COARV Chapter 28

"Dame Abigail was fully aware I was standing right behind you, and yet went ahead and delivered a private murder announcement to Lady Seria regardless. Shouldn't that be read one of two ways? Either the knight trusts me, or—"

"There's no way I would."

"If there's no way, then you'd best mark my next words all the more carefully. Voicing plots of murder in front of someone who doesn't trust you at all means your feelings got ahead of your judgment."

Abigail shut her mouth and looked at Elliot in silence. Elliot spoke in an earnest tone.

"If it's for Lady Seria's sake, act with a little more common sense. Take the other day—if I'd been in your position, I wouldn't have thrown handkerchiefs at every single knight of House Haneton. I'd have picked out the single highest-ranking one and beaten him to a pulp instead. That doesn't count as insult."

The faint, strange killing intent that had been leaking off her steadily was reined in at once.

"Useful advice. I'll take it to heart. Though on one point, my opinion differs from yours."

"Which point would that be?"

"In my case, I'd pick out whichever knight the target cherishes most and cut him apart, limb from limb."

The bedroom I returned to was quiet. The quick-fingered maids had already finished packing my things and loading them onto the carriage. With nothing left to do, I sat on the bed and blinked. It was still only mid-morning. And perhaps because I'd woken so early, my eyelids kept growing heavier.

There was plenty of time left before departure for Laurel Manor, the maids said, so a short nap wouldn't hurt at all. I let my eyes drift shut….

I should never have fallen asleep then.

An hour later, I let out a silent scream, carrying a great weight of regret with it.

When I opened my eyes, I wasn't in the bed. I was in a carriage. The soft roll of wheels. Beyond the glass, snow falling in the scenery outside. White birches, spread out beautifully like something out of a snow-painting—but a little more, and this would qualify as a blizzard.

Amid this pristine white scene, my heart was anything but calm.

No, why is there suddenly a blizzard—

It had been fine weather all morning. Where had these storm clouds rolled in from?

I glanced down. I was currently wrapped up in a blanket as though I'd just been lifted straight out of bed. That part, at least, I could understand—I was still in my nightgown underneath the blanket.

The problem was something else entirely.

Mortified—genuinely mortified—I let my gaze rise just a little. A beautiful face came into view at once. Under gleaming silver hair, a sharp nose, a closed mouth. But the eyes had a strange coldness to them—the kind of man better admired from a distance than viewed this close.

That was it.

I was currently—

being carried in Lesche Berke's arms, blanket and all, riding in a carriage.

A few hours earlier, in the middle of a deep, contented sleep.

The maids had woken me in a rush. I hadn't even managed to open my eyes properly, half-lost between sleeping and waking, and before I knew it they'd washed me down with brisk, efficient hands. Sitting up in bed the whole time, I'd finished washing my face and brushing my teeth, catching only fragments of what they were saying—that a blizzard had suddenly rolled in.

We had to leave for the manor immediately, they said, so I needed to head out right now—

And then my body was abruptly lifted. Blanket and all.

Before I'd even come to my senses, I was moved from bed to carriage. I hadn't believed it could possibly make sense, but it was real. I'd genuinely thought I was dreaming. The maids, hurrying along beside me, had pulled the blanket all the way up over my head, saying the cold would sting my face—which meant I hadn't gotten a proper look at whatever was fluttering in front of my eyes.

So I'd half-imagined it.

The man carrying me piggyback right now was probably Elliot, wasn't he? Or someone else entirely. That flash of silver hair I'd glimpsed earlier had to be a mistake—hadn't it?

But there was no way. I swallowed, very slowly, against a dry throat, and looked up at Lesche Berke, the man who had carried me here. Carefully, I opened my mouth.

"…Your Highness?"

Lesche, who'd been staring out the window with his brow faintly furrowed, looked down at me. His red eyes felt a shade more settled than usual, which made me needlessly afraid. Having called out to him and then immediately averted my gaze anyway, I watched as Lesche's attention drifted back to the blizzard outside.

"Sleep more. It'll be a while yet."

Sleep—how, exactly, in a position like this…? I turned my head to look at the opposite seat. Fortunately, it was empty.

"Then I'll sleep over there, if you'd let me go."

"Let you go?"

Lesche jerked his chin toward my feet.

"You've no shoes on."

"…What?"

"There wasn't time to grab your slippers. They'll be in the supply cart. Just sleep until then."

He kept telling me to sleep, and I genuinely wanted to ask who exactly could sleep soundly in a situation like this. Conversely, I wanted to ask whether he could sleep comfortably if our positions were reversed.

Hm….

Granted, there was rather a significant size difference between us, but….

Contrary to how awkward it felt, Lesche—this man—was, in fact, holding me quite securely at the moment. His chest was broad enough that even leaning most of my upper body against it felt roomy rather than cramped, and the blanket cocooning me like a grub was soft as well.

But separate from this physical comfort, I was far too uncomfortable in every other sense. If the shoes were the whole problem, couldn't I just walk barefoot to the opposite seat for a moment? Was that too undignified? Was Lesche Berke the type of person who cared about such things?

