IACGD11

Chapter 11

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“You promised to tell me whenever Master does something bad. So I can scold him later.”

Clémen wiggled her finger and grinned, already delighted at the prospect.

“Now you’re teasing me—”
“Oh, and I told you the duchess’s illness name too. It was similar to what I knew. With medicine, she should recover quickly. Probably.”

Zephyrus’s anger faltered mid-breath. The layers of ice around him thinned slightly.

“…What? Really?”
“In the desert, it’s like catching a cold.”

For a young, healthy person, it might just cause a few coughs and be over. For someone frail, however, it could be fatal—a desert endemic disease.

Clémen had said it could be cured, but obtaining the medicine was no simple task. It required traveling to the lava fields at the desert’s edge. Many elders accepted death if infected by the cactus flower.

Yet with Clémen’s power, she could create an environment to cultivate the medicine.

Still, the troublesome old lady eventually returned to the sand.

“The exact details, the doctor will explain.”
“I see… I suppose so.”

Could she really recover?

The small hope that the duchess’s health might return softened Zephyrus’s previously stormy emotions.

In truth, Clémen seeing his mother was hardly a grave offense. Suddenly, all his strength drained, and he lowered his head. Yet his posture remained rigid, impressively so.

“But, Master…”

Clémen stepped closer. The closer she got, the more Zephyrus retreated.

“Say it from there.”

Their eyes met through tiny openings. Moist, tear-tinged eyes. A fear of someone approaching.

That’s different from me.

In the past, when people pushed her away, she had tried to push back, only to be avoided further—or even pelted with stones and chased away.

Being with this person brought back those old memories.

Someone who would remain trapped without help, someone who might blame themselves, like he seemed prone to do.

Should I cross the line or not?

She wet her lips with her tongue, thinking. The hesitation didn’t last long.

“Even if the duchess has recovered, would she still behave like this?”
“What?”
“You should face each other and talk, right?”
“Impossible.”
“I also say impossible.”

Her firm refusal was met with Clémen refusing to accept it.

“I want to go on picnics with my meal friend, eat out together.”
“Then make other friends.”
“No. Master is my only meal friend.”
“Then—”

Zephyrus began to speak, then turned his head.

Clémen, so close their noses almost touched, raised her brows and stared as if ready to devour him.

“Don’t you want to be like me?”
“…Like you?”

Perhaps Clémen carried a curse similar to his. Yet she was strong enough to travel from the distant desert to the north. Unlike him, who couldn’t step out of the room.

Clémen carefully placed her hand on Zephyrus’s shoulder.

“Do you think I was fine from the start?”
“….”

Zephyrus stared at her hand in silence for a long moment, then spoke.

“Could I…?”
“Honestly, I don’t know either.”
“I thought so…”
“But… have you tried?”

She smiled slyly at Zephyrus, who shook his head.

“Either way, Master, I’ll melt all your ice, right? That… ha, that thing! You know, the—”

She couldn’t remember the word, despite the mood she’d built.

“…Loss?”
“Yes, that!”
“There’s nothing to lose… hmm. Someone precious to you, right before my eyes… because of me…”

The words died unsaid. Zephyrus struggled to breathe, reliving a memory even as he spoke.

I could never truly understand what it feels like to lose someone precious because of myself.

But perhaps the pain would be even sharper than just losing someone. That much he could imagine.

So, he decided to offer the comfort he wished he could have given a friend.

And with a sudden, tight movement—

Zephyrus’s breath froze.

**

Clémen seeing Zephyrus’s mother had felt to him like a notice of death.

You brought an outsider, who just started work, to see my mother?

The culprit was obvious: Rosia, his cousin.

He guessed why she had taken Clémen.

To alleviate some worry about a duke who couldn’t fulfill his role, worried about his son. Her urgency implied his mother’s health was poor.

Anger surged.

It felt like she was telling him his mother’s final moments were near.

Like he would once again fail to accompany her on her last journey.

Trapped in a small room, powerless, losing someone precious—he despised that situation.

…No, that’s not it.

It wasn’t that.

He simply wanted to see her.

His mother.

Her smile, her warmth. If he couldn’t meet her, he hoped to live long and communicate through letters.

Yet even that small wish seemed stolen.

“How dare you.”

Why make him think his mother’s end was imminent?

And why…

“I told you the duchess’s illness name was similar to what I knew.”

Why give hope?

After hitting the depths of despair, a small path appeared before his eyes.

A tiny path. It felt like a breath of fresh air.

Ridiculous, how a single line could stir such feelings.

Clémen spoke to his slumped form.

“Even if the duchess has recovered, would she still behave like this?”

Her words, urging at least an attempt, caused his heart to clench.

You don’t want to be like me?

He did. He wanted to go outside. Tear away this suffocating cloth and meet the ones he loved.

He didn’t seek to hold hands or embrace, just… faces.

Even if only imagined, the faces of family he could finally see. That would be enough.

But how could he forget?

The frozen nanny’s hands, begging to be saved as their hands clasped.

His breathing grew shallow, his chest tight. His mind reeled.

This couldn’t happen—he’d freeze again.

“Master!”

Then it happened. A warm, almost burning heat touched him.

He snapped back to reality.

“W-what—”
“I heard a good friend helps when a friend is struggling.”

Her words came with the warmth of her body pressed against his.

Arms around his neck, hands patting his back. Heat penetrating through the thick cloth.

She embraced him. Zephyrus found himself fully in Clémen’s arms.

“So… this is comfort. I wanted someone to hold me when I struggled.”

Her low voice echoed in his ear. Her wandering arms traced his back. He feared pushing her away, lest he break the delicate spell. He knew his curse had little effect on her, yet still hesitated.

A second passed. Then a minute. Clémen remained unharmed.

Still warm. Still alive.

Relief flooded him. Yet being in someone’s arms felt suddenly awkward. He muttered something mischievous.

“So… who held you when you struggled?”
“Hm. No one.”

Her calm reply made him squeeze his eyes shut. Another misstep, yet a pang of pity arose.

Why, he couldn’t say. Only this was clear: he didn’t want to cry while being held. He wanted to hold.

“Ah, but I’m fine. I can hold myself—? What?”

How many tears had she shed to speak so calmly of never being comforted?

The depth of that pain hit him fully, compelling him to embrace her. He had no choice.

“I’m only comforting the you of that time.”
“I-it’s fine…”

Zephyrus stroked her back. Clémen twitched slightly, then a soft laugh escaped her.

“I see… comfort… it’s better than I imagined. Ah, and refreshing too.”

Clémen tightened her embrace. More body in contact.

“I… feel warm.”
“I’m glad.”

Zephyrus pressed his cheek against her laughing shoulder, closing his eyes.