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Chapter 9
“What’s this? Is she the woman the Commander brought in?”
When Rosalyn turned her head, she saw a knight with ash-gray hair slicked back stylishly. He looked more like a loafer than a soldier.
“Vice-Commander.”
Jimmy stepped forward, but the man addressed as Vice-Commander didn’t even glance at him.
‘That’s the Vice-Commander?’
Rosalyn had heard of him.
The only son of Count Dillon—Hugh Dillon, the very model of a wayward noble brat.
In other words: a delinquent.
‘He looks exactly like the report described…’
From his flashy hairstyle to the crooked smirk and slouched posture—he was trouble from head to toe.
Swaggering up to her, Hugh grabbed Rosalyn’s chin roughly.
“Well, your face is pretty enough.”
“……”
The line was so cliché it wasn’t even worth getting angry about.
‘Why on earth would Cassis keep a thug like this around?’
She was more puzzled than upset. Jimmy, however, was turning pale.
“Vice-Commander, you mustn’t—”
“What do you mean mustn’t? How do you know what I’m going to do?”
Hugh was arrogant to the core.
“They say you’re something special. That you’ve got the nobles’ weaknesses so firmly in hand that not even the highborn dare touch you.”
Rosalyn remained calm even as he picked a fight. Her mind was already flipping through information about Hugh and the Dillon family.
‘The Count’s weak point is…’
Perhaps it was her cool, detached expression that irritated him, because Hugh’s grip on her chin grew tighter.
“Ugh.”
“I can’t stand filth like you. Lowly commoners should learn their place and grovel like worms!”
Just then, Rosalyn caught sight of something over Hugh’s shoulder.
‘Oh…’
She smiled faintly—mockingly—at him.
“You dare laugh at me?”
Hugh shoved her away.
“Kyaaah!”
Rosalyn went flying like a paper doll and collapsed on the floor. Her sharp scream rang against the high ceiling, echoing through the hall.
Silence.
The shriek cut so deeply that even the knights in the distance froze where they stood.
And then—
Thud. Thud.
Heavy footsteps broke the hush.
“What are you doing?”
The low, cold voice carried across the hall. From beneath the massive banner at the central staircase, Cassis descended.
“Vice-Commander. I asked you what you were doing.”
His deep tone slashed through the silence, sharp enough that even the sound of swallowing would have been deafening.
Hugh faltered. “It’s nothing, sir. I was merely disciplining the criminal. I hardly pushed her that hard—”
“Hugh Dillon.”
The excuse was cut down like a blade.
‘Yes! The most righteous, most amazing Commander in the world!’
Rosalyn cheered inwardly, already forgetting the times she had cursed his inflexibility.
In truth, Hugh really was flustered.
‘Ever heard of a little something called a Hollywood performance?’
Rosalyn had spotted Cassis approaching and deliberately exaggerated her fall and scream. The result: the perfect scene of a knight brutalizing a defenseless woman.
Cassis’s icy voice rang out again.
“Do you have the authority?”
He had struck precisely at Hugh’s excuse. Only Cassis had been designated Rosalyn’s supervisor. Hugh’s actions amounted to overstepping his authority.
Grinding his teeth, Hugh muttered, “…No, sir.”
“Then you know better. Good.”
But Cassis’s demeanor was anything but forgiving. It was terrifyingly cold.
‘Well… I guess it’s nice when he’s on my side.’
Rosalyn allowed herself a private smirk. The enemy of her enemy was the perfect ally.
‘Guess it’s time I get up… my legs are starting to cramp.’
But as she tried to rise, a pair of boots appeared before her.
“Are you all right?”
Cassis had already reached her.
Rosalyn decided to play her part to the very end, lowering her gaze like a tragic heroine before lifting it slowly.
“I’m fi—”
Her words caught in her throat.
Because before her knelt Cassis, one knee on the ground, his hand extended to her.
‘What is this, some gallant knight rescuing a lady in distress?’
Well… he was a knight, and she had been in distress. Still, goosebumps prickled down her arms at the sheer cliché of it.
“I can get up by myself, real—ow!”
She tried to stand but grabbed her ankle.
“You’re injured?” Cassis’s voice sharpened.
“We’ll take you to the infirmary.”
“Kyaah!”
This time the scream was genuine—because she was suddenly swept up into the air.
Instinctively, Rosalyn clung to the nearest thing—Cassis’s neck.
“……”
His scent was startlingly close. Not perfume, but a sharp, clean, almost glacial fragrance. The kind one might imagine drifting across a frozen sea far in the north.
By the time she regained her senses, Cassis had already pushed through the infirmary doors with his shoulder.
“Commander? What happened—”
The medic froze, stunned. The sight of their Commander carrying a woman was unthinkable. Blood-soaked on a battlefield, maybe. But this? Never.
“She fell.”
The single phrase snapped the medic out of it.
“Right this way, please!”
Cassis laid Rosalyn on a bed.
“What happened?”
“The Vice-Commander threw her.”
“…The Vice-Commander?” The medic’s eyes darted in disbelief.
Rosalyn quickly pointed at her ankle. “It’s my ankle. It hurts, but it’s not serious—”
“She couldn’t even stand.”
His grim tone made her wince with guilt. That makes it sound like I’m badly hurt…
The medic lifted her skirt slightly and examined her ankle, gently turning it.
“Ow, ow!”
“It’s a sprain. You must have been in terrible pain.”
Actually… it hadn’t been that bad. But now, with the ankle twisted this way and that, it genuinely hurt.
Before she could complain, commotion erupted outside.
“Incoming patient! Gunshot wound!”
“What? Quickly, lay him down—Commander?!”
The knights froze at the sight of Cassis.
The medic hesitated. “Commander, I… I must attend to the critical patient. If it’s just a sprain—”
“Tend to the urgent one. I’ll handle this.”
“Forgive me, sir! Thank you!”
The medic rushed off, leaving Cassis to turn back to Rosalyn.
“Sit up.”
She obeyed. Cassis knelt, removed her shoe, and carefully lifted her foot onto his thigh.
His hands were steady as he bound a splint to her ankle with practiced skill.
“……”
It was only first aid, and yet Rosalyn’s heart felt strangely unsettled. She could feel the firmness of his thigh beneath her sole, making her toes twitch involuntarily.
Awkward, she tried to make conversation. “You’re very good at this.”
“On the battlefield, you can’t always wait for the medics.”
He’d learned this in war.
“How many years were you at the front?”
“Six.”
“The Beimar war lasted six years…” She counted on her fingers, then froze.
He had been there from start to finish. Six years.
“…That must have been hell.”
What words could possibly encompass all he’d endured?
“As an Imperial knight, it was my duty—”
Cassis stopped.
Their faces were suddenly close, barely a handspan apart. She had been leaning in to watch, and when he looked up, their gazes locked.
His eyes, always so cold, now looked like the depths of a quiet, endless sea.
Cassis broke the gaze first.
“…Don’t overstrain yourself. Rest here tonight.”
He turned sharply, his dark cape flaring behind him as he strode away.
Rosalyn, for once, couldn’t muster a complaint.
The medic returned shortly after. “Thankfully, it was just a graze. While you rest, I’ll bring you an ice pack for your ankle. Wait—do you have a fever?”
He frowned, wiping her sweat. Her face was flushed red.
“N-no! Just bring the ice pack!” Rosalyn stammered.
The medic persisted. “If you’re feverish, you must take medicine—”
“It’s not a fever, it’s just—blushing! Just blushing, that’s all!”
Her desperate protest echoed all the way down the infirmary hall.
