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Chapter 20
“Foam-like Heart”
“Do I really not need to help you?”
Enoch peeked his head through the newly restored door. Beneath him, Trish was also peeking in.
“Go catch up with each other. It’s been a while since you’ve seen her.”
Anastasia shrugged and waved lightly, telling them to go on.
“But…”
Trish hesitated, then slipped into the room.
“You want to help?”
“…Is that not allowed?”
Her green eyes sparkled. She was taller than Anastasia, but still clearly young.
“There’s no reason it wouldn’t be allowed. Then I’ll rely on you a bit.”
“Yes!”
She seemed genuinely happy just to be given a task. No wonder the border marquis had recommended her.
Anastasia sat back on the bed and watched as Artorius pulled an armchair beside her.
Coincidentally, Trish still hadn’t noticed him.
He had positioned himself just outside her field of view.
“Oh, m-miss! I brought refreshments for the lady—eep!”
It was understandable that she was startled.
She had seen him at the front gate, yes, but that had been from a distance.
More importantly, he was different from ordinary Saden knights.
There was something about his presence.
A strangely distorted aura, a finely crafted suit of armor, and the casual way he dragged an armchair to sit comfortably even before a noble lady.
And long black hair spilling from beneath a helmet that hid his face.
It was more accurate to call him a gaunt monster imitating a human form.
“Are you frightened by my appearance?”
Artorius asked quietly.
Trish froze at the sight of his faintly glowing blue eyes and barely managed a nod.
Unable to stand it, Anastasia lightly kicked his shin.
“Stop scaring her, Artorius.”
“…I did not intend to frighten her.”
From the doorway, Enoch stepped forward and gently patted Trish’s shoulder and back.
“That is disrespectful, Trish.”
Though his words were scolding, his eyes were not truly stern.
Both Anastasia and Artorius understood.
It would have been strange not to be startled.
“S-sorry…”
Trish bowed deeply toward Artorius, and the knight waved a hand dismissively.
“I am not offended. Help Anastasia with her packing.”
His speech was old-fashioned, almost archaic. He even casually stroked Anastasia’s hair.
For Trish, he was full of mysteries, but a smart maid does not question obvious strangeness.
She nodded and, freed from Enoch’s grasp, began carefully packing Anastasia’s few belongings.
“Ah, Enoch. About that… did you visit Esteban Horngel?”
“Yes. While the lady was out hunting yesterday. However, you did not bring back any game.”
It was a subtle question.
“Ah, the hunt was just an excuse… I went to the Brown Forest.”
Enoch’s expression stiffened briefly.
Anastasia did not notice, too busy removing Artorius’s fingers from her hair.
“…I see. The prepared clothes you mentioned were delivered today by Lord Horngel. They have not yet been unloaded from the carriage, but we will have them transferred to the royal carriage.”
“Good. Then Enoch, go pack as well.”
Enoch looked momentarily confused.
Him?
“Yes.”
“You, Trish, and I are leaving. You don’t want to stay here, do you? There won’t be anything interesting left behind.”
After a brief hesitation, the old butler lowered his head.
“Thank you for your consideration.”
It was a promise—she would take responsibility for everything that followed.
More precisely, she was offering him lifelong employment as her household steward.
If he followed her, it would mean breaking ties with the ducal house.
“You still haven’t repaid your debt from when you were young, Enoch.”
Anastasia shrugged and smiled.
Trish, glancing between her grandfather and Anastasia, carefully finished packing two large bags and brought them forward.
“I’m done, Lady!”
“Then go help Enoch pack too. And talk a bit. I’ll rest.”
With a small gesture, Trish’s face brightened.
She was like a flower in bloom—like grass swaying in a field.
Anastasia watched her cheerful expression, then turned her gaze to Enoch’s gentle eyes.
“…So that’s what a family is like.”
Warmth she was never allowed to have.
She bit her lip and pulled Sir Forlorn closer to the bed.
“We’ll take our leave!”
Trish clung to Enoch’s side and left the room.
Once they were gone, the room felt noticeably colder.
“Young and lively,” Artorius said with a faint smile.
“I suppose. She has something I don’t.”
Artorius’s blue gaze shifted from the door back to Anastasia.
She met his stare with a faint, stubborn expression.
A brief silence followed.
Artorius spoke first.
“She does have freckles you lack.”
Anastasia narrowed her eyes.
“That’s not what I meant, Artorius.”
“Family, then?”
That direct strike made her inhale sharply. She pressed her lips together, then gave a small nod.
“…Yes.”
After a moment, Artorius extended a hand and tapped his knee.
An invitation to sit.
“You’re treating me like a cat again, Artorius.”
She said it, but she was already getting up.
“I was not making you a cat. Rather, aren’t you the one using me as a chair?”
“So you plan to keep doing it.”
“…You are frighteningly perceptive.”
He lifted her easily by the waist and set her on his lap.
It was comfortable.
The armored chest of Artorius was strangely reassuring—more so than any cushioned sofa.
The yellow dress wrinkled slightly, but she didn’t care.
Dresses like this always felt like she was being turned into a doll.
“He accepted going to the palace rather easily.”
Artorius asked, stroking her hair.
“Well, what choice do I have? It’s a royal summons.”
“Didn’t you say you would devour the ducal house?”
At that, Anastasia turned sharply and placed a small hand on his chest.
Her gaze rose to meet his.
“Artorius.”
“…Yes?”
“Do you doubt me?”
The words struck like a blade.
Artorius froze.
It wasn’t fear of strength. He was not someone who feared power.
But now he could not move.
“I would never,” he said quietly.
Anastasia studied him for a moment, then loosened her grip.
“Good.”
She traced the edge of his helmet, then instead leaned forward and kissed it.
Artorius went silent.
The tension snapped.
“Stop freezing up like that.”
She smiled, tapping the spot she had kissed.
“Be normal, Artorius. You never used to be so careful with me.”
“…If I have offended you, I apologize.”
That was not the reaction she expected.
“Stop being so difficult.”
“Is it… acceptable?”
“When have I ever asked you for permission?”
“…I am sorry.”
He sounded like a large, anxious beast.
Anastasia stood up from his lap and straightened her hair.
“Enough. Carry my bags. It’s time to go. Truly.”
As she opened the door, Artorius followed with the two bags.
“All I did was waste a life…”
His thoughts drifted as he followed her.
A life locked away in a ruined castle, convincing himself it was for the good of all.
He had failed to accept the one solace offered to him, and instead drove a blade into that fragile girl.
A life full of regret.
“Anastasia.”
She turned.
Her hair shone like bright yellow flowers breaking sunlight.
“Yes?”
He hesitated.
“May I… continue treating you as I do now?”
A teasing smile spread across her face.
“You’re asking for permission now?”
It was playful, like a mischievous young lady.
“I don’t dislike it.”
Relief washed over him so deeply that Artorius set the bags down and gently pulled her into an embrace.
And once again, he stroked her small head.
