Chapter 43
Ash said nothing. Or perhaps he couldn’t—he was holding his forehead in silence. He had assumed Charlotte would refuse. She never liked to inconvenience others. Even if the other person didn’t feel burdened, if she felt she was, she would rather decline. So he thought this time would be no different.
At that moment, Edmon, who had been listening quietly beside them, suddenly shouted:
“Come on now! How could you even think of bringing a lady into a place crawling with men?”
“Idiot! Do you think anyone had a better idea than me? Honestly, I thought she would refuse too! But the fact that she accepted means the monster appearances are becoming that threatening! Duke, since you only use the third floor anyway, can’t you let the lady and Aria have the second?”
The mountain-searchers used a separate annex that Ash had provided. And Ash, though lord of a three-story fortress, only ever used his bedroom, study, office, and bath. Dozens of rooms were left unused. Even so, it wasn’t proper for an unmarried lady and a child to live where men frequently came and went.
“Pedro is right.”
“My lord!”
“Of course, Edmon, what you say also has merit.”
By social custom, it would have been better to provide a separate residence. But given the increasingly frequent monster attacks, the safest option was to remain within the fortress. That made Charlotte’s own wishes the top priority. Since she had agreed… there was really no further need to debate.
“Pedro, did the lady consent right away?”
“At first she hesitated. But by the time I left, she said yes. I believe she was quite shaken by how close Aria came to losing her life.”
“That’s understandable.”
The moment Ash decided to bring Charlotte into the fortress, he began listing in his mind the matters he would need to take care of. For a noble, he lived with remarkable frugality—or perhaps “frugal” wasn’t even the right word. He was a duke with immense wealth. He could hardly be ignorant of the mountains of gold piled up in his vaults, yet he neither indulged in amusements nor even ate properly.
There were many days he would go without meals entirely, unless the mountain-searchers barged into his study and dragged him to the dining hall. If not for Baron Bubbel occasionally sending cooks to the fortress, he might have starved to death long ago. For himself, Ash had lived with no real discomfort. But now that Charlotte would be living here, basic necessities were a must—especially food supplies.
“Edmon.”
“Yes?”
“Does the fortress have… any provisions?”
“What kind of provisions?”
“For meals.”
“See! I told you to eat three meals a day, didn’t I? But no—always white bread and coffee, grain bread and coffee, every single day…!”
“Quiet, and go to the market. Stop by Lady Cassandra’s place on the way.”
Edmon grumbled with countless complaints, but even he thought this might be a good opportunity. He had watched Ash since the days when the boy’s head barely reached his chest. And he could swear: Ash had never lived like a human being. But perhaps living with Charlotte might change that. She might even bring in attendants. This was the perfect chance to make a man out of this duke who barely resembled one.
“There are plenty of spare rooms in the fortress…”
“Yes, and giving her the largest one would be best, don’t you think?”
Even Edmon, who had first opposed the idea, was now quietly agreeing.
“And Aria should have her own room as well.”
“Then it would be best to give them the east rooms. Two chambers there are connected.”
“Then we must prepare quickly. As soon as everything is ready, we’ll bring the lady here.”
Ash immediately turned and headed for the east rooms on the second floor.
The hallway leading there, unused for years, groaned and squeaked like screams with every step he took. Pausing midway, Ash seized the heavy curtain that smothered the window and shook it in the air. A cloud of gray dust flew up like a snowstorm into his face, and he broke into a fit of dry coughs.
If it were only the corridor, one could dismiss it as dusty. But the east rooms, unlocked with a faded, rusted key, looked more like storage than chambers. Ash let out a deep sigh.
“It’ll take half a day just to get this place in order.”
‘Am I drinking tea right now, or chewing raw flowers?’
That was Norman’s impression of the black tea Lady Rietta had served. She claimed to have brewed it herself, but the result was bitter and astringent. If it had at least smelled pleasant, one could force it down—but this tea reeked like perfume-soaked leaves, stinging his nose. Narrowing his eyes, Norman sipped. Yet he did not openly show displeasure.
Part of it was courtesy to Rietta seated across from him, and part was not wanting to give his father any reason to scold him later. Ever since leaving the ducal estate that morning, Norman had been swallowing sighs. His father had so desperately sung praises of securing ties with the saint, and now at last he had succeeded in gaining her time.
“It’s an honor to be served such rare tea.”
“I’m relieved if it suits Your Lordship’s taste.”
