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Chapter 25
The day of the party.
Caron pulled out his pocket watch while waiting for El, who still hadn’t come downstairs.
It was about time to leave.
Then, the sound of heels descending the staircase echoed through the hall.
“El.”
Spotting her, Caron called out.
El, wearing a slightly awkward expression, gathered the hem of her dress once and spread it out with her hand as if in excuse.
“Strange, isn’t it? I’m still not used to these expensive things. But I did try—”
“Beautiful.”
“……”
Caron smiled so brightly his eyes curved and reached out his hand to her.
“The dress doesn’t even matter, compared to how beautiful you are.”
“Th-thank you.”
El took his hand, and with her other hand covered her face, which felt like it was about to burst. Thankfully, it didn’t—but her cheeks were burning hot.
“So, what about me?”
Caron teasingly leaned his face closer.
Honestly, Caron, dressed so impeccably, looked breathtaking—enough to make her forget to breathe.
It almost felt sinful to even touch him.
“You’ve always been beautiful, Caron.”
“Hah, I think this is the first time anyone has called me beautiful.”
“That can’t be true.”
“It really is, El. I’m actually moved.”
Naturally, Caron escorted her to the carriage.
Once the carriage door closed, El let out a soft sigh. At that small sound, Caron’s gaze fell on her—
more precisely, on her trembling, pale hands resting on her lap.
“Are you shaking that badly?”
“V-very much.”
El tried to answer calmly, but her voice trembled miserably.
There was no way she could stay calm—it was the first time she would stand before nobles.
She, once just “Number Eight,” a nameless orphan wandering the slums, was now Baroness El Olfné.
“El, your hands are cold.”
When Caron gently held her hand, the sudden warmth made her shoulders jump.
Every time she touched Caron, she couldn’t help but feel as though she were committing a sin—
like laying impure hands upon a sacred statue.
“Ah. I’m fine!”
“Wouldn’t it be better if you said you’re not fine? So I could keep holding your hand longer.”
As he spoke, Caron curved his lips into a captivating smile. In moments like this, he looked every bit the “Red Fox of the South”—
alluring, enchanting.
The curved eyes, the smooth, tempting smile—
El blurted without thinking:
“Everyone who sees you will fall in love with you, Caron.”
Or perhaps more accurately, worship him.
But El couldn’t tell the difference. She had never received love, nor given it.
“Fall for me? Who would?”
Caron replied cynically, shifting his gaze to the window, though he still held her hand.
His hand was large and warm, enough to ease her tension.
But just as she began to relax, the comforting hand slipped away.
“Anyone would, once they looked past the fear. Anyone would fall for Your Grace.”
“And you? What about you, El?”
“…Me?”
“Yes. You.”
“Well, to me, you’re my god… my savior.”
“Not that.”
“Then, what—”
“Have you fallen for me?”
Caron leaned forward slowly, meeting her eyes.
“M-maybe?”
“How dull.”
Flustered, El stammered, and Caron chuckled, leaning back against the seat again.
El felt as though her heart was pounding in her head—it was hard to stay sane.
Did Caron not realize how enticing he was?
That whenever he acted like this, she thought her heart might leap out of her chest?
That must be why he teased her so effortlessly.
“El. Don’t leave my side tonight.”
“I won’t.”
“And if anyone dares to harm you, remember what I taught you.”
“…You mean, kicking the groin, breaking ribs, or slashing eyes?”
“Yes.”
Caron looked quite satisfied with her reply.
“Surely no one would actually harm me at a party… maybe with words, but not otherwise.”
“El. Nobles are humans too. In truth, they’re not so different from the poor.”
“Even so—”
“Haven’t you sensed it yourself? In some ways, nobles are far more vicious. The fact that you’ve gained my favor and a title has already spread throughout the duchy.”
“…Yes.”
El had sensed it—Lady Emilen’s vile malice. She had tried to torment her in subtle ways.
And there were likely more such people in society.
“That means you’ve made plenty of enemies, whether you realize it or not. So I can’t guarantee no one will try to hurt you tonight.”
“And you, Your Grace…?”
“Who would dare to harm me? Only someone with a death wish.”
