🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter : 03
A Nocturne Ringing at Noon
It was inside a jolting carriage.
Though it was already winter, warm sunlight poured in and bathed the interior pleasantly. The chirping of birds sounded as close as if they were in a forest, and the fur coat draped halfway over her shoulders felt snug and comforting.
They had already been traveling for half a day without rest. Alferil turned her gaze aside to settle her queasy stomach. The air she breathed in through the open window was biting yet refreshing.
In contrast to the bright light, memories of last night grew faint yet vividly close, as though painted before her eyes.
“Alferil, marry my younger brother.”
Receiving those shocking words head-on, Alferil sat frozen in place.
Her trembling hands stilled, her blinking eyes widened. She could not even bring herself to judge the truth of what she had heard, remaining silent instead. Over her distorted expression rang out a clear laugh.
“Haha.”
Haha, ha. Hahahaha… The man laughed for quite some time, then made a face as if he himself were more surprised. His incomprehensible behavior left her mind blank.
“It’s a joke.”
After a few seconds of silence, Alferil began to laugh awkwardly along, and Leopold’s lips curved askew.
“Surely you didn’t think I was serious?”
“I—I…”
“No matter how much filthy blood might be mixed in him, pairing a heron’s son with a peasant woman would be troublesome. It’s absurd.”
As if he had never expected an answer, he continued speaking, leaving behind Alferil’s still-stiff expression. Soon, the man’s thick brows lowered faintly.
“But I do wonder whether marriage is really all that different from what I intend to ask of you. Living under one roof, facing each other, eating together.”
Isn’t that what life between husband and wife is like?
Leopold’s expression, as he spoke in a low voice, seemed oddly cold. It felt as though the air surrounding them had suddenly frozen over.
“I don’t quite understand what you mean.”
“There isn’t much you need to know. Just remember these two things.”
One…
And then, as if being chased out, Alferil left the duke’s residence and boarded a carriage swallowed by darkness. She could not fathom the intentions behind the lord’s decision to even send several thick bundles of money along with her luggage as she departed.
“One year. Prove your worth within that time.”
That low, gentle voice still seemed vividly clear in her ears.
Remembering the temperament of the man who once smashed apart a sturdy piano, Alferil thought it would be a blessing if she weren’t beaten to death on the very first day. As the carriage wheels rolled on, her sighs grew deeper.
Then, suddenly, Alferil frowned. By now, the destination should surely be just ahead, yet all around was nothing but hazy dampness. No matter how carefully she looked, her vision remained blurred—nothing but winter trees and a desolate plain.
The Saint-Caleum estate lay far to the west of the capital, isolated in the outskirts. A dreary fog enveloped only that area in a strangely unnatural way, making it impossible to see anything unless one drew close.
Unaware of this, Alferil was just about to knock on the window and ask whether this was truly the right place when—
Whoosh. Without any warning, the entrance to a massive mansion appeared before her eyes.
Her lips parted slightly as she took in the wide-open view. Even after traveling for quite some time more, the line of luxurious buildings seemed endless. It felt as though she were touring a small foreign palace.
The artificial lake, unfrozen even in December’s winter, was wide enough to float several large boats. The annexes, separate from the main building, were decorated as lavishly as the residence of any noble.
When the wheels finally stopped, Alferil got down without anyone escorting her. It was an unfamiliar, almost unheard-of experience for her, but she had no leisure to care about such trivialities now.
She was gazing from afar at the towering front gate of Saint-Caleum, which looked nearly ten times her height. Suddenly, a horse let out a piercing whinny, and the carriage she had just arrived in retreated rapidly back the way it came.
“Ah…!”
Leaving her startled cry behind, it hurried off into the pale fog, an unsettling sight.
Struck with fear at being left alone in such a desolate, unfamiliar place, she picked up the bag she had set down. With hurried, almost running steps, she headed for the doors of the main building.
Thump, thump, thump. She knocked several times on the round, oval-shaped door handle, but there was no response, no sign of anyone inside.
“Hello? Is anyone there? It’s Alferil!”
It was strange that not a single servant stood guard at the entrance of a mansion of this size. Creak—tired of the lack of response, she was about to step back when the door she had grabbed rattled and moved.
Her brows drew together. It isn’t locked?
Pulling the handle again with force, the grand door opened without resistance. Startled by the smooth motion, Alferil stepped back reflexively.
Inside, it was pitch-dark—she could see nothing. There was no crystal chandelier to match the exterior’s splendor, nor any softly glowing candles.
The windows were covered in jet-black curtains, and the cold marble floor lay barren, without a single carpet. After a moment’s hesitation, Alferil stepped inside, speaking in a small voice.
“Is… anyone here?”
