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Chapter 05.
The silence stretched on.
Cyril, leaning against the headboard of the bed with his arms crossed, spoke up irritably.
“What is it?”
“Can I come in?”
“…….”
A deflating sound came from Cyril’s mouth. Why would she ask if she could come in when she had already entered?
It was a question he couldn’t understand.
“You’re already in.”
“No, I’m here.”
The girl pointed at her own feet. Glancing down, it seemed she was standing on the threshold.
So she wanted to say she hadn’t “entered” yet. Something utterly unimaginable at the Palace.
Cyril remembered that anyone entering his room— even the Duke and Duchess themselves—had always asked permission before opening the door.
But in this case, it wasn’t the girl who opened the door; it was Jerome.
To be exact, he opened it to go out, so saying he “let her in” wouldn’t be quite right…
“Just come in.”
Taking that into account, Cyril allowed her entry.
The girl, who had been standing like a statue, finally stepped inside. Her fluttering steps looked surprisingly light.
‘She walks oddly…’
Cyril, captivated by each step, froze for a moment.
“…Why are you coming up?”
“To talk.”
The girl, who Cyril thought would stop at the threshold, tried to climb onto the bed. Startled, he asked why, and the answer was brazenly confident.
Cyril, dumbfounded, asked again.
“This is my room, isn’t it?”
“This is our house…”
Even so, perhaps realizing something was odd, she hesitated and stepped back down. Glancing outside, it was clear a maid was waiting.
“…….”
“…….”
Then silence fell again. Her eyes, shining blue, blinked slowly.
Normally, wouldn’t the visitor state their purpose first? Cyril thought with his clever mind, but the girl remained immovable.
“Why did you come?”
Finally. Unable to contain his frustration, Cyril asked again.
The girl drew out a thoughtful “Hmm….”
Her eyes lifted as if pondering deeply, and Cyril’s patience flew out the window. She comes here and then thinks about why she’s here? So why did you come, then?
“What’s your name?”
“What?”
“Your name. Don’t you know it?”
The girl slowly repeated the word as if treating Cyril like an idiot.
“N-a-m-e.”
Her clearly enunciated voice, strangely polite, annoyed Cyril.
“What do I need to know for?”
“You need to know to call me, right?”
“Why would you call me?”
“Because you’re in our house?”
Cyril had merely been teasing, yet the girl didn’t yield a word. Feeling like he was about to truly lose his mind, he shook his head.
“Cyril.”
“Cyril? That’s a really short name.”
“Cyril Valentin de Tezar.”
“Wow…long.”
Her sparkling eyes instantly dulled. Was my long name supposed to make her sad?
“…Just call me Cyril.”
“I will.”
Even as he thought that, Cyril suggested a plan, which the girl accepted without hesitation.
“What am I?”
“Adriana.”
“Oh.”
The girl made a short, impressed sound. Her already large eyes widened even more, and her mouth formed a perfect circle to match.
“Wrong.”
“What?”
Just as Cyril thought that was a little cute, her round features vanished.
The girl solemnly pressed her two index fingers together to make an X.
“I’m not Adriana. I’m Adrien.”
“…It’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not.”
For a child who rarely left the bed, reading was the only real activity.
Cyril, having started reading even before learning to walk, had a mind full of knowledge, enough to confidently believe Adriana and Adrien were the same name.
Yet the owner of the name stubbornly insisted otherwise with a needlessly serious expression.
Even if they’re different, it’s just a nickname…
Cyril entertained the thought but, not wanting to be manipulated, half-heartedly agreed.
“Cyril.”
“Yes?”
“I’m leaving.”
Out of nowhere, Adrien—who had just introduced herself—turned to leave as if she had completed her task.
Her fluttering figure vanished like a mirage.
Cyril, feeling slightly enchanted, thought:
‘She really is a strange kid.’
And thus, Adrien was defined as “strange” in Cyril’s eyes.
Three days had passed since Cyril came to the Cassinel estate for recuperation. Surprisingly, he was spending peaceful days.
His persistent cough remained, but overall, he was much better than before.
Most importantly, he slept well. Not a single seizure, and deep, restful sleep.
That was highly encouraging.
Perhaps for that reason, Cyril impulsively accepted the Count’s invitation to dine.
“Oh.”
Adrien, already seated at the round table, noticed Cyril and acknowledged him.
Cyril hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was acknowledgment, but either way, it was.
“If you have any preferred dishes, please let me know anytime.”
“Thank you.”
For a six-year-old, the words were serious and composed, and the reply was unusually calm.
Adrien glanced between her father and Cyril, then nodded.
Cyril, puzzled by the meaning of the gesture, turned his attention to the table instead.
Tarts topped with baked mushrooms and pumpkin, finely chopped and stewed meat for easier digestion, salmon cut into bite-sized portions for roasting…
The dishes were generally suitable for Cyril’s ease of eating. Perhaps the palace chef had given a hint.
