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~Chapter 6~
“Did you really think my name was actually Crow?”
Shariette snapped, then quickly added,
“I know it doesn’t suit me.”
It was the name and surname given by her late mother.
But this kind of elegant name—something that sounded like it belonged to nobility—didn’t fit her at all.
Blanche had disliked it so much she’d given her a new name, “Shasha.”
Well, Blanche may have had a nasty temper, but she did have an eye for aesthetics.
Noxian clicked his tongue in mild disdain.
“Your sense of aesthetics is terrible.”
What did you just say?
When Shariette glared at him, he spoke in a casual voice, evaluating as if it was obvious.
“It’s a good name. Well-suited to you.”
…There he goes saying strange things again.
Shariette awkwardly looked away, avoiding his gaze.
“Anyway, Shariette. I’ll send someone tomorrow, so be ready. We’ll handle moving your belongings.”
Noxian spoke as he stood.
‘Miss Verdette’ would have been more polite, but seeing how she flinched every time he used her name made him want to keep saying it.
A day? A whole single day?!
Shariette’s eyes went wide.
She first needed to inform her regular customers that the shop was closing and business was ending.
She had to prepare extra medicine for those in long-term treatment, deliver scheduled supplies to pharmacies she traded with, organize her stock, and deal with the herbs she was currently growing.
And there were still dozens of other tasks!
“Are you joking?”
She snapped at the man who probably had never packed a bag himself in his life.
“I need at least a week.”
“Two days.”
“Five.”
“Three.”
Joseph, who had been silently watching the bargaining, kept his mouth shut tight.
The man who hated repeating himself had compromised several times already.
He must be in an awfully good mood.
Well, he had found a way to solve his chronic insomnia. No wonder.
That “you saved lives” line he’d thrown at her earlier had been true.
Most of his foul temper probably came from lack of sleep.
After agreeing on three days, Noxian noticed something and went to the window.
A bunch of lily-of-the-valley flowers stood there—not in a vase, but in a long laboratory flask, fitting for this unusual apothecary.
“By the way, your shop’s name is ‘Mayrily.’ Is there a reason?”
Shariette followed his gaze to the white flowers.
“I just named it that. Why?”
Noxian flicked one of the bell-shaped blooms as if expecting a sound.
“Just wondering about the coincidence.”
He opened and closed the hand that had touched the flowers.
I thought maybe…
Of course, there was no sound. The silence was proof that this was reality.
Intruder of the sanctuary.
You are a dreamer.
Noxian Rubellot’s power was Dreams.
Latium’s curse had stolen even that from him.
Dreamer, you will never dream again.
He had never loved that power, but he had never wanted it taken away either.
Shariette glanced between the white flowers and the black-haired man. His face had turned unexpectedly grim. She didn’t understand why flowers had anything to do with it, but…
“Well, I guess they do look like you.”
Noxian twitched and looked up, his smile cynical.
“Me? Not you?”
She had meant his hair in contrast to her own white hair.
Shariette crossed her arms and smirked.
“Those flowers are poisonous from petals to roots. A very pretty toxic plant.”
Just like someone I know.
Pfft!
As soon as they left Mayrily, Noxian let out a short laugh.
“A pretty poisonous plant. You have a sharp eye.”
He might despise it, but apparently, she still thought he was good-looking.
Thinking of the woman who flinched whenever their eyes met improved his mood.
From start to finish, she was an odd one. And amusing, too.
The funniest part was that she seemed to genuinely believe she could act “normal.”
Her teal eyes were full of wariness and fear when she looked at him, yet her actions were bold.
And her strange skill…
Noxian closed his eyes slowly, then opened them again.
Complete loss of consciousness.
Darkness sinking in like a miracle.
Waking without headaches, dizziness, or nausea.
How long had it been since he’d felt this?
The pain that had pressed on his head every day, as if carving out his brain, had eased.
For the first time since that day, the world felt clear.
Two years of searching for skilled doctors, apothecaries, even shamans—
and finally, he had results.
Good thing I came prepared, just in case.
He had no intention of letting her slip away.
“Shariette Verdette.”
The way her name rolled off his tongue was pleasing. He hadn’t lied about it being a good name.
Shasha.
The name popped into his mind naturally.
Shasha. Shariette.
Shasha had vanished from the Argen territory two years ago.
The White Crow had appeared in Willow Hill two years ago.
The age and build matched.
But everything else was different.
One had unevenly cut light blonde hair and gray eyes.
The other had wavy white hair and vivid teal eyes.
Aside from a certain meddlesome streak—maybe professional instinct—their personalities differed.
Shasha was expressionless and calm, like a quietly burning candle.
Shariette was a spark, darting around unpredictably.
Yet, in subtle ways, they overlapped.
In her movements, her gaze… even in the way she looked at him.
In Shariette’s voice, he could almost imagine one he’d never heard before—
[I will save you.]
If Shasha had a voice, perhaps it would have been that clear and bright, like the chime of a silver bell.
He remembered Shariette muttering complaints, guarding herself fiercely.
The way she silently mouthed words in frustration, tugging at her own hair.
The curious tilt of her head as she studied him, the quick steps of her walk.
His lips curved upward. The White Crow—true to her nickname.
What’s with him? Why does he keep smiling?
Joseph felt a chill down his spine seeing Noxian grin like that.
He recalled the unspoken rules of the Rubellot knights, Pendragon, regarding their lord:
-
If he has to repeat himself, you’re dead.
-
Speaking nicely doesn’t mean you’re safe.
-
If he’s smiling? You’re dead.
Noxian murmured pleasantly,
“I’ll have to keep her close. She’s clever—if she runs, it’ll be trouble.”
…Yes, dead indeed.
Joseph knew that nothing good ever came from their lord mentioning “run.”
After all, they’d been chasing one runaway woman for two years now.
If she’s not here, then where…
Is she even alive?
The words almost reached his throat, but his survival instinct forced him to swallow them.
Noxian Rubellot had never been gentle, but after falling into Argen’s trap three years ago, he’d become completely broken.
His obsession with “Shasha” was part of that.
My lord, we’ve searched everywhere, even put out a bounty, but for over a year, no one has seen even a strand of her hair. Can’t we just—
Just?
…You saw it yourself. Everyone in that underground place was—
Joseph never finished that sentence. He never would.
From that day, a new unspoken rule was added to the knights’ code:
-
Shasha is alive. Do not doubt it.
