COARV Chapter 36

After setting the bedding on the sofa, Lesche walked back toward the bed.

Seria still slept in the Grand Duke's bed. He'd definitely laid her out properly and covered her well before leaving, yet in the meantime Seria had curled up like a shrimp. She'd rolled herself completely in the blanket.

After staring at her, Lesche headed toward the furnace. He examined the fire, then stood only after filling it completely with firewood.

Lesche pulled the blanket up to Seria's neck, then lowered it. After gauging briefly, he tried pulling it up to cover her again. Honestly, he didn't know. How far up noblewomen pulled their blankets when sleeping. Natural not to know.

No, he didn't quite understand why he was even curious about this in the first place. Lesche found his own behavior absurd.

In any case…

"Truly high-maintenance."

A mutter laced with genuine feeling. As if that bothered her, sleeping Seria frowned. Lesche reflexively closed his mouth, then let out a hollow laugh at what he was doing. He stopped pacing before Seria like some idiotic, dazed boy and walked to the sofa, lying down.

As Laurel Manor was consumed by shadows, Berke's treasures stored in the estate had been transferred entirely to the main castle over several years. But some places remained completely untouched. The second floor, for instance. The Grand Duke's bedroom as well. Personal aversion was the reason.

Thanks to that, the furniture remained. Since one couldn't furnish the Grand Duke's bedroom carelessly, even the sofa was a masterpiece worthy of being called art. The silk covering was highest quality, the gold-threaded embroidery craftsman's work, and the size large enough for an adult man to sleep comfortably with room to spare.

So Lesche sleeping alone on this sofa shouldn't have been particularly uncomfortable. After all, he'd never once had anyone beside him when sleeping.

And yet.

"……."

The image of Seria curled up while sleeping grated at him. The antique but outdated furnace, neglected for so long, failing to adequately heat the spacious bedroom's air also irritated him. Linon's nagging echoed at just the right moment: that His Grace worked Seria too hard, what would he do if the young lady collapsed.

The thought did occur: she won't freeze to death in her sleep. The image of Seria nearly frozen unconscious on horseback racing to this green estate flashed through his mind.

Lesche exhaled a low sigh. Truly, if at Laurel Manor—moreover on the Grand Duke's bed—a Stern who was, as one party constantly insisted, temporary but nonetheless the Grand Duchess, froze to death… it would be too troublesome and horrible. The moment that thought formed, Lesche rose from the sofa and sat on the bed.

Before he knew it, the blanket Ben had hurried in with earlier was also neatly layered over Seria's body.

Lesche lay down on his side out of habit. Since Seria also happened to be lying turned toward Lesche's side, her face naturally entered his view.

White forehead and plump lips. Eyelashes spread long like a fan were the same green as her hair. Her hair was certainly an uncommon color. It brought to mind the verdure of early summer; simultaneously it recalled when Laurel Manor had been famed for its grandeur and beauty. The green estate in those days, bathed in midday sunlight, had been endlessly summer like this.

"Mmm…"

Just then, Seria moved her arm. The blanket he'd carefully pulled up to her neck slid down. For Lesche, who'd come all the way to this bed solely because it would be troublesome if she froze to death, duty required pulling the blanket back up.

Without much thought, he covered her again. Seria frowned briefly, then pressed against Lesche's embrace.

"……."

Lesche's eyes widened. Red eyes looked at Seria, clinging close with bewilderment. Her body seeking warmth had unconsciously burrowed to Lesche's side. His briefly frozen hand gently swept aside her hair.

The next morning, early.

I woke thinking my throat felt slightly sore. I'd worried since the Grand Duke's bedroom was spacious but had only one furnace, and sure enough, cold air circulated.

Though for that, the bed hadn't been particularly cold. As I blinked my drowsy eyes several times, I realized belatedly that weight pressed against my waist. Feeling around, I encountered hardness of an entirely different dimension from any part of my own body.

'What is this?'

Lowering my gaze, I briefly wondered if I was dreaming. A man's arm encircled my waist. Unlike my flustered shock, my body moved cautiously. Because no matter how I thought about it, the only man who would enter this Grand Duke's bedroom and lie in the bed—moreover with an arm this solid—was Lesche Berke, my temporary husband.

I carefully turned my body.

