🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter : 13
When Frisia lifted her head, Harts filled her golden gaze. Wrapped deeply in a black cloak, he would have been hard to recognize if not for his red eyes and voice. He caught her startled shoulders and gently straightened her posture.
“Why are your bangs wet?”
He spoke as naturally as he could so the sudden encounter wouldn’t feel awkward, but Frisia asked back with wide, startled rabbit-like eyes.
“Aren’t you busy?”
“I was.”
“Then how did you get here…?”
“I was so busy that I decided to take a short break.”
“All the way here?”
“Yes.”
Harts answered flatly and dryly, but inwardly he was tense, worried she might see through him.
Up until an hour earlier, he had been brooding in his study. After a full day of meetings and inspections, the house he returned to was unusually quiet. Normally, after dinner, Frisia would be out on a walk or sitting by the second-floor window—but today, she was nowhere to be seen.
Harts glanced briefly at the empty window and removed his uniform jacket. After a simple dinner, he went up to the study, where documents awaited him. Even though he only handled light paperwork—signing off on a few matters each day on his father’s behalf—the papers continued to pile up. On top of that were the studies he could not neglect as the duke’s heir.
He might have looked exhausted, but Harts sat down as if numb to it all. Scratch, scratch. Only the sound of his pen filled the room. A warm cup of herbal tea left by the butler sat beside him as he reviewed documents and signed them under the wavering lamplight.
One page, two pages… before he even reached five, Harts put the pen down. Leaning back into the large chair, he stared at the ceiling. He had told her to go to the night market to clear her head, but he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Given the possibility that someone might target her again at any moment, his anxiety was unavoidable. Had it really been the right decision to let her go out for her sake…? Should he have made her endure it a little longer instead? The same thoughts kept circling.
Even if she hated him, should he have kept her confined in the mansion? Or should he have told her the truth outright—would she have stayed quietly by his side then?
“You said you hate women?”
He recalled Frisia’s blunt question from the day they returned from the exhibition. He’d expected her to pick a fight over the engagement being announced without her consent, but her words had been unexpected.
It was a choice he’d made to protect her, so even if she disliked it, he would have announced the engagement anyway. Yet at some point, her grumbling, cute voice had grown rather endearing to him—even her quiet sighs.
She wouldn’t know that, the entire carriage ride home, he had deliberately stared out the window to hide the smile threatening to appear on his face.
Tap, tap, tap. Harts slowly drummed his fingers against the armrest.
“Should I have given Ron a heads-up…?”
The faint smile he’d been holding faded as he muttered to himself. Having stayed in contact with his father and heard everything that had happened, Harts had suspected Ron—until recently.
The suspicion began with the fact that Ron had been personally chosen by the princess as her escort knight. There had never been precedent for a princess selecting her own guard. Harts’s doubts were reasonable: perhaps Ron had deliberately drawn attention to himself to curry favor with her.
He had suspected Ron might be a spy for the new empress. Though that suspicion had eventually been cleared, Harts still hadn’t told him one crucial fact—just how dangerous Frisia’s situation truly was. Though Frisia herself didn’t seem to realize it, the new empress, Bloé, wanted Frisia dead more than anyone else.
There were many reasons for that, but chiefly because Frisia resembled Rocheline so closely—and because of Bloé’s own daughter, Vivian.
Duke Swietrad knew well the cruel, cold-hearted nature hidden behind Bloé’s innocent face. On the day Frisia was driven out of the imperial palace, the duke deliberately saw her off and assigned men to her.
He knew where she was headed and that Ron would be with her. But he feared that if multiple assassins sent by the empress followed her, Ron alone would not be enough. Once Frisia’s carriage left the palace, the duke went straight to the estate where Harts was staying.
“Harts, go to the princess.”
“Did something happen?”
“She left the palace today.”
“The palace?”
“It seems the new empress finally chased her out. Go yourself, inform her of the engagement, and bring her back.”
“…Ha.”
A dry laugh escaped Harts’s lips—not because he was glad to see his father after so long, but because Bloé’s audacity was absurd. Taking the empress’s seat the moment Rocheline died had already been outrageous enough.
Regardless of Rocheline’s reputation as a villainess, the nobles who opposed the new empress’s entry into the palace had been completely overruled by the emperor. And now, not long after ascending to empress, she had even expelled the empire’s only princess. In a way, she was impressive. Harts shook his head at the hyena-like nature of the woman.
It wasn’t until noon the following day that Harts rode out on horseback. When he arrived at Frisia’s estate with several subordinates, the house was already burning.
“Damn it!”
Without hesitation, he rushed into the flames—without even checking whether Frisia was inside. He didn’t waver. And that was how Harts saved her.
He had debated many times whether to tell her about the empress, but Frisia already seemed overwhelmed just by the engagement itself. He decided he couldn’t say it. As long as she stayed near him, she would be safe—or so he thought. Few would dare intrude upon the Swietrad family estate, the wealthiest in the empire.
Though Frisia didn’t notice, skilled swordsmen—Harts’s men—were hidden throughout the mansion. But even that couldn’t last forever. He couldn’t forbid her from going out indefinitely.
Frisia had begun to voice her dissatisfaction. She showed little interest in the gifts Harts prepared for her. When she begged to go to exhibitions, he thought she wanted to buy dresses in bulk—but that wasn’t it either. When Ron mentioned she liked pajamas, an image flashed through Harts’s mind.
