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Chapter 22
Creak. The rusted hinge groaned as the door opened.
Long overdue for a touch of oil, the hinge resembled the state of Baron Clement’s heart.
Baron Clement entered the bedroom, unable to hide his worried expression. In one hand, he carried a cup of tea prepared for his wife.
When he placed the teacup on the small tea table beside the bed, Baroness Clement slowly opened her mouth 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 reassuring words, the middle-aged couple’s expressions were far from bright.
“As I was preparing the tea, it really hit me—she’s not here anymore. I missed the way she used to grumble about having to drink ginger tea.”
The baron fell silent, unable to finish his sentence.
She was the first child he had ever held in his arms.
From infancy, Psyche rarely cried. Even as she grew older and approached adulthood, she never caused trouble.
And that was what broke his heart. It might’ve been easier if she’d been a little selfish—a daughter who begged for trendy dresses or pouted when things didn’t go her way. But Psyche always smiled and said she was fine.
That daughter had ultimately chosen to sacrifice herself and could no longer remain by their side.
“I failed Psyche.”
“Honey…”
“I hurt her. Burdened her with senseless responsibility. I should never have told her I wouldn’t pass on the family estate. I should have asked her what she wanted… and let her choose for herself.”
When the baron declared he wouldn’t pass on the family name to Psyche, it had been entirely for her sake.
He didn’t want the debts that had plagued him his whole life to be inherited by her.
Even if she never became rich, he wanted her to live free from financial entanglement. That kind of life was exhausting and crushed any sense of one’s potential.
To him, his daughter was more important than the family name.
“My love, even if you hadn’t said that, Psyche would never have given up the family estate. That’s the kind of child she is. It was… her choice.”
The baroness gently patted her husband’s rough hand to comfort him.
Eventually, the two quietly stared at a handwritten letter from Psyche.
—
[Father, Mother. Are you both well?
I’m doing fine. I won’t lie and say everything’s okay. You’d know if I was lying anyway.
But this is true—the Grand Duke, my fiancé, treats me with great care. And everyone in the ducal estate serves me as their mistress.]
—
“…Ah.”
A soft gasp escaped—neither of them could tell who it came from.
—
[This place is breathtakingly beautiful. The snow looks like it’s been finely shaved from ice. Sometimes, if I’m lucky, I get to see the aurora light up the sky in all colors.
I hope you both get a chance to see it someday.]
[…Father, Mother. You really are both doing well, right?]
—
Thump. Their hearts sank.
At first, the baron wondered if his heart condition was acting up again, but then he realized—it was the sorrow in Psyche’s words that struck so deeply.
He felt utterly powerless. As a father, he had failed to protect his daughter.
“…Psyche.”
He remembered the dimples in her cheeks when she smiled, the gentle curve of her eyes, the fine strands of hair that danced on her round forehead.
And he remembered the feel of her forehead under his hand when he softly patted her there.
She would puff up her cheeks with a pout, then burst into bright laughter.
“I can’t trust this letter. I need to see with my own eyes that Psyche is really doing well, my dear.”
The baron set the letter down carefully, as if making a decision.
—
A few days later, Psyche received a letter from the Clement estate, sent via the Sigurd Empire.
As usual, it was delivered by Marie. But unlike before, Marie asked her a question:
“Miss, shall I bring you parchment and a pen?”
Not long ago, Psyche had sent a letter to the Clement estate—a long-overdue reply to her father’s letter.
Remembering that, Marie was asking if Psyche wanted to respond again.
Psyche understood this was out of Marie’s concern.
She wanted Psyche to live here—not just survive with shallow breaths, but to truly live with vitality. Marie’s expression said it all.
“…Yes, please.”
After a moment of silence, Psyche nodded.
When Marie stepped out, Psyche slowly opened the letter.
The parchment felt rough beneath her fingers. Stroking the yellowed surface, she gave a faint laugh.
“Mother hated this stuff…”
She remembered her mother once exclaiming, ‘This is the worst parchment I’ve ever seen!’
In the end, her father had given in and bought the parchment her mother preferred. Though it wasn’t quite the high quality her mother used to have, he’d tried.
Recalling her father’s expression from that time, Psyche gave a bittersweet smile and began to read.
—
[I received your letter well, Psyche. I’m glad you’re spending dreamlike days in such a marvelous place.
But as your father, I worry constantly. I’ve heard the North is unbearably cold, and I’m afraid you might fall ill in such a place.]
—
Psyche let out a quiet sigh.
—
[Also, the distance between the duchy and the empire is vast—unbelievably so, even though we share the same sky. It tears my heart apart to think I cannot see you.
And lastly, though you said you are spending peaceful days with your fiancé, the Grand Duke… that too worries me.
They say he never shows himself to the public. I worry he may keep secrets even from you, his bride. I worry that you might feel lonely because of that… I worry about you every day.]
—
Apparently, her mother had left out some details.
Psyche’s engagement to the Grand Duke came with one condition: “She would not see his face for one year.”
Knowing how her father would react to that made her heart heavy.
—
[Even though it would take days of nonstop travel to reach you, and you are far beyond my easy reach… I want to see you. Your wishes come first, so please give me your answer.
Always loving you deeply,
Your father.]
—
As her fingers brushed the letter, Psyche’s hands froze.
Rubbing her thumb and forefinger together with a sigh, she finally folded the letter.
Not long after, Marie returned with parchment and a pen. But Psyche, holding the pen, couldn’t write a single word for a long time.
For a fleeting moment, she reflected on the days she had spent at the Grand Duke’s castle.
“…I have lived.”
She had tried to erase all emotion—joy, sorrow, tears.
But she had felt emotion more deeply than ever before. She had felt truly alive.
Ink trickled down the nib of the pen, soaking the parchment. Psyche stared at the ink-stained page, then slowly set the pen down.
—
—
Night fell once again.
Since that night, the Grand Duke had not visited her.
So it had been a long time since she sensed someone in the darkness.
From the hallway to the front of her room—the echo of footsteps was measured, familiar. Psyche could guess who it was from the rhythm alone.
Creak.
The door opened.
Creak, creak, creak.
The sound of footsteps pressing into the floor grew closer.
Even now, the steps were firm, without hesitation.
Sitting on the couch, Psyche looked into the endless darkness, waiting for the Grand Duke to come to her.
But even after some time, he did not approach. Only the echoing footsteps stopped, as if just beside her ear.
“You’re not asking who I am tonight.”
A soft, amused voice filled the air.
“I heard your footsteps.”
“You recognized me just by the way I walk?”
“Yes, and I also remember your scent, Your Grace.”
A quiet hum echoed from the shadows—surprised, perhaps intrigued.
“What kind of scent do I have?”
Psyche paused before answering. The Grand Duke’s scent was not something easily described. But she had always thought this about it:
“You smell like winter.”
“Winter?”
“Yes. Like flowers that bloom steadfastly through the cold.”
A scent that was lonely and cold.
And yet, refreshing and pure, like the air after summer heat fades.
Within it, the fragrance of blooming flowers—so vivid, it felt like real blossoms had been plucked.
Whenever she smelled it, the Grand Duke seemed even more unfamiliar. As if he came from a world entirely di
fferent from her own.
But the Grand Duke seemed amused by her impression.
His footsteps resumed.
Psyche spoke again, carefully forcing out the words she’d held in her throat.
“If you’ll permit it… I’d like to invite my family here.”