Cough, cough. Dust piled up as if no one had lived here for years made her cough involuntarily. Unable to endure the stifling air, she walked to a window and yanked the curtain open.
Rustle, rustle. As light poured in, mice and insects hiding in the corners scurried back to their nests. The shocking sight froze her in place.
Her water-colored eyes swept up and down. The ceiling, as high as the sky, was so faded she could not guess its original color. When she pulled back all the obsessively packed curtains, the view revealed was pitiful.
Cobwebs. Dust. Dozens of empty liquor bottles rolling about. That was all there was in the vast interior, devoid of even a single piece of ordinary furniture. Was this mansion abandoned? Fear rose instinctively, and her dry lips parted.
Bang!
It was the very next moment. As if to deny her suspicion, a thunderous crash rang out, like something being smashed down. The sound of glass shattering in layers, of heavy objects being hurled aside.
An intruder? A thief? It was impossible to imagine someone actually living in a place like this. Narrowing her tense eyes, Alferil followed her instincts and ran up the stairs leading to the upper floor.
For a place so poorly maintained, it was needlessly vast. Catching her breath halfway down the second-floor corridor, Alferil recovered a fragment of her senses.
Should I have brought a dagger?
Her hand trembled at the horrific thought that followed unconsciously. She didn’t want her life to end in a place like this, and she hesitated there for a long moment.
Thud…
The silence broke, and a sound tickled her ears from the far end of the corridor. It wasn’t the impact noise she’d expected. With every nerve on edge, Alferil listened closely as the sound slowly seeped in.
It was the gentle music of piano keys being pressed.
Relieved, if only because the chance of encountering a thief had dropped dramatically, she let out a breath—but only briefly. Soon, as if possessed, her feet began to move of their own accord.
A quiet, sweet melody echoed, alluringly tugging at her legs.
Afraid it might break off, she walked without making even the smallest sound. Her steps stopped before an ivory-carved door. Pale sunlight leaked through the half-open gap.
Nocturne No. 2 by Cedric Sylvester—the pianist from Vietra, once a neighboring country and now an enemy locked in blades with them. A composer said to have lived an unfortunate life, swept up in countless wars.
In Triverar, this music was forbidden—to play it, to hear it, even to record it.
Paradoxically, its peaceful rhythm flowed with a subdued stillness. Andante cantabile—at a walking pace, as if singing.
It was a delicate, restrained performance. Alferil held her breath, drifting between the romantic night painted like a dream and reality.
Her own situation—having lost her home in an instant, wandering to an unfamiliar place. The Müller family she’d worried about on the carriage ride. None of it came to mind; she could not think. Only a wistful longing, faintly reflected within the sweet melody, weighed heavily on her chest.
Through the narrow gap in the door, she could see only the man’s blurred back. Without thinking, Alferil pushed the door that separated them open. Amid quietly surging emotions, she gazed at the broad back that seemed to draw nearer, then farther away.
A fleeting glimpse of his sharp jawline in profile, a faintly tilted smile. With solemn elegance, long fingers glided across the keys. Even if she were to flounder forever, unable to escape that illusion, it felt as though she wouldn’t mind.
Tap—the ending resonated, leaving a deep afterimage, so sudden she hadn’t even realized the piece was ending.
……
In the sweet silence that followed, Alferil suddenly came to her senses.
The source of the earlier crash had indeed been here—wooden fragments of a shattered chair were scattered messily across the floor. Only then did she hesitate.
And the man. Dark hair threaded with flashes of red light. A deep crimson that might be mistaken for black in darkness. Broad shoulders that stood out for a pianist.
Having finally grasped the situation, Alferil hurriedly withdrew the foot she’d placed over the threshold and stepped back. The unreal performance from moments ago lent weight to her sparse conjecture. So he must be…
“How was it?”
She held the breath she’d drawn in. His voice was low—so low it almost rumbled.
Alferil’s eyes blinked slowly. She knew she should answer, yet she couldn’t open her mouth. When no response came, the man’s large body turned.
Standing there dazed by the lingering resonance of the music, Alferil doubted her own vision as her view abruptly cleared. A crushing presence gradually swallowed up her trace.
Damp and heavy—
Like a torrential downpour still pouring, or the humid heat left behind after it had all ceased. She had never known that a single person’s gaze could hold all of that.
Slightly rippling blood-red hair, skin pale to the point of whiteness. A solid frame and tall stature. A straight, sharp nose like it had been carved from melted wax, dark shadows tilting across it.
Alferil forgot what she was about to say, her lips parting. He was alive, moving. So fantastical in appearance that even such an obvious fact felt strangely wondrous.
As if displeased with the flowing silence, his thick brows—drawn as if painted—creased faintly. Just hearing his spreading, languid bass made her ears throb.
“You heard it, didn’t you?”