Suit his taste? Hardly. If his father had wanted to come, he could have come alone. Why drag him along? But Norman knew why. His father had been stewing in anger at him lately.
First, because Norman had failed to detain Theodore at the homecoming banquet, thus missing a chance to converse with him. Second, because Norman had attempted to leave on his own without reporting it. Such childish reasons. And the second was utterly absurd—by sheer bad luck, his father had discovered the carriage Norman had prepared to depart for Nostrid immediately after the banquet. Already in a foul mood, Duke Winteryle seized on it as an excuse to vent his wrath.
If he had to scold him, he could at least choose a sensible reason. What grown child asks permission for every outing from his parents?
After taking a hard blow to the head, Norman had done nothing but sigh. He hadn’t protested, for if he bore it in silence, at least the household staff would be spared his father’s fury.
“I was told this tea was imported from abroad. Does it not suit your palate, Young Duke?”
‘Mind your own business.’
“Of course it does. Isn’t that right, Norman?”
“Yes, Father.”
Thanks to Rietta, he might have avoided earning yet another scar on his forehead. The duke was glaring at him as though to say, Don’t ruin this hard-won meeting. So Norman forced a smile onto his lips and swallowed another mouthful of the bitter tea. His mouth burned with its harshness.
But both Rietta and his father seemed to enjoy it, savoring the flavor. Perhaps it truly was just his tongue that rejected it. In truth, he had not drunk tea once since Charlotte’s departure.
Whenever he thought of tea, he remembered the day Charlotte was falsely accused of poisoning and the look on her face as she offered her final, resigned farewell.
‘…Had I left as planned, I’d already be in Nostrid by now.’
He pictured silver hair fluttering like silk, eyes the color of deep ocean and endless night skies, and a rare, beautiful smile. He wished he had apologized properly to Charlotte, who had shed more tears than laughter.
“Young Duke?”
“?”
“Are you tired…?”
Better say something before his father added more bruises to his face. Norman quickly thought: what excuse would spare him from that piercing glare?
“…I was thinking about the theft at the temple.”
“Oh my, so you’ve heard about it too, Young Duke?”
It had been kept quiet, but those slated to attend the temple auction had caught wind of the matter.
“To think such a thing could occur within the temple itself! The culprit must be found and punished severely to prevent it ever happening again. What say you, Saintess?”
It was plain his father was bending over backward to please her. Watching him, Norman found himself entertaining strange thoughts: forcing down bitter tea like chewed flowers; watching his father grovel in hopes of securing an advantageous tie. Two hours of this torment. In such a contest, Norman quietly chose the first option, draining his cup.
“I believe the fault lies both with the thief and with those who failed in their duties. I hear the servant and coachman in charge of the carriage were absent at the time. They should also bear equal responsibility.”
“With the coachman and servant too?”
Was that really necessary? Norman held back his thoughts, running a finger around the rim of his cup. Strictly speaking, she wasn’t wrong.
Yes, it was indeed a mistake not to have moved such an important carriage meant for the auction. But the delay had come because the homecoming banquet drew massive crowds, forcing the auction to be rescheduled. The change of date, Norman had heard, was the very last thing the servant and coachman learned of.
The coachman, unaware, had been scouting routes to the auction house to avoid the throngs. The servant had also expected a departure and naturally did not move the carriage. It wasn’t that the clerics had deliberately failed to inform them.
Everyone was simply overwhelmed that day. Orders from above came late, duties piled up, and each assumed someone else would tell the coachman. By the time the mistake was realized, it was already late, and the carriage stood unattended. The coachman had just then learned of the delay and was on his way back—still busy securing a clear path to the auction house.
So could one really hold the coachman and servant equally responsible alongside the clerics?
‘They weren’t blameless, but still—it should be handled with some flexibility, not equal blame.’
Norman gave no response to Rietta’s opinion. At that moment, a cleric knocked on the study door. It was Lea.
“Forgive me for disturbing your gathering. I have urgent news.”
“What is it, Lea?”
“Saintess, you must come to the High Priest’s office at once.”
“The High Priest’s office?”
“The High Priest has just summoned the Klagen.”
The Klagen had been summoned?
“While investigating the theft, the High Priest discovered that Priest Jamil had been embezzling funds for quite some time. Fearing exposure, Jamil tried to flee, but Sir Arbelche was ordered to apprehend him, and he has just now been bound and taken to the High Priest’s office.”
“What?”