Caron answered coldly.
“No, I mean… how can you, a noble yourself, speak with such contempt for nobles?”
It had always puzzled her.
Caron, though a duke, often spoke scathingly about nobles.
And every time, El felt a strange kinship with him. Had he experienced something too, like she had?
“It’s not so different from you despising the poor while living among them.”
“Then… have nobles ever tried to attack you too, Your Grace?”
“Countless times.”
“And how did you endure it?”
“The same as you. It was a matter of survival.”
Whenever she asked about his past, he always responded defensively, never giving details.
Even her tutor avoided answering when she asked, which only proved something terrible must have happened.
“Can someone as high as a duke really worry about survival?”
“Yes.”
“Then—”
“El. Rest. The road is long.”
Caron cut her off and closed his eyes, as if unwilling to say more.
El stared at his handsome, sleeping face, wondering what kind of darkness made him avoid the subject so much.
“Wow…”
El’s mouth fell open at the sight of the mansion.
Of course, it was far smaller and simpler than Caron’s own estate, but it was the first time she had seen a house so lavishly decorated for an event.
It glittered, as though the entire world had turned into a different, shining realm.
“Your jaw will fall off. Close it.”
“Yes.”
At Caron’s words, El quickly shut her mouth and tried to compose her expression.
But she couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering over the mansion in wonder.
“The Duke of Fayros has arrived!”
At the herald’s cry, the doors to the hall opened. A hundred eyes instantly turned toward El and Caron.
“Uh…”
El instinctively tried to step back.
But—thud. Caron’s arm wrapped firmly around her waist. He leaned close to her ear and whispered softly:
“No matter what anyone says, you are the one I cherish most. Lift your head. Straighten your shoulders. They are all beneath you.”
“H-how can people be beneath other people…?”
“Just think that way. It makes it less frightening.”
Finishing his words, Caron raised his head confidently and led El forward.
Under the gaze of all, El entered the hall slowly, almost forcibly.
The hall was even more dazzling than the garden outside.
Four massive chandeliers hung overhead, each looking as if it might crash down at any moment.
“Your Grace! Thank you so much for coming.”
A viscount, likely the host, rushed forward to greet Caron.
With a cold, expressionless face, Caron inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.
El studied him in surprise.
The moment they had entered the party, his face had turned icy cold, radiating a chill sharp enough to cut.
Gone was the playful, capricious man she knew at the mansion.
Here, he was every inch the perfect noble—
proud, dignified, and imposing.
“And… is this perhaps…?”
“Yes. Let me introduce you. Baroness Olfné.”
At Caron’s introduction, nobles immediately gathered around, surrounding the two.
“Oh my, I’d heard she was a woman, and it’s true! How lovely.”
“Thank you, madam.”
El replied with the polite grace she had learned from her tutor, offering a light bow.
With Caron at her side, her nerves began to ease.
“You’re wearing the same color dress as His Grace! It suits you so well!”
“And your yellow jewelry suits you perfectly as well, madam. Is that perhaps the famous Song of the Canary?”
“Oh! You recognized it! Yes, it was a gift from my husband for our anniversary.”
“My, how fitting that name is.”
El was adapting surprisingly quickly.
Caron watched her chatting with noble ladies with an expression that seemed almost proud.
Nearby, nobles glanced between the duke and El, whispering.
“Your Grace, thanks to your support, the disaster recovery finished swiftly. We are most grateful.”
One of them, a trusted estate steward, spoke up first.
“It was in my duchy. No need for thanks.”
“Even so…”
The steward smiled warmly, and for a brief moment, Caron’s expression softened.
Seizing the moment, a young viscount hurriedly approached.
“Your Grace, so… what does Baroness Olfné do? She doesn’t seem to manage lands like us estate deputies…”
The viscount trailed off deliberately, glancing slyly at El.
Clearly, he was referring to the rumors already rampant throughout the duchy—
that the duke had taken a mere common girl as his favorite and even granted her a title.
And everyone could guess, without saying it aloud, how such a woman earned the duke’s favor.
Such as, for example… warming his bed at night.
To be continued in the next chapter.
