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Chapter 72
The deputy commander signaled, and the knights lifted Gray.
“Take him to his quarters. Let him rest.”
“Yessir. Uh… what about this?”
A knight held up a basket that seemed to belong to Gray.
The deputy took it, lifted the cloth, and checked inside. His eyes went wide.
Suddenly, the whole incident started to make sense.
“Don’t tell me Gray and Miss Riana…?”
Inside were neat rows of heart-shaped palmier pies.
After sending the injured stablehand to the infirmary, the deputy interviewed the junior who’d witnessed everything. The junior, long fed up with his overly conservative, foul-mouthed senior, spilled it all—right down to how the man bought trash inventory from a feed company run by a relative at premium prices and split the profit.
The butler happened to be doing a big HR cleanup. The moment he was told, the stablehand was fired—and sued—at once.
“Next…”
With that handled, the deputy headed to Gray’s room.
Knock, knock.
No answer. He eased the door open.
“Gray, still sleeping?”
Through the crack he saw Gray lying neatly in bed. With his eyes closed, the usual menace was gone; he looked his age—almost boyish. The deputy thought of his kid brother back home and felt oddly tender. He stepped in quietly, planning to sit with him until he woke.
Click.
He tried to shut the door as softly as possible. It was a tiny sound.
But the bed creaked at once. Gray shot upright.
“Ah—did I wake you? Sorry.”
“Where’s that bastard?”
“Oh? After all that, you’re dropping honorifics with me now?”
Gray tried to spring up; the deputy pushed him back down.
“Even if you run out, you won’t find him. He’s not in the castle. He got the boot.”
“…Huh?”
When Gray blinked dumbly, the deputy perched on the windowsill.
“He was that kind of guy. Count yourself lucky—you picked the right target, so you dodged real trouble.”
“He started it—”
“I know. I heard the whole story.”
The deputy folded his arms, scratched the back of his head, rubbed his mouth with a fist, hesitated, then spoke.
“…So that was Lady Riana, wasn’t it?”
The one you said before—“someone I want to keep watching for a long time.”
Gray’s eyes changed the instant her name came up. That was answer enough.
“Knew it.”
“…”
“Do you love her?”
“Are you insane?”
“You’re the insane one—aiming at the Duke’s woman.”
“Who the hell is spreading that crap—!”
Gray crushed the linen blanket in his fists. The deputy shrugged.
“See? You do like her.”
He wouldn’t admit it—maybe he didn’t even realize it, or he was forcing himself to deny it.
Whatever the story was, the deputy just felt sorry for the kid. He’d seen plenty of Isolation Tower maids here—most of the memories ended with them going mad with love for the Duke and getting expelled.
Gray’s first love looked like it would be harsher than most. His future seemed obvious.
So the deputy patted his shoulder—only to get a look that said, what nonsense is this?
“…Ahem.”
He pulled his hand back and jerked his chin toward the nightstand. A basket sat there.
“I brought what she left you.”
“Oh—right!”
Gray jolted up and grabbed it.
His last memory of the basket was it dropping to the ground. A chill ran up his spine—what if it had broken?
He whipped off the cloth to check.
Luckily, the uniform little pastries were intact.
“Haa…”
First came a sigh of relief. Then an unconscious frown.
“What are these goofy shapes… Why do they feel familiar?”
His skull throbbed where the shovel had hit. Maybe that’s why his brain wouldn’t work. He groaned, pressed his temple, and shot a glare at the cause of his headache right beside him.
The deputy pretended not to notice and changed the subject with shameless ease.
“Goofy shapes? They’re hearts. You really don’t know?”
He reached in and plucked out a pie. Gray, clutching his sore neck, failed to stop him and just snatched at the air.
“Put that back—”
“Is this really from her?”
Ignoring Gray’s irritation, the deputy held the pie up to the light. The sugar-glazed surface sparkled.
“They’re called hearts because they’re shaped like one—the usual symbol of love.”
“Love…?”
Gray muttered, a little calmer. The deputy shrugged and pressed the pie into his hand.
“Well, palmiers are always made like this, so it might mean nothing.”
Gray stared at the small cookie in his palm, then answered:
“…It means nothing.”
It wasn’t prepared for him in the first place—and she didn’t bake it herself.
“Yeah? I see…”
The deputy scratched his forehead and straightened.
“Then rest till dinner. I know you’re tough, but that was a heavy blow.”
Gray glared coldly; the deputy backpedaled with a smile.
“…Want some milk to go with it?”
“Just get out.”
“Ha! Great idea.”
After the deputy left, Gray sat in the quiet room and stared at the cookie.
I’ve seen this before.
He’d held one in his hand like this once. He even felt like he already knew the taste.
He slowly raised it to his mouth.
Crunch.
The sugar shell and flaky layers shattered. The sweetness wrapped his tongue, soft as the voice that once brushed his ear.
No way.
“…Impossible.”
It couldn’t be.
But it felt like it was.
An impossible guess slammed into his heart.
“You know, I’ve been to Welsen too.”
“About eleven years ago…”
Damn—his head pounded. Gray lurched to his feet.
Eyes squeezed shut, he rewound his memories—back to the first moment… or what he’d thought was the first.
“I’m scared, but I’m not scared.”
Down in the dungeon—the first words she ever said to him.
Back then, Riana had clearly looked relieved when she saw him. Who looks like that at a stranger?
Could you have known me… even back then?
Another spike of pain hammered him. His knees weakened; he staggered, one hand bracing on the wall as he reached for the doorknob.
“What are you doing! Do you know how hard it is to pin up long hair neatly?”
Her voice from the morning.
Riana’s shout after he snatched her hat echoed clear as day. Close his eyes, and he saw that familiar scowl. He’d seen it so often he could hardly remember her face before it.
What did she look like before he took the hat?
What did she look like with the hat on?
He had to recall it. He rummaged through his mind, trying to piece together the fragments—but all he could see was the faint face of the person he’d met long ago in Welsen.
His first savior.
Back when everyone was waiting for him to starve to death, the only one who told him it was okay to eat.
“E-eat a lot.”
Those words sounded like “it’s okay to live one more day,” and he didn’t die that day.
He swallowed and digested even his resolve to end it all. He used it as fuel and survived to now.
If that was you…
If it really was you,
Could he keep their “promise” to the end?
The answer was clear: impossible.
But a drive stronger than guilt pushed him.
“While you’re in this castle, just keep this one rule.”
His promise with Riana—the vow he made that day: he wouldn’t love anyone.
“Do not fall in love. Ever.”
Go find a reason to break it. Go confirm it—now.
Click.
Gray turned the knob and flung the door open.
Then he ran—toward the same destination as always.
“You rotten jerk!”
Riana’s magic-charged fist slammed into the castle wall.
Thud, thud, thud.
Another dent appeared in the wall around Genevieve Castle’s backyard. There were already plenty of hollows to rest her head on.
“Gray, you scam artist. So you’re really not coming, huh?”
Their agreed lunch time had long, long passed.
Riana had chased away everyone who wandered into the backyard—even Allen—and hid herself to wait.
But until the sun started to tilt, Gray never showed.