One thought led to another. I was busy staring at my bare feet poking out when, quite suddenly—quite genuinely suddenly—Lesche's hand closed around my foot.

"……!"

By the time I'd registered what was happening, a beat too late, I nearly fainted. I was frozen stiff, staring blankly into space, when Lesche's brow creased.

"Is the carriage cold?"

Startled, I jerked my foot back at once.

"Don't touch it!"

"Why? Right. But why?"

Lesche asked back even as he obediently released my foot.

"Why, you ask? Why are you just grabbing someone else's foot like that?"

"We're not exactly strangers, are we, my lady?"

At that counter, a strange thought suddenly flashed through my mind.

"Your Highness, are we, by any chance—going to consummate the marriage at the manor?"

For a moment, Lesche's eyes widened slightly. He paused a beat before answering, low-voiced.

"Yes."

Watching Lesche draw out that slow affirmation, I felt relieved.

"You're lying. You scared me."

"……"

One of Lesche's eyebrows twitched slightly upward.

"How do you know it's a lie?"

"I happen to read your expressions rather well."

At my earnest reply, Lesche clicked his tongue. He leaned back comfortably against the carriage seat. Naturally, the angle supporting my back and thighs shifted with it. Which meant we'd grown closer. Still, I wasn't worried he might drop me—the strength in the arms holding me was so evident even through the blanket that—

Undeniably. Lesche was an exceptionally skilled knight.

"Your feet looked far too cold, so I checked. With the blizzard, we can't raise the carriage's temperature any further, so holding onto your feet myself seems like the best option available."

"No, Your Highness. Please…. Your Grand Duchess will have to decline that…."

For a moment, Lesche's expression stiffened slightly. I'd said it in a hurry, worried he might genuinely keep holding my foot until we reached the manor—had I overstepped? I blinked and added:

"Or perhaps I should decline in the name of the Stern who inspects the glacier…"

"Why are you correcting yourself?"

Lesche said, watching me steadily.

"You are my Grand Duchess."

"Yes, well. Provisionally…."

"Yes. Provisionally."

Lesche cleanly withdrew his hand from my foot. Instead, he tugged the end of the blanket down to cover my feet again.

"If the Grand Duchess declines, the Grand Duke can't do anything about it."

That didn't quite sound like a plain statement of fact. The tone was strange. More than that, I was someone who knew the Lesche of the original novel.

I know this man lost his parents young, too…. Strange. Why can't I remember this one clearly?

That struck me as odd. I remembered almost the entire original novel. At times I'd even privately congratulated myself on being something of a genius for it. So why couldn't I properly recall the hidden past of this male lead—a character who should matter every bit as much as the female lead?

Going through it piece by piece, that particular memory felt as though it had been sliced clean out.

Thinking I'd need to go back and carefully review the original later, I shifted my gaze to the window. Fitted for a season carriage in the dead of winter, the window was small, its glass narrow and thick. Still, it was more than enough to see outside.

Staring out at the blizzard, I suddenly caught sight of a knight riding ahead, overtaking the carriage. That was strange. Elliot had said no knight was permitted into Laurel Manor. Did that mean they simply couldn't enter the main building itself?

Isn't that even stranger?

"Your Highness. Are there knights in the procession?"

"There are."

"Why? Didn't you say knights can't enter Laurel Manor?"

"Didn't Linon explain it to you?"

"He didn't say anything at all."

"…That little bastard."

Huh?

I blinked. A distinct trace of awkwardness had crossed Lesche's furrowed face. He looked like someone who'd been unwillingly saddled with the job of delivering an unwelcome piece of news.

Well, that means it's something I'm allowed to know, at least.

I'd been fully prepared to accept it if he'd told me it wasn't something I needed to know. I opened my mouth, meaning to say I'd just hear it from Linon later.

"Your—"

Thud.

That was when it happened.

The carriage shuddered and lurched to an abrupt stop. For a moment I was gripped by the fear that we might tip over as we were, but there was a force pulling me in tight. Lesche. Since all my weight was resting on his arms alone, my heart pounded hard.

There came a loud pounding on the door, and then, from outside, what sounded like a knight's raised voice.

"Your Highness!"

"It's a demonic beast! A demonic beast has appeared!"

For a moment I had to doubt my own ears. A demonic beast had appeared? Why?

Lesche reached out immediately and lowered the small shutter set into the carriage door. Cold air swept in at once.

"How close is the manor's border?"

"Right ahead!"

"Good thing there's a Stern along."

At the same moment as those words, Lesche set me down on the carriage seat. Even so, he still made sure my feet didn't touch the floor.

"Stay in the carriage. I'll send Linon."

"Yes. Please don't get hurt."

I nodded quickly. A demonic beast had appeared, and yet Lesche hardly seemed surprised. There was no one on this continent who didn't understand what kind of terror a demonic beast carried, and yet—because Lesche was so fundamentally unshakable about it—I didn't find myself as frightened as I probably should have been.

The weather's dreadful, too.

Even in the brief moment Lesche was gone, the raging blizzard seemed to have dropped the temperature inside the carriage by several degrees. I pulled my two arms, held so obediently captive all this while, out of the blanket and watched the outside carefully.