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“……”
In that instant, something carried by a sudden gust of wind poked her right in the chest. The emotion that should have come bursting out was irritation, displeasure, maybe even a curse—but instead, it was an inexplicable fluttering in her heart. Why wasn’t she afraid or uncomfortable around this man? Why was her breath catching in her throat?
“Y-you should put this on.”
Ivela grabbed the shawl lying nearby and tossed it at the man. It flew straight and landed perfectly, covering both his face and the apple in his hand. Chuckle, chuckle. The shawl began to shake as if he was laughing beneath it. Flustered, Ivela snatched up the man’s shirt and coat and dashed into the bathroom as if fleeing.
“What a strange man…”
Muttering to herself, she quickly dried her body and changed clothes. She brushed off the dirt on his clothes, wrung out the water, and stepped back into the drawing room. She tilted her head slightly at the warmth that now filled the room.
“You’re back? Come sit here.”
The man had already moved two chairs in front of the fireplace and gestured toward her with a nod. Inside the fireplace, the firewood he had lit was blazing brightly.
He sure is good at doing things no one asked him to do.
Ivela grumbled inwardly as she spread his clothes by the fire to dry and sat down on one of the chairs. The man also sat on the chair next to hers, draping the shawl she had given him over his upper body. It covered his bare torso, but since it was too short for him, the result looked rather ridiculous.
Ivela swallowed a laugh and asked,
“What do you do?”
“Traveler. And you?”
He gave a brief answer and tossed the question back to her. Their conversation had followed this pattern from the beginning—whenever she asked something, he answered and then immediately asked the same in return.
“I just… do a bit of this and that.”
She dodged the question vaguely. She couldn’t reveal her true identity while dressed as a commoner. Besides, there was no need to explain her hidden circumstances to a passing traveler. After all, they were only exchanging polite questions; neither of them was truly interested in the other.
Fortunately, the man simply nodded and didn’t pry further. Instead, he stretched out his long legs and leaned his head back against the chair.
“You look tired,” Ivela remarked, astonished at how at ease he looked, as if he were at home.
This man, whom she had only met today—and who had gotten involved in a situation because of her—was shameless and cunning.
“I haven’t slept for days,” he replied.
“Lots to see during your travels, I guess?”
“That’s not it…”
He turned his eyes toward her without moving his head.
“I was thinking about how to catch a cat.”
“That’s unfortunate. You must really like cats to be that worried.”
“It’s fine. I’ll be seeing it often from now on.”
He smiled softly and turned his gaze back to the fire. Unlike earlier, when he’d teased her while chewing his apple, he now looked relaxed and gentle.
He really is a strange man.
Seeing him close his eyes and drift into sleep so peacefully, Ivela couldn’t bring herself to disturb him. Outside, raindrops continued to drum against the roof and windows, creating their own kind of music. Her body, still damp, grew heavy, and the flickering fire slowly melted away her tension. Surrounded by warmth, her mind and body began to relax. Gazing at the flames, Ivela eventually succumbed to drowsiness and drifted off to sleep.
She didn’t know how much time had passed.
Tap.
A faint sound startled her awake. She quickly looked to the side—only to find the man’s chair empty. The clothes she’d left drying by the fire were gone as well.
Springing to her feet, she realized the shawl he had worn earlier was now draped over her.
She rushed to open the door, but he was nowhere to be found. All that remained were his footprints on the muddy road, now clear after the rain had stopped.
The man she had met by chance today had quietly disappeared, leaving behind nothing—as if the entire encounter had been a dream.
Only then did Ivela realize that she didn’t even know his name.
Five days had already passed since she had left Rosebell House. Ivela was now sitting on a bench in Greenville Park across from Dorothy. This was the time and place they had arranged to meet before Ivela had left home.
“What… what did you just say, Dorothy?”
“He hasn’t gone back yet,” Dorothy answered.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“When is he leaving?”
“How should I know? He’s just stuck to the house like dough to a board!”
“Ha!”
This was completely unexpected. She had met Dorothy today to inform her that she planned to return in a few more days—under the assumption that the king’s spokesman had already left.
“Anyone would think it’s his house. He reads, takes walks, rides horses, and the other day he even went swimming by the river! I can’t tell if he came to meet you or if he’s here on vacation,” Dorothy complained.
“He hasn’t asked anything about me?”
“Not at all. But he sure has a lot to talk about with Humphrey. When that man suggested they go hunting together, Humphrey looked absolutely thrilled.”
Dorothy’s annoyance had grown just as much as Ivela’s surprise. She adored Ivela and found the man’s presence nothing short of a thorn in her side.
“What should we do, Miss?”
“Leave him be. If he asks about me, pretend you know nothing.”
This required some thought. There had to be a reason her well-calculated plan had gone awry. The fact that the man in question was such a well-known figure only made her feel more uneasy.
