COARV Chapter 30

"I don't put grubs on my horse."

"How honored I am, Your Grace."

"That sounds sarcastic."

"Me? To my noble lifesaver? Surely not."

Lesche looked down at me and smirked. After giving the knights several instructions and adjusting the reins, he said, "Hold on tight so you don't fall, my lady."

"Understood, Your Grace."

Falling was decidedly undesirable. If Lesche had discarded this blanket, I'd have been colder but far more comfortable mentally—I could have held onto him with both arms. But Lesche had bound me completely in the blanket with my arms tucked inside, leaving me with no way to cling to him except staying still. Supporting me was entirely Lesche's burden.

He won't drop me for being heavy, will he?

Despite being wrapped tightly in blanket and cloak, my body felt subtly cold.

They said winter in the central plains was like a drunken brawler. The saying fit perfectly.

Isn't he cold?

I tilted my head slightly upward. Lesche's silver hair resembled winter's snowscape so closely it was barely distinguishable from falling snowflakes.

To him riding silently onward, I spoke.

"Your Grace."

Being a blizzard, the wind howled fiercely. I asked in my normal voice, thinking it didn't matter whether Lesche heard or not.

"Aren't you cold?"

I thought he hadn't heard, but unexpectedly his answer came quickly.

"With a Stern in my arms, why would I be cold?"

"I don't mean the celestium armor. It's just cold in general."

"I'm used to this much."

"Really?"

"Really."

Lesche's voice was matter-of-fact. Like someone who lived on the plains thinking nothing of harsh winds.

How long had we ridden?

Drooping from the relentless cold, I suddenly realized the horse was slowing. Too exhausted to lift my head, I merely blinked heavy eyelids when something as cold as my face touched my cheek. I belatedly recognized it as Lesche's gloved hand.

Unable to react immediately, only blinking, my chin was suddenly lifted. Then a sensation warm—no, hot—beyond anything previous touched my cheek.

Why were Lesche's eyes so close? His pupils reflected my entire face.

An impossibly close distance. Slowly I realized—Lesche's tongue was touching my cheek. Had he... licked me? No, was he licking me?

Lesche was?

My sluggish breathing instantly returned to normal speed. I trembled violently in shock.

"Your Grace! What are you doing?"

"So that's what it takes to wake you. Sleep in the cold and you'll die, my lady."

"Good heavens... If that's the case, use words."

"I've been calling you."

"What?"

That was news to me. I blinked. I genuinely hadn't heard Lesche calling my name. Apparently I'd been testing whether to swim across the River Styx without even knowing it. Lesche lightly brushed my head, shoulders, and back. Snow fell to the ground with each touch.

"Your Grace! My lady! Are you all right? You've regained consciousness!"

Linon shouted breathlessly. He looked a complete sight—snow piled on his hair and shoulders, and above all, his face was deathly pale. He looked like a frozen corpse. I thought he'd soon be in serious trouble, but Lesche spared him barely a glance.

"Nearly there."

At Lesche's words, I looked ahead. A quiet exclamation escaped my lips.

'A green building.'

The estate visible in the distance was beautiful. True to the name Laurel Manor, its outer walls were made of pale green marble.

'It's gorgeous.'

Tremendous care had clearly gone into the building's design from the planning stage. The three-story structure looked as grand as any decent count's estate in the capital. Different from the overwhelming majesty of the main castle, but neither small nor shabby. Like the moon being beautiful differently from the sun—this was too.

We finally arrived at the manor. However.

Wow. This is really awful.

Even with lowered expectations—'It's winter, so it'll be somewhat desolate, right?'—Laurel Manor's appearance exceeded my pessimistic predictions.

'Laurel Manor' was a proper noun—the estate's name. Naturally it had attached gardens, and those gardens were nearly ruins. No. I take that back. They were simply ruins.

I briefly recalled the vast gardens attached to Berke Castle. Those were actually so expansive that 'park' suited them better than 'garden.'

Despite winter, the castle gardens were immaculately maintained. While not artfully beautiful, the sheer expanse of land planted with expensive specimens made for decent scenery. Guests staying in the castle's annexes for my wedding always walked the gardens at least once daily.