'It really is him…'

Lesche truly slept behind me. With one arm wrapped around my waist, even. What kind of dream was this? I unconsciously placed my hand on Lesche's cheek, then belatedly snatched it away in alarm.

Really, truly Lesche.

"……."

I made the slightest sound. But Lesche didn't stir. I wished I could think this was a dream, but the face before me existed vividly. Dumbfounded, I stared at Lesche for a long while.

I wasn't even curious why I'd fallen asleep on the sofa yesterday but woken in the bed. Since I couldn't have crawled here in my sleep seeking a softer spot, presumably Masha or Lesche had moved me. That wasn't a big problem.

'Why is he sleeping holding me?'

He wasn't even properly covered with blankets. Had he been cold and held me while sleeping? No matter how I thought about it, that seemed the only reason. Though it didn't seem we'd done anything. My clothes were exactly as Masha had dressed me before I slept. Same for Lesche.

'And what's with these blankets?'

I couldn't understand why blankets were layered double only over my body. Who had made such atrocious distribution? After fiddling with the blankets, I sat up. After covering Lesche properly with the blankets I'd had, my gaze was stolen briefly by his face.

"……."

Certainly befitting the male lead… savagely handsome. A perfectly balanced face felt like something one could gaze at all day without tiring. Only with eyes closed, of course. Women who could stare directly into Lesche Berke's cold red eyes could be counted on one hand.

If only his gaze were a bit gentler. Or not. Then would too many women charge at him?

Thinking idle thoughts, I pulled the blanket up to Lesche's neck. The air in this Grand Duke's bedroom felt too cold.

'But why is his hand like that?'

I briefly noticed his bandaged hand, wondering if he'd injured it. Then, trying to slip away as carefully as possible without shaking the bed, I suddenly heard a voice.

"You stare at someone's face like that, then just leave?"

I startled so badly I nearly fainted. Turning back, Lesche was sitting up, lowering the blanket. The white blanket sliding down felt oddly suggestive somehow, making me avert my gaze, pretending not to notice.

"Why are you avoiding my eyes?"

"…I was looking for slippers."

"They'll be on the left below."

"What?"

'I thought they'd be by the sofa.'

I asked while slipping on the slippers. No matter how I thought about it, only Masha would have thoughtfully moved even the slippers under the bed.

"Did Masha move me to the bed?"

"I moved you."

"…Why?"

"Because you were curled up sleeping on the sofa."

"But… so Your Grace could rest comfortably."

"Or did you flee worried I might do something?"

My eyes flew wide. When someone hits the mark, momentary fluster follows. Heat even began rising to my face.

"I wondered, and it was exactly that."

"Well… why did you lick my cheek like that?"

"So I should watch the Grand Duchess freeze to death in my arms?"

"The sofa looked wide and comfortable."

Lesche clicked his tongue.

"You really see me as trash."

"What?"

Indignation flared instantly.

"Last time you said I saw you as a rake, now trash?"

"I'd make a perfectly fine wife sleep on the sofa as I sleep comfortably in the bed?"

"Temporary, aren't we?"

"Even if it's temporary or time-limited, not being something still isn't nothing."

After speaking in that firm voice, Lesche pressed the bed and asked something else.

"Was the bed cold?"

"Not particularly cold."

"Not cold? For someone who wasn't cold, you were earnestly clinging to my embrace while sleeping."

"……."

"Mm?"

"…Wasn't Your Grace cold, so you held me while sleeping?"

"I don't feel cold as much as you do."

Lesche answered simply and laughed as if understanding.

"So that's what you thought."

I stood up abruptly, pretending not to hear. Lesche tilted his chin.

"My lady. Seria. Seria Stern?"

"……."

Called repeatedly, my face—which had been heating gradually—now flushed completely. Being embarrassed about the misunderstanding was secondary; being completely caught at it felt mortifying. My cheeks burned. I fanned my face with my hands, frowning.

"Stop teasing me, Your Grace. More importantly, where did you injure your hand? Did you fight demonic beasts or something?"

Only then did Lesche look down at his hand. In all my time at Berke Castle, I'd never once seen bandages wrapped anywhere on Lesche Berke's body.

"No."

"Then?"

"Bumped into something."

Though Lesche answered lightly, his expression revealed the truth. He didn't want to discuss the injury further. I changed the subject appropriately.

"The bandage should be changed. Let's go down together, Your Grace."

"Shall we?"