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chapter 41
For a moment, Macard’s breath caught.
“…What if I do that?”
The Duke slowly set down his glass.
He was always composed. Calm and straightforward, as if merely making a promise.
“If you bring her to me… no, to us, I will grant you the title of Marquis once our plan concludes. And along with it, land twice the size of the Kader territory.”
It was a breathtaking proposal.
Macard cautiously nodded.
“…I will follow your orders, Your Grace.”
“Good. I’ll be waiting. Now, leave.”
“Yes.”
Macard quietly withdrew, blending back into the crowd as if he had never been there.
Once he confirmed that no one was paying attention, the Duke turned his gaze back to Rinka.
To the woman who might become the “final piece” of his plan.
The ball had ended.
Laughter faded, countless glances vanished, and the lingering glow of golden chandeliers slipped into the darkness.
So exhausting…
It wasn’t like she had been meeting people constantly; she had barely been with Ananta. Yet, she felt utterly drained.
Inside the carriage of the Belzert Ducal House, Rinka leaned against the window, quietly observing the outside.
The night was endlessly quiet. But her mind was far from calm.
The luxurious folds of her dress pressed uncomfortably.
A mask adorned with golden decorations. Snickers and guarded tones hidden in every conversation.
Inside it all, Ananta was laughing calmly, with a familiar face. As if nothing had happened.
“You could see things like this anytime if you marry me.”
The words he had whispered in the banquet hall moments ago lingered in her ears.
Marriage… it was absurd.
Rinka quietly closed her eyes.
Strangely, his seemingly joking words kept tickling something deep within her heart.
“I’m not believing it’s sincere… but…”
She couldn’t help but think that maybe half of it might be true.
The Ananta she knew commanded a pirate ship—a ship full of skilled warriors and several magicians.
And his individual prowess was nothing short of incredible.
The memory of him drawing out fine threads of magic to cleanse monsters would never fade.
A man who casually steered the ship, made the crew laugh, and drank tea while watching the stars at night.
The captain who reassured her with gentle eyes even in a raging storm.
Yet now… he was someone exchanging greetings next to the Emperor.
“Is this really the same person?”
When alone with her, he was still the Ananta she knew, but in public, he was different.
Perhaps this public persona was the “real” Ananta.
Every time she sat beside him, her heart fluttered.
“My head hurts…”
“You okay?”
“…I wasn’t asking for an answer.”
Whenever she held his hand and walked beside him, it felt as if the world itself quieted.
Whatever else, it was clear why he needed Rinka.
But she had come from the sea, and she had to leave it behind.
A mere commoner, not a noble.
The dazzling ball, the hypocritical conversations, the gown—they were not her world.
“….”
Rinka drew a breath. Her fingertips trembled softly.
Where he was felt warm, comfortable, inviting. Yet at the same time, it was a world far removed from her own.
The person welcoming her as a guest was the “Duke of Belzert.” But the one stirring her heart was “Ananta.”
The two faces had yet to merge.
“I think it’s because he’s handsome…”
She couldn’t separate Ananta from the Duke, probably because of the occasional lonely expression he showed.
How long could she ignore that side?
Rinka knew she couldn’t.
Before she could resolve her thoughts, the carriage stopped.
Ananta got down first and reached out his hand toward Rinka.
“Tired, aren’t you?”
A low, gentle voice.
So familiar now that missing it even for a night felt strange.
Rinka didn’t answer but slowly took his hand.
It was still warm.
The same hand she knew from the sea—the captain’s hand.
A face twisted with pain appeared in her mind.
“When you’re here, even this kind of pain eases.”
Could she really send away someone who claimed he felt better with her presence?
It was Rinka who had yet to make up her mind.
At the main gate of the Ducal residence.
Rinka, hair casually tied up, had been lazily flipping through a magazine at a sunlit table when the servant’s urgent words made her look up.
“Someone is here to see you, Miss. His name is Macard Kader.”
Rinka’s heart skipped a beat.
“…Excuse me?”
“He says he’s an old acquaintance… the son of Count Kader, so we didn’t turn him away immediately.”
Rinka rose slowly, speechless.
This bastard had no sense of subtlety.
Or rather, he pretended not to.
Well, she couldn’t avoid it forever. Seeing him act like this, Macard Kader would keep pestering her.
Better to face it here if it was going to happen someday.
Inside the Duke’s drawing room.
Though the sun shone high, the mood was heavy.
Macard had already arrived, sitting neatly on an antique chair.
His brown hair was perfectly groomed, his outfit immaculate, and he carried the rich scent of expensive cologne.
“Truly acting like ‘Master Macard,’” Rinka thought.
As she opened the door, he raised a gentle, soft smile over his previously anguished, expressionless face.
Ugh.
How long would I be fooled by that face? Not a chance.
“…Rinka.”
He rose and approached cautiously, stopping a couple of steps away, as if afraid to get too close. His gaze was unwavering, locked solely on her.
“Sorry for the sudden intrusion. If I caused offense…”
“You did. State your business and leave.”
Rinka sat opposite him, unable to hide her vigilance.
Macard smiled faintly, as if he had anticipated this. He glanced briefly at the servant nearby, catching Rinka’s gaze.
Still the same, aware of those around him.
“I thought so. It’s too early for you to open your heart to me again, isn’t it?”
Stubborn nonsense. If one listened casually, it seemed as though something had happened between Rinka and him.
‘Ah.’
She realized he must have heard about her being engaged to the Duke.
So he wanted to act as if there had been some grand affair between them.
He straightened his back, slowly raising his hand to lightly press his shirt collar, exposing his neck.
Rinka instinctively frowned.
She immediately understood what he was hinting at.
Where his fingers touched…
Beneath them was a scar. A mark she had tried to heal but couldn’t properly treat when Macard woke and grabbed her shoulder in surprise.
“Remember, the scar remains. It haunts me every night.”
Macard’s expression was serious, tinged with the innocent earnestness of a boy from long ago.
Of course, it had no effect on Rinka.
Naturally. It hadn’t been long ago.
“Rinka, I’m asking. You can fix me… just like before.”
Rinka silently watched him. His gaze seemed so genuine that even she, who trusted him not at all, felt it might contain some truth.
She leaned back on the sofa and sighed.
‘What’s his purpose? He’s not the type to come all this way for nonsense.’
