COARV Chapter 36

Setting the bedding down on the sofa, Lesche walked back over toward the bed.

There, on the Grand Duke's bed, Seria lay sleeping, just as before. He'd clearly laid her flat and tucked the blanket in properly before leaving earlier—but in the time since, Seria had curled herself up like a shrimp, and the blanket was rolled up in a tangle with her.

Lesche stared at her for a while, then walked over to the fireplace. He checked the fire, added wood until it was full, and only then straightened up.

Lesche pulled the blanket up to Seria's chin, then lowered it again. He hesitated a moment, gauging, then pulled it back up once more. In truth, he had no idea. How far a noble lady tended to pull the blanket up when she slept. It was only natural he wouldn't know.

No—to begin with, he didn't quite understand why he was curious about this at all. Lesche found his own behavior faintly absurd.

In any case….

"Goddamn, you're a handful."

The muttered words came with more genuine feeling than he'd intended. Seria, still asleep, frowned at the sound, as though it had bothered her. Lesche reflexively shut his mouth, then let out a short, disbelieving laugh at himself for it. What was he even doing. He stopped hovering around Seria like some dazed, addled boy and walked over to the sofa instead, lying down.

As the shadow had crept into Laurel Manor, the treasures once kept in the mansion had been moved to the main castle over the course of several years. But there were places that had been left entirely untouched. The second floor's belongings, for one. The Grand Duke's own bedroom was no different. A personal reluctance was the reason.

Thanks to that, the furniture had stayed exactly as it was. One couldn't decorate a Grand Duke's bedroom carelessly, so even the sofa sitting there was a masterpiece one could rightly call a work of art. The silk covering it was the finest quality; the gold-thread embroidery was a craftsman's work; and in size, it was more than generous enough for one grown man to sleep on comfortably.

So sleeping alone on this sofa shouldn't have been especially uncomfortable for Lesche. To begin with, he'd never once had anyone beside him when he slept.

And yet.

"……"

The sight of Seria, curled up asleep like that, grated on him. It also irritated him that the outdated, long-neglected fireplace failed to adequately warm the spacious bedroom. Linon's nagging surfaced right on cue as well—that His Highness was working Seria too hard, and what would he do if she collapsed?

She wouldn't freeze to death in her sleep—surely not, he thought. And yet. The image of Seria, nearly frozen unconscious on horseback during the ride to this green mansion, flickered through his mind.

Lesche let out a low sigh. If, truly, here at Laurel Manor—in the Grand Duke's own bed, no less—the Grand Duchess, 'provisional' as one side of this arrangement kept insisting, were to freeze to death in her sleep… It would be an unbearably troublesome, wretched mess. The instant that thought crossed his mind, Lesche got up from the sofa and sat down on the edge of the bed.

Before he knew it, the blanket Ben had come hurrying up with earlier had been layered neatly on top of Seria's body as well.

Lesche lay down lengthwise, out of habit. Since Seria happened to be lying facing his direction, her face naturally came into view.

A white forehead, full lips. Her eyelashes, spread long like a fan, were the same green as her hair. Her hair color really was an uncommon one. It called to mind the greenery of early summer—and, at the same time, the days when Laurel Manor had been renowned for its grandeur and beauty. Back then, the green mansion had felt endlessly like summer, whenever it caught the noon light.

"Mmh…."

Just then, Seria moved her arm. The blanket he'd only just pulled all the way up to her chin slid back down. Purely because it would be a problem if she froze to death, Lesche—having come all the way to this bed in the first place—bore something like an obligation to pull the blanket back up for her.

He did so without much thought. Seria's brow furrowed briefly, and then she pressed herself against him.

"……"

Lesche's eyes widened. His red eyes, edged with a flicker of surprise, took in Seria, now pressed close against him. It seemed her body, seeking out warmth, had unconsciously burrowed toward him. His hand, frozen still for a moment, brushed her hair gently aside.

The next day, early in the morning.

I woke feeling a slight scratchiness in my throat. The Grand Duke's bedroom was spacious, but there was only the one fireplace, so I'd been worried—and sure enough, the air still carried a chill.

But considering that, my sleeping spot hadn't actually been all that cold. Blinking my sleep-heavy eyes a few times, I realized, a beat late, that I could feel some weight around my waist. Feeling around, I found something with a firmness like nothing else on my own body.

What is this?

Looking down, I wondered, for a moment, whether I was dreaming. A man's arm was wrapped around my waist. Startled as I was, my body was cautious in a way that outpaced my alarm. Because, however I thought about it, the only man who could possibly be lying in this bed, in the Grand Duke's own bedroom—and with an arm this firm, no less—was Lesche Berke, my provisional husband.

Carefully, carefully, I turned my body.

It's really him….

