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Chapter 61
Click.
Perhaps from being so exhausted from going out, Retricia had fallen into a deep sleep after dinner, unaware of the world. After laying her down in the bedroom, Killian quietly slipped out of the room.
From the dining room below, a warm yellow light still spilled out. Occasionally, bursts of laughter echoed through the space.
“Do you think we’re the only ones unchanged? Even back when he was young, Lord Justin has always been the same.”
“Hahaha, really?”
“No, I think he’s gotten even sillier with age. Though when he was younger, he seemed more serious. Why does he keep laughing like that?”
“You have to laugh, don’t you? Crying wouldn’t do any good. Besides, I came so late that I feel guilty facing my nephew. And yet, if I were to stand there with a face like I’m carrying the weight of the entire world, trying to be serious in front of him—no, I must laugh. Even I must laugh. Hahaha!”
Killian leaned against the hallway wall, listening to Justin’s laughter, filled with pity for his nephew.
The chatter and laughter that followed reminded him of the peaceful imperial palace of his childhood. It was a rare sense of calm he hadn’t felt in a long time.
“Sometimes, it’s not so bad to spend a noisy night like this.”
“Do you see it that way too, Sir Davis?”
“Yes. That’s how it looks.”
After a noisy night where Justin had said he’d only have one drink but ended up emptying an entire bottle, Killian raised an eyebrow when he came to Retricia’s room in the morning.
Through the window, Retricia and Mark were standing side by side, gazing outside.
Today, in her thin clothing, Retricia’s shoulder almost brushed against Mark’s. Their whispering looked incredibly intimate.
On the battlefield, Mark’s broad frame had seemed trustworthy enough to rely on.
But now, Killian couldn’t stand the sight of that same body.
Frowning so hard it made his blood rush to his forehead, Killian elegantly crossed the room on long legs, slipping his hand between their shoulders to create some space.
“What are you two looking at so intently this morning, my lady?”
“Oh! I didn’t realize you were here. Good morning, Killian. Welcome.”
“My lord.”
Retricia’s greeting was clear and innocent, making Killian feel embarrassed for his previous petty behavior. Mark, as usual, lowered his head in loyal acknowledgment.
Her sincere attitude, free of any malice, forced Killian into an unexpected moment of self-reflection.
‘Damn. That was childish. What am I even doing?’
Just as Killian moved to withdraw his hand, Retricia gently grabbed his index finger and, using his slender hand, pointed at the clock tower outside.
“Look, Killian. Hasn’t something changed?”
“…The minute hand has moved.”
Her fingers felt so warm against his that Killian’s reaction slowed. Even with gentle pressure, the sensation from her thumb and finger traveled all the way to his toes.
He could easily pull away if he wanted to—but he didn’t.
“See? How did the clock hands move? They said it was broken, didn’t they? Even the townspeople were surprised when they saw it.”
Perhaps because of being so close to Mark, Retricia’s voice had risen slightly. Indeed, the numbers the minute hand pointed to had changed. Since the fall of the Kingdom of Schuten, it had never happened before, so the surprise was understandable.
Killian had seen the clock move just once before his previous regression, but this was the first time he witnessed it in this life.
‘Could this be related to Retricia seeing the blue smoke?’
“Um, Killian.”
“…?”
“Can I… tell you something in private?”
Retricia had let go of his hand and cupped her hands around her mouth, standing on tiptoe. She seemed intent on sharing a secret that Mark wasn’t supposed to hear.
Noticing the height difference made it difficult, so Killian subtly bent his knees to help.
Her breath tickled his ear, and today, all his senses felt unusually sharp.
“Could the clock suddenly working be because of yesterday? Because of the strange smoke I saw?”
Unaware of the quiver in Killian’s Adam’s apple, Retricia pondered seriously.
Next to her, faint smoke from her wounds floated gently.
Gone was the hissing, poisonous snake-like smoke from before. Now it danced like soft grass in the wind, which was both irritating and fascinating.
“Ah… I see it again. Is this because of that?”
Retricia poked at the blue smoke swirling through her hair. The smoke dispersed with tiny pops, only to gather again near the ceiling.
After brushing against the chandelier, it drifted back down to hover around Retricia’s cheeks.
Though its intentions were unclear, the outward appearance suggested that this troublesome magic favored her. Retricia didn’t seem to mind it, either.
Justin had said the magic wouldn’t cause major issues, so it didn’t need to be removed.
Snap.
Killian, feeling mischievous, swatted at the smoke, disturbing it.
Even though it was inanimate, he didn’t like how boldly it had touched her.
“Well… I don’t really know either. Anyway…”
After sweeping Retricia’s hair to one side, Killian leaned closer.
“I heard you’re starting a new treatment today. Is that right?”
“Uh, yes… Uncle will help with it.”
As his voice brushed the soft hairs of her ear, Retricia’s ear tips turned red.
Killian had been annoyed at how sensitive his senses had become, but seeing her respond faithfully to every little gesture lifted his mood.
Seeing satisfaction in his wife’s teary face brought him a sense of fulfillment—he wasn’t the type to offer empty compliments, after all.
Still, not wanting to become a complete jerk, Killian withdrew before she could start crying.
The light brush of his lips against her peachy cheek was a small act of mischief toward Retricia, who had been searching for Mark in front of him since yesterday.
“Killian…!”
“Hm? What? Is there a problem?”
Because of Killian’s teasing, Retricia’s neck and hair turned a matching shade.
Ah, of course. His temperament was definitely twisted. Seeing her like that made him feel a wicked urge to bite the smooth line of her neck.
Amused by his own crooked thoughts, Killian fixed Retricia’s hair back in place.
“Retricia, as much as possible, don’t show your neck in front of me.”
“…? Lady Retricia, why are you covering your neck like that?”
“Yes. Isn’t it uncomfortable?”
Pirril and Justin, who had come for a consultation, looked curiously at her.
By the fireplace, the warm room had Retricia wearing indoor clothes pulled all the way up to her neck. Her hair was loose over it, leaving her neck completely hidden.
Seeing her struggle, Justin’s eyes gleamed as he held a hair tie.
“Do you want me to tie it for you? I’m good with knots! This is a knot useful in war—it never comes undone.”
“What nonsense, Lord Justin! Don’t teach anything terrible to Lady Retricia!”
Marsha hurried over, alarmed by Justin’s grim face. Even without her, Retricia would probably have refused.
Yesterday, she realized the distorted rabbit—or chick—doll Durra held was Justin’s handiwork.
She couldn’t trust him with her hair.
“I appreciate the offer, Uncle, but that’s enough.”
“Really? What a shame. I was confident I could make it look nice.”
Justin, the former second commander of the battlefield, looked disappointed at tying hair—a rare sight.
Retricia hesitated briefly, then clenched her hair with both hands, glancing at Killian reading papers in the corner.
Killian wore silver-framed glasses, perched loosely on his high nose only when reading documents.
Through the lenses and his silver hair, his sharp eyes made her swallow hard.
The warning in his gaze, telling her not to show her neck, was dizzying.
Recalling the dangerous atmosphere, she felt her neck goosebump. It was as if she were exposing herself in front of a wolf’s sharp fangs.
In the end, Retricia let her hair fall to cover her neck like a curtain.
“P-please do it next time. Today, I want my neck to feel empty… like this.”