Tristan Miller.
A man who had graduated top of his class from Thebes Royal Academy in Atlanta, then naturalized in Estonia to become the royal spokesperson. They said he had both the looks to become the star of high society and the wit to influence the king himself. Someone like him would have surely understood the implications of her actions—so why was he still there?
Was it pride, wounded enough that he wanted to settle the score? Or was it, as Dorothy suggested, that he simply decided to take a leisurely break while he was there? Or… had he seen through her plan and decided to play along?
The gap between rumors and reality was wider than she expected.
“How long are you planning to stay away from home, then?”
“Until he leaves.”
From what she’d heard, he seemed like a stubborn man. But she wasn’t the type to back down either. If he had intended to leave after a day or two, she wouldn’t have bothered leaving home in the first place. She could only hope he would return to the king soon and clearly state that there was no future between them.
“But what if something happens again—!”
Dorothy’s voice rose, then she suddenly fell silent, realizing her slip. Her face was filled not with guilt toward herself but with deep worry for Ivela.
“Don’t worry, Dorothy. I haven’t had any symptoms lately, remember?”
Ivela gently rubbed Dorothy’s shoulder to reassure her. The reason Dorothy held her back so tightly was Ivela’s breathing attacks. It was the most trivial reason for Ivela’s refusal to return to her family in the capital—but to Dorothy, it was the most serious.
Sometimes she experienced episodes of shortness of breath, which would only subside just as she felt she might suffocate. These attacks came whenever she tried to forcefully recall forgotten memories or when she clung too intensely to faint fragments of them. The memories never returned, no matter how hard she tried or waited, and the frustration would leave her gasping. Fortunately, the symptoms had almost disappeared recently.
“Phew. All right. But are you eating well? Are you sure the place is safe? Even if the house is inside the Bourbon Convent, who knows what kind of scoundrels might climb the walls.”
Once the main topic was finished, Dorothy launched into her usual barrage of nagging. Ever since the sudden death of Sir Campbell, the master she respected, Dorothy’s obsession with Ivela’s well-being had grown even stronger—especially when it came to her health and safety. If she ever found out that Ivela had let a strange man into the house yesterday…
“I’m eating well, sleeping well, and living well, so stop worrying,” Ivela said as she stood up, shuddering slightly. She had to escape before the nagging turned into a downpour. She raised the intensity of her pushback—“It’s fine, I’m fine, don’t worry”—before Dorothy’s hurt tears started to fall.
“I’m going. If anything urgent comes up, tell Madam Dona. You do the same, okay?”
“Miss, please, think about it again—”
“I’m going!”
Cutting her off, Ivela turned and ran. The relief in her ears lasted only a moment before her thoughts tangled again.
Tristan Miller.
She couldn’t stop thinking about that man she didn’t even truly know. She knew he wasn’t the type to stay idle, so his quietness only made her more uneasy.
What exactly is he up to?
She was sure he would never be able to find her—but for some reason, she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling.
The entire Emerville region was buzzing with excitement. Although the main festival was still three days away, people were already caught up in the festive spirit.
Ivela deliberately put on her old clothes and left the cabin. Today’s schedule was to volunteer at the rehabilitation hospital for war veterans.
Creak. She opened the small iron gate and locked it behind her. Just as she turned to leave—
“Oh my!”
Startled, Ivela instinctively took a few steps back.
It was him.
The man who had collided with her in the storm two days ago, entered her house, and left such a strong impression. Though his silent departure had left her feeling a bit hollow, she had convinced herself it was for the best. Whenever his face popped up in her mind, she figured it would soon fade.
“Hello,” he greeted casually, smiling as if they were old friends who had met just yesterday.
Her first thought was that he was shameless. But seeing him again, she couldn’t help but feel… a little glad.
“What brings you here?”
“I was feeling bad for leaving without a word, and I also wanted to repay your hospitality. I was debating whether I should knock or not.”
“There’s no need to think that way. It all happened because of me. Besides, this gate is always locked. You can’t just come in whenever you want.”
She corrected his assumption while averting her gaze. She pretended to look at the gate, but in truth, she couldn’t look directly at his face. He was striking wherever he stood—but on this clear day, well-dressed, with the spring greenery and blossoms forming a soft backdrop behind him, he looked even more dazzling.
“So if I could go in, would it be okay?”
“You can’t.”
“But if I could?”
“Then… go ahead and try.”
She answered half-heartedly, thinking his persistence was just a silly attempt to break the awkwardness—not a serious question.
“Is that permission?”
He smiled brightly, showing even white teeth. His voice seemed to shift with the weather—deep yet smooth, and when it reached her ears, it tickled them lightly, making her feel strangely languid.
“My name is Tay.”
“…Call me Bel,” she replied, her lips curling into a smile in spite of herself. She couldn’t help but mirror his