But why was this place in such condition? Beyond neglected—the plants seemed rotted and moldering. As though some cantankerous mistress lived here. Yet this Grand Duchy's only mistress was me. Though Seria certainly had a cantankerous past.

I'd received no reports about this place.

Whether because the garden was more grotesque than imagined, or because of the blizzard—an unpleasant feeling wrapped around me.

I must have unconsciously tightened my grip on Lesche.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just."

Lesche looked at me silently, then lowered his gaze.

"Dismount."

Lifting me from the horse as swiftly as he'd placed me there, once again carrying me in his arms, he walked toward the estate. Linon, who'd gone ahead, pulled a key from his coat and opened the door. Entering, my heart pounded.

Which would it be? Beautiful like the building's exterior? Or chaotic like the wrecked gardens?

I couldn't speak for a moment.

'Tidy mold...'

That phrase perfectly summarized this green estate. The beautiful mansion was covered entirely in jet-black mold. The walls' original color was impossible to guess, and the floors were no different. Paint had peeled from pillars; door panels hung crooked and rattled.

Yet I could still call this estate beautiful because the scattered decorative elements were extraordinary. The original me might not have noticed, but Seria's exceptional eye caught quite a few details.

How to describe it? Like a wealthy noble poured heart and vanity into building a petit château for the history books, only to go bankrupt at the end and abandon it to ruin?

In any case, discovering that the Grand Duchy of the Gleick Empire—this cradle of the realm called Laurel Manor that carried every rumor—looked this wretched was shocking in many ways. Unable to speak, I kept looking around the estate.

That's when—

A middle-aged woman emerged from behind the stairs, saw us, and her eyes widened.

"...Your Grace? Grand Duke Lesche?"

Wiping her hands on her apron as she hurried over, she looked between Lesche and me with increasingly astonished expressions.

"Who is this beautiful lady frozen stiff as ice?"

Did she not hear who I am?

That was somewhat unexpected. Linon was a meticulous aide. More importantly, this fact known to all the Grand Duchy of Berke's retainers—for this woman living at Laurel Manor, this apparently important person, not to know seemed odd.

Lesche jerked his chin toward me.

"The Grand Duchess. Temporary, but."

"Pardon?"

To anyone ignorant of context, those words were ripe for misunderstanding.

"Temporary? Your Grace! Testing whether to marry a lady is not gentlemanly conduct! And this condition—kidnapping? Did you kidnap a bride?"

"That's not—"

Crash. Something collapsed outside. As I flinched, the woman who'd briefly painted Lesche as a marriage-fraud scammer spoke gently.

"Don't worry. Tree branches broke from too much snow."

The door swung open and Linon, who'd been holding the horses outside, said hurriedly, "Your Grace. The knights are still at the boundary..."

"I'd better go check."

Lesche called "Masha" and moved to hand me over. My eyes widened. He was going to pass me to this woman who looked shorter than me?

"I have feet, Your Grace?"

"The floor's dirty."

"No—!"

Lesche blithely ignored me. Just put me on the floor! Put me down! I could wash my feet! Even though the floor was covered in strange mold, what did I care!

"Eek!"

I screamed anxiously. But contrary to expectation, I didn't fall. Rather, Masha held me securely. Unlike Lesche's hard, cold embrace, hers was soft and warm—actually more comfortable.

"Ma'am, you're quite strong."

"Thank you, Miss. Please call me Masha. But you mustn't speak formally to me..."

Click.

Before Masha finished speaking, the door opened and closed. Lesche had left.

Masha's and my gazes turned toward the door in unison, then returned.

"You don't speak formally to Linon either, do you?"

"What? But I do."

"Oh my, Lady Masha. Surely not..."

As I confirmed it, my words overlapped with Linon entering through the door. But Masha had clearly understood me. She looked up at Linon directly.

"Linon."

"..."

Linon flinched. Masha spoke sternly.

"Prepare an explanation I'll find sufficiently convincing."

"Yes..."

First time seeing Linon tremble like that.

Fresh and fascinating. Not that Masha was glaring at Linon like a demon—she maintained her gentle expression. When I looked at her with curious eyes, Masha said "Oh," and looked down at me.

"Let's get you bathed first. You're frozen solid."