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Chapter 18
Denok turned and stared at the lone source of light in the room—a flickering candle. The wavering flame cast his profile in the hues of dusk.
With a soft exhale, the flame vanished, leaving the room cloaked in darkness.
Guided by moonlight, I stepped toward him and gently pressed my lips against his.
“……”
Kissing him no longer felt unfamiliar.
It had become a daily ritual, like a quiet ceremony.
At first, I could hardly breathe. But now, approaching him came more naturally.
And yet, everything beyond that—still felt foreign.
When our lips met more deeply, when his hand wrapped around my waist—
“……!”
I steadied my breath, fingers clutching the front of his shirt.
This time, a little longer.
I didn’t resist his deepening kiss. As his tongue met mine, I too slowly let my breath intertwine with his.
Though my waist trembled instinctively at the touch of his tongue brushing my tender inner lips,
he soothed me—his palm gently stroking my back.
Each time he did, my trembling lashes fluttered shut, swallowed by the warmth.
In this moment of shared breath,
I felt the quiet certainty of not being alone.
And so, the night deepened.
—
Denok slowly opened his eyes.
He was used to waking in the middle of the night to nightmares, but this time was different.
A soft, pliant warmth rested against his wrist.
He cautiously lowered his gaze—and found Edith nestled close to him, fast asleep.
“…Haah.”
A quiet sigh escaped him.
Across the bedding, she had shrugged off her covers, now clinging tightly to his arm.
Her breath was steady. Her face, peaceful.
She looked innocent, like a sleeping girl. But her attire—or lack thereof—was anything but innocent.
Her tousled hair brushed against his wrist, and he could feel the soft press of her body against his arm.
Denok bit down slightly on his lip.
*Perhaps I should turn away…*
But it was no use.
Even the smallest movement made Edith frown and hold onto him tighter.
His arm was now completely caught between warm, yielding curves.
“……”
It was probably because of the cold.
The blanket barely covered her, and the early morning air slipping through the window crevice was chillier than expected.
Instinct must have driven her toward warmth.
Denok managed to rationalize the situation as calmly as he could.
Silently, he pulled the blanket that had been resting on him and gently draped it over her.
From the nape of her neck to the tips of her toes, not a single inch of skin left exposed.
Only then did the tension in her brow finally ease.
Watching her, Denok’s lips twitched involuntarily.
A smile—long forgotten—tried to surface on his face, awkwardly creasing it.
He recalled the gleam in her blue eyes when she’d asked to see the documents earlier.
He had thought that tension or composure was all there was to her expression.
But innocence… oddly suited her too.
That face, like a child looking forward to a festival, lingered in his mind.
But just as quickly—
> “Denok, one day you’ll govern this land. And when that day comes, the people will cheer your name.”
>
> “Cherish the land. Be kind to the people. Always greet them with a smile.”
A voice—warmer than any other—echoed from the past and yanked his mood into a pit.
His mother, who had always smiled like a young girl whenever festival season drew near.
The wind slipping through the window sounded like a scream.
—
The next day, I followed Denok to the study after breakfast, hoping to find the materials his mother had left behind.
As the door opened, the scent of old books wafted through the air, sunlight pouring across the tidy room.
Without realizing it, my eyes lit up as I scanned the surroundings. Denok silently pointed toward the sofa.
“Please wait here for a moment.”
He busied himself at the bookshelves, pulling volumes out and flipping through them, until finally he returned and laid a stack of papers before me.
“Here they are.”
With a soft *thump*, the documents spread slightly across the table.
I blinked at the weight and volume of them.
“All of this…?”
“Yes. These are my mother’s notes regarding the festival.”
Though I’d never met her, I could tell just how meticulous she’d been.
I lifted my head to thank him—then paused.
… He looked tired.
Denok always wore the same unreadable expression, but today, the shadows beneath his eyes seemed darker than usual.
“Is something wrong?”
“Oh—no, not at all.”
He asked quietly as I glanced at him. I shook my head and lowered my gaze to the documents.
If there were anything truly wrong, he would’ve said so.
In moments like this, it was best not to pry.
I began flipping through the papers in silence.
The neat handwriting confirmed it—they were indeed about the festival.
Far more detailed than what Vernon had provided, and much more comprehensive.
> *“The Luminel flower has crimson petals and emits light at night. Its stems are flexible, and the roots have medicinal properties…”*
Intrigued by this new information, I traced a flower illustration with my fingers. That’s when I noticed something—
a few sheets in the stack had a distinctly different texture.
Slightly rougher and thicker—almost like art paper.
*This is…*
I carefully pulled out one of them—and my eyes widened.
“Wow…”
It was a painting.
A delicately rendered watercolor landscape.
In the midst of a twilight scene, laughing villagers and floral decorations filled the square in exquisite detail.
Even a child, tripping mid-run with a skewer in hand, caught in the moment before tears—everything was vivid, as if the festival were unfolding before my eyes.
And there was warmth. Whoever painted this had loved what they saw.
I couldn’t help but smile.
“Your mother was incredibly gifted at painting.”
“…Yes. She was.”
His voice dropped slightly.
“You can feel how much she cared for this land. Look—see how everyone’s smiling?”
I pointed to the joyful figures in the scene.
“…Yes. She always enjoyed preparing for the festival.”
The stiffness in his expression eased ever so slightly.
Noticing that, I carefully offered him a small smile.
One by one, I turned the pages, admiring the painted records.
Because the Luminel flowers glowed at night, the festival was usually held in the late evening.
> *“Some used the flowers to make garlands to hang, or wore them as hairpieces…”*
Their varied uses were surprisingly creative.
I continued to read through every note his mother had left, absorbing each detail—when Denok’s quiet voice interrupted.
“Do you enjoy festivals?”
“…Pardon?”
“You seem to be preparing with quite a bit of earnestness.”
Ah, maybe he found it odd.
Feeling a little shy, I lowered my gaze, absently rubbing the edge of a page.
“Well… this is actually my first time attending one. I guess I’m a little excited.”
Denok blinked at my response.
A flicker of surprise crossed his usually impassive face.
Which made sense—after all, even nobles often attended festivals as spectators.
“Then… perhaps you’ve always been uncomfortable in such settings?”
“No, not at all!”
I shook my head quickly.
“It’s just… my father never permitted social gatherings.”
“…I see.”
At my words, a slight crease formed between Denok’s brows.
