Chapter 25
The long council finally ended with the meeting of the Spellwood’s Guildmaster of Magicians.
When Castian stepped out of the conference chamber, midnight had already passed.
Lydia, who was prone to sleep early, would surely be asleep by now—this thought drew a frown across Castian’s brow.
As he entered the second-floor corridor, Ethan, who had been standing guard before Lydia’s door, rushed forward and bowed deeply.
“You had dinner with my mother? Nothing happened, did it?”
Castian asked, his gaze lingering toward Lydia’s door.
He had wanted to steal away a moment of time after hearing the news from his steward, but circumstances had not allowed it.
Though he did not believe Elicia would recklessly harm his guest, his mother had always been unreadable.
As feared, something had occurred during the meal. Ethan hesitated, unable to immediately answer.
“Ethan. Speak.”
“…There was nothing unusual with the Grand Lady herself. But… among the maids, rumors are spreading about Lady Lydia.”
“Rumors?”
“…That she is a necromancer.”
Castian stopped walking.
As Ethan briefly recounted what had transpired at the dinner, the line between Castian’s brows deepened.
He should have forced his way into the dinner, no matter what.
The image of Lydia sitting opposite Marcus, her head bowed miserably, flared once again in his mind, and his insides churned with anger.
Ethan, sensing the dangerous shift in Castian’s gaze, carefully asked:
“Shall I silence them?”
Castian clicked his tongue softly and shook his head after a moment of thought, his expression displeased.
It was bound to happen sooner or later.
He could keep every whisper from reaching Lydia if he wished.
If he so desired, she could live peacefully, entirely sheltered from the world, as though cradled in a cocoon.
But that was not the life Lydia would ever want.
Even when she trembled and shrank with fear, Lydia had never once fled.
Even when Castian had denied his own feelings and treated her with harsh coldness, she had still smiled at him.
That smile could not be preserved through silence and isolation.
And besides, he had not yet earned the right to shape her life.
One task—more desperate, more difficult than any campaign—still lay before him.
Resuming his steps toward Lydia’s room, Castian asked Ethan:
“And Lydia?”
“She still seems awake.”
“Good work. Go rest.”
“Yes, my lord.”
As Ethan vanished down the corridor, Castian raised his hand and knocked.
“Lydia, it’s me.”
“Duke?”
The door opened. Lydia, eyes round with surprise, looked up at him.
“At this hour? Don’t tell me you’ve been working until now?”
“The meeting ran late.”
“Oh no, you must be exhausted.”
Mistaking the shadow across his face for fatigue, Lydia worried over him.
He had thought she was the one in need of comfort, and yet it was she who looked at him with such tenderness.
No one had ever looked at him like that.
No one had ever offered him solace through worry-filled eyes.
A strange sensation welled up in him—something that scratched at his chest, that made him want to weep, that made him furious all at once.
And, above all, an impulse rose to pull Lydia into his arms.
Castian had learned all his life how to master his emotions, how to remain cold and composed.
Patience was his second nature; resisting impulses was not difficult for him.
It should not have been difficult now.
And yet.
His fists curled so tightly that crescent marks dug into his palms, the only thing keeping him from reaching for her.
To chase away that unyielding pull, he spoke.
“I heard Marcus spouted nonsense again during dinner.”
Lydia, oblivious to his inner storm, only smiled faintly, guessing why he had come.
“So you came because you were worried? I’m fine, really.”
Her smile deepened, warmed by the thought that he cared.
The corners of her eyes lifted like a playful cat’s, her ruby-red gaze glittering like jewels.
Her small upper lip, her two slightly protruding front teeth—adorable.
One word, sudden yet perfect, filled his mind.
Lovely.
She was unbearably lovely.
“…I’m not fine.”
In the next instant, Castian’s arms wrapped around her shoulders and back.
Before she could react, Lydia found herself buried against his chest.
“D-Duke?”
Her muffled voice came from within his embrace, but he did not let go.
He could not let go.
He had thought holding her tightly would settle his heart—but it only thrashed harder.
Lydia blinked, puzzled, within the unmoving embrace.
She had thought his words “I’m not fine” were simply his way of offering comfort, but maybe not.
He was a man who had worked until late into the night, preparing for an expedition that could determine the fate of the world.
How heavy his burdens must have been, carried all alone while she idled uselessly.
Her heart ached for him. She raised her arms and gently patted his back.
“What’s troubling you? Is it the expedition preparations?”
At her touch, Castian’s back trembled.
At her kindness, so did his heart.
“If it’s too hard, then say you won’t do it. The world doesn’t rest only on your shoulders. Why must you carry everything alone?”
Lydia’s soft grumbling continued as her hand soothed his back.
“The Emperor, the Imperial Magician—those people just sit and do nothing. It’s too much. Ah, well, I didn’t do anything either, but I’ll help from now on. Starting tomorrow, I’ll at least clean the conference hall. Ugh—Duke, I can’t breathe!”
She gasped as Castian’s arms tightened fiercely around her.
He could not hold back any longer.
When he finally released her, Lydia looked up at him in confusion.
Her crimson eyes shimmered like flames. At that sight, Castian made his decision.
He had been terrified of losing the first true emotion he had ever embraced.
But no longer.
Even if the dissolution of the Soul-Binding Spell robbed him of his current heart, he knew he would fall in love with this woman all over again.
“Lydia.”
Calling her name, Castian steeled himself to confront his feelings.
He drew a breath to speak the words—but stopped.
On his tongue lay a confession, but fear sealed his lips.
Even without the excuse of the spell—would she remain by his side?
He had been so swept by emotion that he had forgotten to look for Lydia’s heart.
Lydia blinked at him, waiting.
The Duke, poised to speak, stood frozen.
“Duke?”
She tilted her head, urging him.
Castian took a step back, suppressing everything.
“…Forget about cleaning.”
The words, anticlimactic after such a long pause, left Lydia pouting.
“Why? I’m good at cleaning.”
He covered his feelings with a faint smile, deftly changing the subject.
“It’s late. You should sleep.”
Lydia, though puzzled by his odd behavior, admitted it was very late indeed.
“All right. You too, then. Good night.”
“Good night.”
With a smile, she waved and shut the door.
Castian remained standing alone in the dark corridor for a long, long time.
The following day was the eve of the second expedition’s departure.
Once again, I had nothing to do, while Castian remained endlessly busy.
I wondered how I might be of help, but in truth, the only skills I possessed were necromancy and the soul-binding art.
Neither was of use.
I could not bear the thought of raising the dead only to kill the living—it was a nightmare I could not bring myself to enact.
Better to be a burden, idle though it made me, than to wield such horrors.
So I drifted about again today.
That night, after finishing supper and preparing for bed, someone knocked at my door once more.
Assuming it was Castian again, I rushed to open it—only to be startled.
Standing in the hall, holding a lamp, was an entirely unexpected visitor.
It was Elicia.
