months.

"It rather feels as though you're angry on my behalf specifically. I'm glad—in several senses."

Gabriel's words made me want to boil over. I genuinely don't know why I'm this angry. It's not like I haven't seen people get hurt on my account before—when the Rohanson servants were injured I was horrified, sure, but not angry like this. What's the difference supposed to be between them and Gabriel, that Gabriel's wound is the one that's making me this irritated?

Is it because we've grown somewhat closer? Well—if Kanna had been hurt like this, I'd have long since upended everything and committed an act of true moral depravity—hurling a wine glass at the back of Duke Hosaquin's skull—and I would not have regretted it. Right. That's it then. Gabriel got caught up in someone else's family drama and was hurt shielding me—of course I'm worried and angry. That makes me a person.

Gabriel recovered his balance and straightened himself. I exhaled inwardly looking at him, soaked through with red wine. With red wine of all things, there was no way to tell how badly he was hurt.

I was careful to keep from slipping back into informal speech.

"Following my grandfather's advice, you'd best see to treatment."

"But dancing is about to begin."

Is that what matters right now? It doesn't take long to treat a wound—couldn't he just have a quick splash of holy water and be back in moments?

"You're not in any condition to dance with me as you are."

"Ah. The wine would stain you, my lady."

Gabriel understood it as that and put distance between us. He takes me entirely at my word. Did he really think I said that because I was worried about wine staining my dress, rather than the fact that he's injured? I want to give him a piece of my mind, but I'm the one who said I wasn't worried, so I can't turn around and take it back now. And if he doesn't value his own body, telling him so probably isn't going to change anything—it seemed better to just push through with this framing.

"So go and change, then come back. Henna has holy water, so receive some treatment while you're at it."

"I have holy water—no. Never mind..."

Gabriel trailed off, his sentence unfinished. Holy water what? Oh—he was going to say he already had holy water on him. Makes sense; he's a holy knight, carrying a vial of holy water is only natural.

But then if he has holy water, what's the problem? He can treat himself and be back in no time—what's keeping him from going?

Don't tell me it's because of me.

"I simply fear what might happen to you while I am away."

It was because of me. Given that I'd very nearly been struck by a wine glass during the brief time he'd stepped away on a summons, he must be uneasy about leaving me on my own again. But the duke provoked that deliberately—wouldn't I be fine as long as I stayed quiet from here?

"If you're uneasy, I'll promise to stay perfectly still. There are plenty of eyes on me here."

I pointed out that people's attention would keep me from doing anything rash.

Hearing this, Gabriel made a strange expression, stared at some point in the air for a moment as though something had clicked, and then gave a slow nod.

"Yes, of course. There are always eyes watching over you, my lady."

"Sir Gabriel, I know I'm not the most reassuring company, but I'll stay by Lady Rohanson's side."

With Lady Toten adding her support, Gabriel finally relented.

"Then I will return with all haste. My lady, please take care."

Gabriel bowed crisply and exited the hall. Look at him, tossing out a final warning. Separate from whatever he feels for me, he just doesn't trust me, is that it? Haah—getting an injured man off to treatment should not be this difficult.

Watching the eyes that tracked Gabriel's retreating figure, I could see the rumors of the villainess wielding a holy knight were only going to grow worse.

In any case, I had no way to know whether Gabriel would actually treat himself properly before coming back. Surely he wouldn't just change clothes and return without attending to the wound? No. Raphaela and Uriel would make sure he was treated. This is precisely why the male lead always needs a capable aide at his side. Without someone like Raphaela, Gabriel would have burned through his body recklessly long ago and met an early end.

Which meant now I needed to do a little damage control.

Duke Hosaquin had fled long since, and I'd managed to send Gabriel off to get treatment—I was the only one left to clean up after this mess.

"Lady Toten, I do apologize for letting you see such discord."

I addressed Lady Toten while pitching my voice just slightly higher so the people nearby could hear.

"I only wished to share stories of my late mother with him—she whom I miss so dearly—and it seems my grandfather still finds it difficult to trust me."

"Lady Rohanson... I'm certain Duke Hosaquin will open his heart to you in time. Please don't despair."

Lady Toten matched my tone and subtly shifted the blame—Duke Hosaquin had lashed out at a granddaughter whose only offense was approaching him with a tender heart.

The people around us had no idea that I'd baited him; from where they stood, the duke had simply flown into a rage at an innocent girl.

I'll send your reputation straight into the pit. Who told you to leave first?