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Chapter 21
Creak—rusty hinges groaned as the door opened.
The hinges, long past their need for oil, resembled the state of Viscount Clement’s troubled heart.
He entered the bedroom, unable to hide the concern on his face. In one hand, he carried a tray with tea prepared for his wife.
As he placed the teacup on the small side table next to the bed, Viscountess Clement slowly began to speak.
“Honey, Psyche will be just fine. She’s your daughter, after all.”
“She’s your daughter too. That’s why she’ll be strong. But because she’s my daughter, I worry, my dear.”
Despite their hopeful words, the expressions on the couple’s faces were far from bright.
“While I was making tea, it really hit me that she’s no longer here. No one was there to grumble about drinking ginger tea like she used to… It felt so empty.”
He trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.
She had been the first child he had ever held in his arms.
Even as a baby, she rarely cried. As she grew older and reached adulthood, she never once caused trouble.
That was what made it all the more painful. If only she had acted like a selfish daughter, wanting things, complaining about not getting the latest fashion. But Psyche always just smiled and said she was fine.
That daughter—so selfless—ultimately made the choice to sacrifice herself and could no longer stay by their side.
“I made a mistake with Psyche.”
“My dear…”
“I wounded her heart and burdened her with a sense of responsibility she never asked for. I should never have said I wouldn’t pass the family title to her. I should’ve asked her what she truly wanted and let her choose for herself…”
When he told Psyche she wouldn’t inherit the family title, it had been entirely out of concern for her.
He didn’t want her to inherit the debts that had plagued him his entire life.
Even if she didn’t live in luxury, he had hoped she wouldn’t be tied down by money. That kind of life was exhausting—it made people unable to even recognize their own potential.
To him, his daughter was more important than the family name.
“She wouldn’t have given up on the family, no matter what you said. That’s the kind of child she is. This… this was her decision.”
His wife gently patted the back of his rough hand, offering comfort.
Eventually, the couple fell into a heavy silence, their eyes lingering on the handwritten letter from Psyche.
—
> Father, Mother—are you both well?
I’m doing okay. I won’t lie and say I’m fine. I know you’d both see right through me.
But this is the truth—His Grace, the Duke, has been extremely kind to me. Everyone in the Duke’s estate treats me with respect as their lady.
—
“Ah…”
A soft exclamation escaped—neither of them could tell who it came from.
—
> This place is unbelievably beautiful. The snow looks like finely shaved ice. If I’m lucky, I get to see the aurora painting the sky in multicolored waves. I hope you both get to witness it someday, if the chance comes.
…Father, Mother, you’re both doing well, right?
—
Thump. His heart felt like it dropped.
At first, he thought it was just the heart disease tightening its grip again, but he quickly realized it was the ache caused by his daughter’s longing.
He felt useless. A father unable to protect his own daughter.
“…Psyche.”
The dimples that appeared when she smiled, the way her eyes curved so softly, the baby hairs that fluttered over her round forehead.
He remembered the way he used to gently smooth her forehead when she smiled.
Psyche would puff her cheeks in a pout and then burst into a bright, sunny smile.
“I just… I can’t believe this letter. I have to see with my own eyes whether she’s truly doing well, my dear.”
He carefully set the letter down and spoke as if making a decision.
A few days later, Psyche received a letter from the Cigard Empire.
As usual, Marie brought it to her. The sender was Viscount Clement.
This time, however, Marie asked something unusual.
“Miss, shall I bring you pen and parchment?”
Psyche had recently written a letter back to the Clement estate—a reply long overdue to her father’s previous letters.
Marie seemed to remember that. She was asking whether Psyche would be replying again.
Psyche knew the question came from a place of concern.
Marie wanted her to live—not just survive, barely clinging to life—but to truly live with vitality. That’s what her expression said.
“…Would you?”
After a moment of silence, Psyche nodded.
Once Marie left, Psyche slowly picked up the letter and opened it.
The parchment felt rough to the touch. She smirked as she ran her fingers over its yellowed surface.
“Mother hated this kind of parchment…”
She recalled her mother’s voice saying, “This is the worst parchment I’ve ever seen!”
In the end, her father had lost that battle and given in, buying her mother the kind she preferred.
Though even then, it hadn’t been as high quality as the one she used to have.
Thinking of his face back then, Psyche smiled bitterly and began to read. The letter was, of course, from her father.
—
> I received your letter, Psyche. It comforts me to know you’re living dreamlike days in such a beautiful place.
But as your father, I still worry. I’ve heard the North is terribly cold. I worry you might fall ill in such a place.
—
Psyche let out a soft sigh.
—
> Also, it pains me to think that the Grand Duchy and our Empire are so far apart. It hurts more each time I realize I can’t see you—even though we share the same sky.
Lastly, you said you’re spending peaceful days with the Duke. But even that worries me.
I’ve heard he doesn’t show his face in public. I wonder if he’s even revealed it to you, his bride-to-be… I worry that you’re lonely because of it.
—
It seemed her mother hadn’t told him the full story.
The condition of Psyche’s engagement had been: “You cannot see the Duke’s face for one year.”
Knowing how her father would react to that made her feel stifled.
—
> Though the distance between us is vast—impossibly far even if I rode without rest—still, I want to come see you. But your feelings matter most, so let me know.
With love, always—your father.
—
Psyche froze, her hand still resting on the parchment.
She rubbed her fingers together and let out a sigh, then closed the letter.
Soon, Marie returned with parchment and a pen so Psyche could reply. But even with the pen in hand, she couldn’t write a single word.
She sat there, thinking about the time she had spent in the Grand Duke’s estate.
…I’ve lived well.
Joy, sorrow, tears—
She had thought she would live by erasing all emotion.
But the truth was, she had felt more deeply than ever before. She had truly felt what it meant to be alive.
Ink flowed from the pen, soaking the parchment. Staring at the splotchy stains like a spilled bottle, Psyche quietly set the pen down.
—
—
Night fell as always.
Since that one time, the Duke had stopped visiting her at night.
So it had been a long time since she sensed someone in the dark.
From the hallway to the door—steady footsteps echoed. From their rhythm, Psyche could tell who it was.
Creak.
The door opened.
Creak, creak, creak.
The sound of weighted steps pressing on the floor grew closer.
Still, there was no hesitation. No wavering.
Seated on the couch, Psyche stared into the endless darkness. She waited for the Duke to approach.
But even after some time, he didn’t come closer. Only the sound of his footsteps—like a ringing in her ears—had stopped.
“You’re not going to ask who it is tonight?”
A soft voice, laced with amusement, echoed in the dark.
“I heard your footsteps.”
“You recognized me by my steps?”
“Yes. And I also remember your scent.”
From the darkness, a quiet murmur came, surprised.
“What scent do I carry?”
She paused. It was difficult to describe with just one word. But she could at least express her feelings.
“It smells like winter.”
“Winter?”
“Yes… like flowers that bloom stubbornly, even in the midst of cold.”
A lonely, chilly fragrance.
Yet it also felt cool and fresh—like clear air after the heat fades.
There was a hint of floral sweetness so vivid, it felt like freshly picked blooms.
Whenever she smelled it, the Duke felt even more unfamiliar. Like someone from
a completely different world.
But contrary to Psyche’s solemn reflection, the Duke seemed intrigued by her words.
His halted footsteps resumed.
Psyche continued, her voice slightly shaky.
“If you’ll allow it… I’d like to bring my family here.”
