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chapter 40
Hah! Who would pay money to get hair like that?! Is that the latest trend at some sheep ranch or what?!
Oh yeah? You wanna get rammed straight on by the body of the great open plains?!
Yurian slammed her head straight into Tom’s torso. When she started thrashing, Tom didn’t back down either and grabbed at Yurian’s fluffy hair. The children tumbled across the dirt, rolling this way and that, locked together in a chaotic scuffle.
Then, suddenly, a thunderous shout crashed down on them.
“How dare a lowborn wretch lay hands on whose body?!”
“Eek!”
At the same time, Tom’s body lifted clean off the ground and was hurled aside.
The one who had shoved himself between them was none other than Billord. Tom screamed as he hit the dirt, but Billord didn’t spare him a glance. His attention was fixed solely on Yurian’s disheveled appearance.
Yurian hadn’t suffered any serious injuries, but from all the roughhousing, there were scratches here and there, shallow abrasions dotting her skin.
The moment Billord saw them, something in his eyes snapped.
“How dare you! Was it this hand that harmed the young lady?”
“Y-my hand! My hand!”
Ten-year-old Billord stomped down on the hand of seven-year-old Tom without hesitation.
This wasn’t an act meant merely to humiliate.
He was serious.
There was genuine killing intent in the way he moved against Tom.
Fortunately, knights who had heard the commotion rushed in and restrained Billord at once. Had the adults arrived any later, no one could say what might have happened.
“Yurian, I punished the one who bullied you!”
Yet Billord was never reprimanded for what he’d done.
On the contrary, he boasted proudly about protecting his younger sister, expecting praise.
Tom’s screams that day had been horrific—but they paled in comparison to Billord’s innocent, guileless expression.
Even fifteen years later, Yurian still remembered that day with perfect clarity.
Then why are you looking at me with that face?
Even the way his expression had hardened when she failed to react the way he wanted—
That chilling look.
* * *
“Ugh—wa…ter…”
Billord finally regained consciousness late in the morning, clutching his head as if it might split apart.
Nauseous and parched, half-asleep, he instinctively reached out, flailing through the air—until someone placed a cup of water into his hand.
Groaning, he drank and opened his eyes.
“Whoa—what the hell?! You scared me! What are you doing here?!”
The moment he spotted Yurian sitting quietly beside his bed, a chair pulled close, he nearly jumped out of his skin.
In the dim room, curtains drawn, her long hair hanging loose as she sat silently—it was eerie enough that Billord thought he’d seen a ghost.
“Don’t you remember?” she asked.
“Remember what?”
Her voice was colder than he’d ever heard it.
This wasn’t the annoyed tone she’d used after their unexpected reunion at the Grand Temple three years ago—the one he’d avoided because it was a hassle.
Billord instinctively realized she was angry and began racking his brain.
“What—why? What did I do?”
“If you’re awake, wipe the sleep from your eyes and come out. The High Priest is calling for you.”
“The High Priest? Why?”
Yurian didn’t answer. She only looked down at him with icy eyes before leaving the room alone.
Naturally, Billord beat his chest in frustration.
“What is it?! You have to tell me! And why isn’t this my room?! Why am I sleeping here?!”
No matter how much he shouted, there was no reply.
But a creeping sense of dread told him that if he dawdled, things would spiral completely out of control.
So he hurriedly shoved his arms into the neatly folded outer robe resting on the bedside table and rushed after Yurian—completely unaware that he had taken over her bed the night before.
* * *
“Have you sobered up?”
When Billord entered the High Priest’s office following Yurian, the man—already deep into his work—chuckled dryly and asked a question laced with subtle… no, outright reproach.
The other priests assisting him didn’t say a word, but they shot Billord sharp, pointed looks.
At that moment, only one thought filled Billord’s mind.
I’m screwed.
He remembered drinking out of stubbornness so he could write—but everything after that was a blank.
“Alcohol is strictly forbidden within the Grand Temple. I was told the holy knights explained this when you entered the living quarters. Did you forget?”
“Ah—well, um…”
For once, even Billord had no excuse.
He might be arrogant and lawless, but he cherished his family name to an extreme.
And yet here he was—the heir of the illustrious House of Baph—receiving the Grand Temple’s hospitality, only to get drunk and cause a scene?
What greater disgrace could there be?
When Billord couldn’t lift his head, the High Priest let out a loud sigh meant to be heard.
Then, wiping away his usual breezy expression, he scolded them with uncharacteristic severity.
“I understand that you’ve had many frustrations lately. However, that does not excuse breaking the rules. Furthermore, the alcohol stored in that warehouse is a vital resource for believers living in polar regions. I hope last night was worth that much.”
“I have no excuse,” Billord said in a voice barely above a whisper.
He promised to compensate for the alcohol he had consumed.
Though the wine was cheap temple stock—worth next to nothing compared to what House Baph had donated—being made to compensate at all was humiliating.
“Our own management was lax as well, so compensation will not be necessary. However, as punishment for breaking the rules, both of you will copy the Grand Temple’s living regulations ten times.”
“Punishment? What are we, children?!”
“At the very least, children don’t drink and cause disturbances.”
The High Priest told them he would inspect their work after returning from joint prayers and instructed them to write each word with care before leaving the office.
Billord stared at the closed door in despair, then scratched his head irritably and screamed internally.
Yurian, who had stood silently the entire time, glanced at him and walked over to a table in the corner of the reception room.
Soon, the quiet sound of scratching filled the air.
Billord’s mouth fell open.
“Wait—he definitely said ‘both of you’—”
“……”
“Hey! You!”
He hurried over and saw that Yurian was already copying the temple’s living rules.
Which meant—
She had stolen and drunk alcohol last night too.
And she’d had the nerve to look at him with contempt?
Billord clutched the back of his neck as his blood pressure spiked, overwhelmed by betrayal and shock.
“You—what kind of woman drinks alcohol anyway?!”
It wasn’t his place to say so, but Yurian didn’t snap back like usual.
She ignored him completely, as if he didn’t exist, focusing solely on her paper and pen.
Staring at her in disbelief, Billord eventually gave up and slumped into the chair across from her.
“So… did you eat anything this morning?”
“……”
“And why are your eyes so red? Hungover?”
“……”
“This won’t do. Your slave—what’s he doing while his master’s like this?”
“Don’t you dare mention Sol! Do you know who I—!”
Finally pushed too far by Billord’s constant jabs—now even dragging Sol into it—Yurian slammed her fist down on the table.
Billord blinked in shock, eyes wide like a startled rabbit. Maybe the alcohol hadn’t fully worn off, but today, he looked particularly pathetic.
That—That—That face! That infuriating look like he doesn’t know anything at all!
Yurian had drunk last night entirely because of Billord.
The crumpled note he had handed her.
And the many scraps of paper he hadn’t been able to give her.
When she picked up the wrinkled pages that spilled from his pocket and smoothed them out one by one, they were filled with his raw resentment toward her.
[Why didn’t you say you were framed? If you’d just said you were struggling—if you’d asked for help—then we would have—.]
[Why didn’t you contact us even once? If you’d asked for money, you wouldn’t have had to live so miserably.]
[You’re a terrible woman. If none of this had happened, you probably would have never shown yourself to us again. You made a mockery of our family. Why? Why?!]
No—there wasn’t only resentment.
There were questions about her choices, concern for the years she’d lived as a commoner, regret and faint guilt over the past misunderstandings—
And lingering beneath it all, a heavy, lukewarm affection.
