✦ Chapter 4 ✦
The Price of a Gentle Smile
“Please understand… Even I feel uneasy uttering these words.”
Barinen was a beautiful woman—her pale golden hair looked as if it had been gently washed by spring water, perfectly complementing her porcelain-white skin. She exuded a translucent grace, like a vision conjured from a delicate painting.
She lowered her gaze sorrowfully as she spoke.
“But since there’s a victim… we cannot let the matter pass without consequences.”
“Your Highness…!!”
I wanted to scream. It wasn’t me—it was you!
The protest trembled on the edge of my lips, but I swallowed it down. Her crystalline blue eyes said it all without uttering a word:
If you dare to explain yourself, you’ll be the next to fall.
“And yet, I shall show you mercy by sparing you from punishment. I’m certain you had your reasons.”
Not once did Barinen’s angelic smile falter. It lingered on her lips, so gracious it could’ve descended straight from the heavens.
“Don’t grieve too much. Life is simply that way.”
Her voice—sweet as birdsong—delivered a sentence more cruel than any verdict.
“Haah!”
I jolted upright, drenched in a cold sweat. The familiar sight of my modest living room, where I could find my belongings even with my eyes closed, greeted me first.
I was home—on my own couch.
Realizing that, I heaved a deep sigh of relief.
‘So… it was just a dream.’
I covered my face with both hands. My heart had been pounding so fiercely that my palms were slick with sweat.
‘I didn’t think that just hearing her name again would throw me off this much.’
Barinen Rosa.
The woman who orchestrated my disgraceful dismissal after I had finally earned my position as a royal scribe in the Imperial Palace.
Ever since I’d brought her up to Cerulean, the nightmares hadn’t stopped.
‘Of course. It’d be laughable to think someone like her could be forgotten so easily.’
I gathered my curly hair and tied it into a loose bun. Just recalling Princess Barinen first thing in the morning was enough to ruin my mood.
“I need milk…”
My greatest indulgence after winning the Best Investigative Report of the Year was allowing myself to drink milk every morning.
Fresh, cold milk with the crisp dawn air, paired with the morning paper I’d grabbed on my way home from work—that was the taste of triumph.
‘Ah… but I really don’t want to get up.’
My back seemed glued to the couch. Maybe I was just worn out from wrapping up the weekly issue late last night.
‘Still, cold milk is worth the effort.’
Maybe I’d just stretch here a little longer—
Bang bang bang!
A harsh knock on the front door shattered the silence.
‘Who on earth…?’
At first, I thought someone had knocked on the wrong door. Then I figured it might be a drunk who had lost his way.
But something pushed me to get up.
‘Don’t tell me… the milk delivery failed today?!’
There was no other reason for anyone to visit me this early in the morning.
Fearing the sudden loss of my beloved success-milk, I rushed to open the door.
“…Oh?”
A tall man filled the doorway. His eyes were sharp and glacial.
“G-Good morning, Your Grace… Lord Luc.”
Despite the early hour, his blonde hair was slicked back flawlessly, and his shirt and vest were buttoned perfectly to the collar.
‘Do I even look human right now? Do I look presentable at all?’
My curls must’ve been a wild mess after spending the night on the couch.
I instinctively pressed down on my frizz with both hands. Meanwhile, he didn’t even blink at my clumsy greeting.
“Call me Cerulean.”
“Um… but we’re not that close yet…”
We’d only met twice. We weren’t on a first-name basis by any means.
‘But… I suppose now we should be. We did sign a betrothal contract.’
The thought suddenly made me realize how outrageous I had been.
I began smoothing down my hair. “Let me just fix my—”
“What kind of sorcery did you use?”
He interrupted, his voice sharp. I blinked, startled.
“What are you talking about? Sorcery? Do you mean my hair looks that bad?!”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Then what was he talking about?
Still trying to tame my lion’s mane, I watched as Cerulean pulled a folded document from his chest pocket and opened it before me.
“Do you know what this is?”
“The betrothal contract…? The one we wrote last week?”
He pointed at the bottom of the paper, just below his signature.
“Do you see this seal?”
“Yes.”
It was the round emblem pressed into melted wax.
The seal of Duke Luc.
“His Grace has approved our marriage.”
His voice was calm—even now. It took me a moment to register what that meant.
Once I understood, I clapped my hands with delight.
“Aha! So that means we can officially marry now! You came running because you were so excited to show me, right?”
“…What?”
His confused tone echoed in the hallway, while I rubbed my eyes with my sleeve, still trying to make sense of it.
‘Duke Luc actually agreed?!’