He recalled how happy she’d looked during their brief outing together. Frisia’s radiant smile had seemed brighter than sunlight.
Maybe she didn’t want dresses—maybe she simply wanted to go out. Thinking she’d enjoy it, he sent her to the night market. And Harts felt uneasy.
Tap, tap, tap. Drumming the armrest once more, Harts abruptly stood up.
He ran to her.
Disguised beneath a black cloak so no one would recognize him, Harts searched for Frisia and spotted her among the fireflies. Even though she wasn’t wearing her usual glamorous dresses but a dark maid’s outfit, he found her instantly.
Could someone really smile that brightly? Frisia was smiling beautifully.
“She really loves being out,” Harts murmured with a smile.
Whenever he looked at her, a quiet chuckle escaped him without warning. He acted curt so she wouldn’t notice, but hiding his smile was difficult. He often bit down on one side of his lip to restrain it.
Even if Frisia mistook it for mockery, it couldn’t be helped. Showing affection first to a fiancée who disliked him felt like losing completely. Still, this unfamiliar emotion wasn’t unpleasant. After all, Frisia was his fiancée.
“Harts.”
“……”
“Harts!”
Watching people dance in circles around the fountain, Harts turned at Frisia’s call. He was surprised—she was calling him by name so naturally now. At first he thought it might have been a mistake, but twice was no accident. Why now?
His question was answered the moment he saw her face. Her cheeks, softly flushed with an apricot hue, said it all—she was excited, in high spirits. Harts let out another quiet chuckle.
“Harts, did you tell Ron you were coming here?”
“No. I didn’t say anything. Why?”
“No reason.”
Was that what they’d been whispering about earlier? He had briefly met Ron’s gaze while watching her, and though Harts had hurriedly gestured for him to keep quiet, Ron had whispered something to Frisia. Still curious and a little sulky, Frisia had furrowed her brow.
Harts looked at her bangs and asked,
“So—why are they wet?”
“Oh! I played a game.”
“What kind of game?”
“You have to grab an apple from the water using only your mouth… Pfft, I didn’t succeed even once, but it was fun.”
“Why couldn’t you do it?”
“What did you say?”
Frisia stopped laughing and glared at him in disbelief.
Do you have any idea how hard that game is?! This man has no clue!
She grabbed Harts’s sleeve and tugged him along.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
“I suddenly feel like eating an apple.”
“What?”
“If you get an apple in that game, you get to keep it.”
“……”
Ah. He’d accidentally provoked her competitive streak again. Harts followed her until they stopped in front of the basin filled with floating apples.
“Grandpa! One more round!”
Frisia handed a gold coin to the elderly stall owner.
“Oh my, miss~ You tried earlier too. Just how many times are you planning to play?”
“No need for change. This time, that man over there will do it.”
“Pardon?”
The old man looked at Harts. Harts quickly ruffled his hair to cover his eyes. People with jet-black hair and ruby-red eyes were exceedingly rare—one look could give him away. Being recognized here would cause all sorts of trouble.
“Oh my, you’ve brought that knight again.”
Thankfully, the stall owner’s eyesight seemed poor. To confuse Harts and Ron—two entirely different men—was fortunate. Harts glanced around; most people had gathered near the fountain, leaving this area relatively empty.
The only unsettling presence was Ron, watching from an awkward distance with intense curiosity, clearly desperate to see whether Harts would really play.
“Hoo…”
Harts sighed and looked at the apples submerged in water. One in particular was enormous—so large it looked like two fists put together, a vivid red.
Was this year’s harvest really that abundant? He turned to Frisia. She raised one eyebrow smugly, already wearing the expression of someone convinced of her victory.
“If I get the apple, what will you do for me?”
“I’ll grant you one wish.”
“Anything?”
“As long as it’s something I can do!”
“Fine.”
I’ll end this in one go.
Harts slightly lifted the hood of his cloak, took a breath, and plunged his face into the water. A moment later, he lifted his head.
Splash! Water scattered everywhere, and between his teeth was a massive apple. Spitting it into his hand, Harts looked at Frisia.
“Here.”
Frisia stared at him, eyes wide—then suddenly threw her arms up and screamed.
“Kyaaah! You did it! That’s amazing!!”
“……”
“Wow! You really did it! That apple’s huge! Harts! You know what? No one succeeded today—not even once! You’re first place!”
“…Ha.”
What was this, really? Clutching the apple from Harts’s hand, Frisia bounced up and down in excitement. Harts watched her, dazed. Her bangs were dripping wet, but he felt oddly refreshed.
It wasn’t because he’d gotten the apple.
He remembered the day he’d first seen Frisia—laughing and chatting with Ron in the imperial palace. The day his curiosity about her had first sparked.
Standing before that smiling face now filled Harts with joy. An overwhelming happiness flooded his chest. Even so, he bit down hard on his lips to hide the grin threatening to split his face.
Squeezing the water from her dripping bangs, Harts said,
“Now you have to do what I want.”
“You already decided?”
“Yes.”
“Alright, say it. I’m in a great mood right now—I might even grant you two wishes! Kyaahaha!”
Through her wet hair, Harts’s red eyes met Frisia’s laughter-filled gaze.
“Like me.”
