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Chapter 13
“So that’s why you didn’t even come to my sister’s funeral?”
“That’s right. They said they couldn’t find the body.”
Ivnia thought he had endured an incredibly foolish kind of anguish all this time.
From her perspective, the rules Ram trusted and followed so faithfully seemed to do him nothing but harm, with no benefit at all.
If he had simply gone to the Hesssen estate himself—if everyone had known what kind of person he was from the start, if the count and countess hadn’t hidden Emilia away and raised her in secret—then he would have already held a grand wedding by now.
And if that had happened, then I, too…
Forcing down the resentment that was rising for no reason, Ivnia replied as calmly as she could.
“Still, you could’ve just taken her in and raised her yourself. Then things wouldn’t have turned out like this.”
“Well, about that… hmm. That would’ve been a bit… awkward.”
“In what way?”
“Think about it. You’re telling someone to marry the man who raised her from infancy, changing her diapers and all, the moment she turns twenty. Would you do that?”
Ivnia was left speechless and closed her mouth.
It really was a chilling image.
If he had raised her until she came of age, he would have been no different from a parent—yet suddenly, just because she was older, they were supposed to start calling each other dear?
Reactions would differ depending on the person, of course, but objectively speaking, it wasn’t exactly a desirable situation.
When Ivnia frowned slightly, Ram smiled as if to say, See?
“I don’t want her to have to give anything up because of me.”
At his words, Ivnia felt as though her heart dropped straight into her stomach.
She couldn’t tell whether it was because his deep, profound love had struck her so directly—or because she felt uneasy about the unfortunate consequences that love had brought about.
“I wanted her to grow up smiling under kind parents, to make lots of friends, to study what she wanted to study… Leaving her hometown might be a little sad, sure, but if she ever missed her family, I could take her to see them anytime. If she could live a life with nothing to regret except not getting to enjoy dating other men, that would be enough.”
As he spoke, Ram wore the gentlest expression Ivnia had ever seen.
He looked happy enough simply imagining the dream he’d never been able to realize, and watching him made her involuntarily wonder what kind of face he would make if he ever truly achieved what he desired.
After staring at him blankly for a while, Ivnia spoke on impulse.
“What are you going to do now?”
Ram turned to her suddenly, like someone waking from a dream.
Lifting the whisk, he held out a bowl of cream whipped into firm, perfect peaks and asked,
“What, this perfectly whipped cream?”
“Not the cream I’m going to serve with dessert. I meant you, Sir Ram.”
At Ivnia’s blunt reply, Ram let out a small snort of laughter and set the whisk back down.
Then he said in an even, subdued voice,
“I’ll wait again.”
Even though he clearly understood what she meant, he’d brushed it off as a joke—perhaps to hide his sadness.
The smile gradually faded from his lips.
Turning his head away as if to conceal his expression, Ram gazed off into the distance and murmured once more,
“If I keep waiting, someday again…”
Instead of interrupting him, Ivnia held her breath, as still and unobtrusive as someone who wasn’t there at all.
It wasn’t that she had anything in particular she wanted to say to him.
If there was someone Ivnia wanted to talk to right now, it wasn’t the man in front of her, but the eccentric butler who was probably out in the hall polishing a suit of armor with great enthusiasm.
Inwardly, Ivnia allowed herself to laugh freely at Guillermo’s foolish plan.
See, Sir Guillermo? I told you so.
Sir Ram has no intention whatsoever of leaving even the smallest opening in his heart for another woman.
From this man, all I can ever receive is sympathy.
It’s not like I expected anything more—but having a feeling discarded before it even begins still feels strangely cruel.
Safely tucking those unspoken thoughts beneath her tongue, Ivnia finally voiced a predictable line of comfort.
But she meant it.
“You won’t have to wait long.”
Only then did Ram’s gaze return to her.
After looking at Ivnia with unreadable eyes, he suddenly reached out and ruffled her hair roughly at the crown of her head.
The touch was utterly plain and affectionate, like how one might treat a much younger sibling or a friend’s child.
With a look of approval, he said,
“Thanks for the comfort.”
She could feel the hair she’d carefully brushed becoming a mess, but Ivnia didn’t bother to complain.
Because she wasn’t comfortable enough with this man to fuss over her appearance, because her hairstyle wasn’t particularly important to her right now, because it had been far too long since she’d received such a gentle, affectionate touch…
There were more than enough excuses—and perhaps that was all she needed at the moment.
Leaving Ram as he was, Ivnia silently went back to the work she’d been doing.
“…Are you angry because I touched your hair without asking?”
“It’s fine. For now.”
“I see. So it’s not fine, then…”
It really was fine.
For now.
At least, for now.
“Sir Guillermo.”
“Yes, my bride.”
“I’m not a bride… and isn’t this something a knight shouldn’t be doing either?”
At Ivnia’s question, Guillermo turned to her with a puzzled expression, as if asking what she meant.
They were standing side by side in front of a large oven, waiting for the interior temperature to rise sufficiently.
Despite the fact that a hearth was something that only functioned with human hands tending it, they were quite literally doing nothing—just standing there, unmoving.
“Before I came into the kitchen, I thought there might be an oven here that worked by magic.”
“If necessary, one could be made. There would be a few trial-and-error stages, of course.”
“…Using magic still sounds much easier than lighting a fire with firewood. Is that not the case?”
“Oh, not at all. Magic requires meticulous control over both the amount and the form of mana. This, on the other hand, just works automatically as long as you tell it to.”
As he said that, Guillermo delicately pointed at someone with the tip of his finger.
Right on cue, the ‘this’ he was referring to stopped blowing life into the hearth and broke into a rough coughing fit. It seemed he’d inhaled ash mixed into the air.
Unable to endure the stinging smoke, the man repeatedly wiped the tears streaming down his cheeks with the back of his hand.
But the dust clinging to his gloves only made things worse—his tears and coughing refused to subside.
“Cough, hack, khk!”
“Sir Max, are you all right?”
“I-I’m fine, miss, I—”
“If you’re fine, then hurry up and finish stoking the fire. At this rate, that roast beef over there won’t make it into the oven until midnight.”
As he spoke, Guillermo poked Sir Max’s cheek repeatedly with a stylish staff of unknown origin.
It was a scene of exploitation so blatant it was painful to watch.
Ivnia desperately wanted to step in and say she’d do it herself, but if she did, Guillermo would undoubtedly start poking Sir Max again with that staff like he was kindling.
In fact, every time Ivnia had tried to help Sir Max, Guillermo had gradually escalated the severity of his scolding.
Calling him trash for being unable to light even a simple fire and forcing a lady to dirty her hands, and so on.
Though he’d lived clad in tattered armor, perhaps Sir Max still had some pride left.
The vague verbal abuse from Guillermo seemed even more painful to him than the very real smoke choking the air.
“I-I think the flames have stabilized now!”
“Tch. Go bring more of the firewood we split yesterday. Before the embers you worked so hard to save die out again.”
Sir Max, who had looked pleased as though he’d just been promoted, immediately slumped his shoulders again at Guillermo’s words.
As Ivnia watched his retreating back toward the storage shed with pity, Guillermo waited until he was sure they were alone.
Then, in a furtive motion, he pulled something out from inside his clothes.
Holding it out toward Ivnia as if urging her to take it, he said,
“Here. Take this.”
As he spoke, he carefully checked the door and the window once more, looking suspiciously like someone doing something he absolutely must not be caught doing.
It felt as though he were secretly siphoning off something important—like smuggling away a hidden treasure.