I never thought I’d win this gamble. As I stared at the document again and again, Cerulean frowned.
“Were you acquainted with His Grace?”
“No. I’ve never even seen his face.”
Even if I searched through old newspapers, I might only find a single portrait. Duke Luc was notoriously private and avoided all public appearances.
“Then why would he…?”
Cerulean murmured nervously.
But I had no reason to worry. I had won the bet, fair and square.
Confident now that this wasn’t a dream or a prank, I smiled brightly.
“Looks like you’re going to become a proper young master soon. So? How does it feel to stare Fortune in the face?”
“I don’t know about fortune, but you’re certainly arrogant.”
“Oh? And who was it that showed up at my door at the crack of dawn on a weekend?”
“…”
He went quiet, but I could practically hear the thoughts swimming behind those tight lips of his.
The expression made me chuckle softly. I placed a hand over my chest and teased:
“So, we really are going to get married now, right?”
“…Yes. You’ve won.”
There was something oddly satisfying about seeing him admit defeat so handsomely. I tugged lightly at the edge of his sleeve and spoke playfully.
“Come inside already. You’re attracting attention. If you keep standing here, the whole capital will know you came to see me before noon.”
Even though I barely touched his sleeve, his broad shoulders flinched visibly.
I smiled softly and half-closed my eyes.
“We’re going to be married soon, right? You should get used to this kind of thing. A man who wants me to call him by name shouldn’t flinch from a simple touch.”
“…Forgive me. It’s just… very sudden.”
Just like last time—he started saying strange things whenever our hands met. Or was I imagining things?
‘Wait, wasn’t the whole reason he came to the newspaper the first time… to look at my fingertips?’
Maybe he’s a clean freak. He always wears gloves, after all.
I let go of his sleeve and turned inside.
“Take the milk bottle with you too. I’ll give you half as a reward.”
“I don’t need it.”
“Guests shouldn’t refuse, Lord Luc. That milk is the taste of my success.”
“Success… what?”
He seemed genuinely puzzled about how a bottle of milk could symbolize anything remotely like success.
But I wasn’t here to explain it. I shrugged indifferently.
He followed me inside. Then suddenly, his large frame swayed, as if he might collapse.
“Whoa!”
“Huh? What’s wrong?”
I caught the milk before it hit the floor. He was gripping the doorframe, panting, his face pale.
‘Does he have some kind of chronic illness?!’
If this got worse, I’d have to carry him to a doctor somehow… though how I’d manage that, I wasn’t sure.
A flood of concerns raced through my head as I grabbed his trembling shoulder. Then he looked at me with sapphire eyes and spoke between breaths.
“I’m fine. But… what are your plans for today?”
…What kind of question is that right now?
I instinctively wiped the sweat from his forehead with my sleeve.
“Nothing special. I finished the newspaper issue yesterday. But shouldn’t you see a doctor? Do you want me to help you—”
“In that case, I’ll be taking my leave.”
“What?”
Before I could understand his meaning, he caught his breath—and suddenly swept me up in his arms.
I yelped softly and clung to his neck, startled to be carried like a princess—by a sick man, no less!
“I was prepared, but…”
Prepared for what?! I didn’t even get to ask. I was too busy worrying about falling.
Outside, a carriage bearing the crest of House Luc was waiting.
The coachman blinked in shock, pointed at us, and hurried to open the door.
Cerulean placed me gently inside, then took the seat across from me. He cracked open the window and gave the order:
“To the place I mentioned earlier.”
“Yes, sir.”
He had a destination planned already? The carriage began to move smoothly.
And here I was—in pajamas, with unwashed hair—sitting inside a nobleman’s carriage.
I blinked, confused, and asked:
“Where are we going? If you’re going to the doctor, you can just leave me here.”
He ran a hand through his tousled hair—still disheveled from holding me—and muttered under his breath:
“I’m going to lose my mind.”
What is it? What’s bothering you so much? Just tell me already!
I leaned in to listen. But instead of the dramatic confession I was expecting, he said in a flat, businesslike tone:
“I’ll arrange a meeting with His Grace next week.”
“…Next week?!”
I thought we were having a moment, but instead, he blindsided me with official family introductions? Duke Luc?!
“Isn’t that a bit fast?”
We’d just gotten approval. We hadn’t even talked about how we’d live together, or how long the contract would last, or—anything!
There were too many things I wanted to say. So many, I couldn’t say a single word.
As I opened my mouth in speechless shock, Cerulean reached out and wrapped the shawl from the seat around my shoulders.
“Let’s go. First things first.”
Go where?!
And only then did I begin to realize—
This man only says what he wants to say.