Lesche really was asleep behind me. Even had one arm wrapped around my waist. No, what kind of dream was this, even? I reached out, without thinking, and rested a hand against Lesche's cheek—then, belatedly startled, pulled it back.

It really, truly was Lesche.

"……"

I made a very slight sound, just to test it. But Lesche didn't so much as stir. I'd have liked to be able to just call it a dream, but the face in front of me was unmistakably real. I sat there, thoroughly dumbfounded, staring at Lesche for a long while.

I didn't even wonder why I'd fallen asleep on the sofa last night and woken up in the bed. I hadn't crawled over in my sleep looking for somewhere softer—so it must have been Masha, or Lesche himself, who'd moved me. That wasn't much of a mystery, at least.

Why is he sleeping with his arms around me?

He wasn't even properly covered by the blanket. Had he been cold, and held onto me for warmth? However I thought about it, that seemed like the only explanation. It didn't seem like we'd done anything else, either. My clothes were exactly what Masha had dressed me in before I fell asleep. Lesche's were the same.

And what's with this blanket?

I couldn't understand why the blanket had been doubled up over me, specifically, like this. Just who was responsible for this outrageous, criminal blanket allocation. I fiddled with the blanket for a moment, then sat up. After tucking the blankets I'd been under back over Lesche properly, I found my gaze caught, for a moment, on his face.

"……"

Certainly, befitting a male lead…. He really was frighteningly handsome. His features, in perfect balance, felt like something you could look at all day without growing tired of it. Only while his eyes were closed, of course. There probably weren't many women who could count on one hand who'd manage to stare Lesche Berke's cold, red eyes down without flinching.

If only his gaze were a little gentler. Or maybe not. Would that just mean even more women charging at him?

I let my mind wander uselessly, pulling the blanket up to Lesche's chin. However I thought about it, the air in this Grand Duke's bedroom was simply too cold.

Why does his hand look like that, anyway?

My gaze caught, for a moment, on his bandaged hand—had he gotten hurt somehow? Then, trying my best to move carefully so as not to shake the bed, I began inching away—when a voice reached me, out of nowhere.

"Pick a man's face apart like that, then just leave?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Turning around, I found Lesche lowering the blanket and sitting up. The white blanket sliding off him felt strangely off, somehow, so I looked away, pretending not to have seen.

"Why are you avoiding my eyes?"

"…Looking for my slippers."

"They'll be on the lower left."

"What?"

I thought they'd be by the sofa.

I put my slippers on as I asked. However I thought about it, the only person meticulous enough to have moved my slippers all the way to under the bed for me had to be Masha.

"Did Masha move me to the bed?"

"I did."

"…Why?"

"You were curled up on the sofa, sleeping."

"No…. That was so Your Highness could sleep comfortably."

"Not because you ran off in case I tried something?"

For a moment, my eyes went wide. It's a general truth that when someone hits the nail exactly on the head, you panic for a second. My face even started heating up.

"Knew it."

"No…. Then why did you go and put your tongue on my cheek?"

"You'd rather I watch my Grand Duchess freeze to death in my arms?"

"The sofa looked plenty wide and comfortable."

Lesche clicked his tongue and said,

"Treating a person like out-and-out trash, aren't you."

"What?"

I felt instantly, thoroughly wronged.

"Last time I was a rake, now I'm garbage?"

"Making a perfectly good wife sleep on the sofa while telling me to sleep in the bed?"

"It's provisional, though?"

"Provisional or not, terminal or not, what's not is not."

Lesche said, his voice firm, pressing a hand down on the bed as he asked something else.

"Was the bed cold?"

"It wasn't that cold."

"Wasn't cold, was it. Funny, considering how you were clinging to me in your sleep."

"……"

"Hm?"

"…Your Highness wasn't cold and holding onto me?"

"I don't feel the cold the way you do."

Answering simply, Lesche let out a short, knowing laugh.

"So that's what you thought was going on."

I pretended not to have heard and shot to my feet. Lesche tilted his chin.

"My lady. Seria. Seria Stern?"

"……"

Hearing my name called twice in a row, my face, which had already been warming slowly, now went fully red. Setting aside how embarrassing the misunderstanding itself was, having it caught so completely was mortifying. My cheeks were burning. I fanned myself with one hand and frowned.

"Stop teasing me, Your Highness. More importantly, where did you hurt your hand? Did you get into a fight with a demonic beast or something?"

Only then did Lesche look down at his own hand. In all the time I'd spent at Berke's main castle, this was the first time I'd ever seen a bandage anywhere on Lesche Berke's body.

"No."

"Then what?"

"Bumped into something."

Lesche answered lightly, but I could tell from his expression. He didn't want to talk about it any further. I steered the conversation elsewhere, accordingly.

"We should change the bandage. Let's go down together, Your Highness."

"Maybe I will."