Even meals brought to his room had always been tailored to his tastes. Feeling the careful consideration, Cyril quietly picked up his utensils.
Except for the occasional clinking of Adrien’s utensils, the meal passed in almost complete silence.
Slowly moving his hands, Cyril eventually stopped touching the food altogether.
Noticing this, Adrien nudged her father.
“Sir, doesn’t this suit his taste? If not, we can prepare other dishes immediately.”
The Count, who had been observing the situation, gently offered his opinion.
“No, it’s fine, I’m….”
Cyril shook his head and muttered, his pale face showing he was unwell.
Clenching his fists as if restraining himself, he suddenly rose from his seat.
“Ugh.”
But in turning abruptly, he vomited.
Jerome barely caught him from falling, though his lower body was already soaked.
After a long struggle, Cyril lifted his head, his face completely drained of color.
And then,
“…….”
His eyes met Adrien’s.
Staggering, he immediately ran.
“Assist the young master!”
The butler’s voice followed.
Adrien watched Cyril’s retreating form on the soiled floor. The golden eyes, trembling with fear, left a deep impression in Adrien’s mind.
Cyril’s familiar seizure began, triggered by vomiting. He lay on the bed, panting and gasping.
Jerome, having rushed over, handled the situation expertly.
All he did was administer medicine and massage Cyril’s limbs to prevent stiffness.
After a long while, Cyril’s trembling subsided. Jerome stayed by his side until he regained consciousness, then stepped aside.
Cyril hated showing his weakness to others, especially after displaying such a state before the Count and his daughter.
‘Why all of a sudden? Why again?’
As Jerome anticipated, Cyril struggled.
Adrien, who had widened her eyes in shock, stood before him.
‘I was fine before… why this time…?’
Recalling the mess on the clean floor made his head spin. Anyone witnessing it would be disgusted.
Cyril recalled similar situations from his younger years and his parents’ resigned sighs.
Hence, he had preferred to eat alone, to avoid anyone seeing his pitiful state.
And yet, why did he think he could have a meal with someone today…
Overcome with self-loathing, Cyril buried his face in the pillow.
‘I’ll have to say I want to eat alone from now on.’
Struggling to erase that image from his mind, he finally rose.
Even though there was no urgent need to say it, he felt compelled to convey it.
He chose to walk on his own, wanting to show at least a semblance of normalcy.
Though he had been weak at the Palace, at Cassinel he wanted even a single lapse to seem like a fluke.
“…….”
Dragging his heavy steps, Cyril opened the door and froze.
The small figure sitting there was the cause.
Red hair tumbled messily over a white dress, and the child curled herself up, head down.
Adrien.
Soon after, the maid who had appeared before, attending Adrien, stepped in.
“Uh.”
Sensing movement, Adrien slowly lifted her head and met Cyril’s gaze. A single word expressed delight.
But Cyril wasn’t in the mood to face her.
Just seeing her reminded him of his earlier mistake, enough to make him feel ashamed.
No matter how polite Cyril was, a child remained a child. He wasn’t mature enough to converse warmly with someone who saw him in a bad state.
“Cyril!”
Ignoring her, he stopped in his tracks.
Cyril, though not cruel, couldn’t just walk past.
Half-turned awkwardly, he stood there.
“Here.”
Suddenly, a small white hand appeared.
In the palm, something previously unseen rested: a strawberry, red with scattered yellow seeds.
Adrien, still seated, held up the hand with the fruit steadily.
Unable to meet her eyes, Cyril muttered,
“…You eat it.”
As he turned to leave, another hand appeared, this one holding a ripe pomegranate.
Cyril glanced down.
Adrien’s dress around her stomach was stained red—a result of carefully carrying the fruit.
“This is tasty.”
“…….”
“Really tasty.”
“…….”
“I didn’t eat it myself, but brought it…”
Red hair shone in the sunlight streaming through the window.
Hesitant, Cyril cautiously shifted his gaze.
Her endlessly innocent eyes seemed to silently ask, ‘Aren’t you going to eat it?’
“If you’re full, just eat one. You don’t have to eat both.”
“…….”
“It’s really good. I swear.”
Adrien reached out.
Watching her, Cyril moved his lips, feeling warmth in his throat. Despite having witnessed his earlier mess, and knowing he couldn’t possibly be hungry, her question felt sincere.
For a moment, it felt as if nothing bad had happened.
Cyril finally accepted the fruit.
Adrien didn’t look especially pleased, only watching silently before casually saying,
“My legs hurt.”
“…Then stand up.”
“My legs hurt so I can’t.”
Her awkward posture supported her claim.
So foolish… Cyril muttered but extended his hand. Adrien lightly grasped it.
Despite the sticky sweetness of the fruit on their hands, Cyril didn’t feel uncomfortable.
The strawberry smelled wonderfully fragrant, and the pomegranate looked very appetizing.
Cyril decided to just leave it at that.
