Chapter 3
“I’m honored. You mistook me for an angel.”
The man’s voice came shortly after. He laughed for a while before he finally calmed down and spoke to her again. But his voice still carried amusement, and she, blushing furiously, couldn’t lift her head and simply shook it awkwardly.
“Unfortunately, I’m not an angel—just a passing traveler. Oh! And no, I’m not from the village either.”
The man added an answer to the question Roje had asked earlier. It seemed rude to ignore someone trying to have a conversation with her. Overcoming her embarrassment, Roje cautiously lifted her head.
“…!”
If she had tried to stand, she might’ve fallen flat on her butt again. Grateful she was already sitting down, Roje looked at the man who had crouched down right in front of her, meeting her gaze.
‘When did he crouch down?’
Feeling embarrassed to be sitting so close to him, she tried to rise discreetly. The man also stood and extended a hand toward her.
‘…I can get up by myself.’
Roje hesitated to say it aloud and, after a moment of indecision, took his hand. Though it was just the tip of his fingers, she held it lightly, feeling flustered.
“Th-Thank you.”
As soon as she stood up while holding his hand, she quickly pulled away and bowed her head politely. At that moment, the herbs that had been on her head tumbled to the ground.
“Ah! My herbs!”
Only then did she remember the basket of herbs and quickly turned around. The man, too, turned his head without thinking.
“Ah…”
“Luke, no!”
Before Roje could react, the man acted first. He hurried toward his horse. But the horse ignored its master’s approach and was happily munching away on the herbs that had spilled from the overturned basket.
“Luke! You rascal! How could you eat all of that? You even had plenty of feed when we left the inn this morning…”
Scolding his horse, the man glanced at Roje. His expression clearly showed embarrassment and guilt.
“Pfft!”
Roje burst out laughing. The man, who looked like someone elegant and noble, now looked flustered and awkward—it was amusing. And strangely, her heart started to race.
…It was only later that she learned the man’s name was Haven.
The mansion gates opened wide. All of the duke’s servants stood in a neat line just inside the gate, waiting to welcome their master. But just as Haven was about to ride in, he suddenly stopped his horse and turned around.
“Is something wrong, Your Grace?”
His knight and escort, Fedwin, stepped forward and asked politely.
“…No, it’s nothing.”
Haven shook his head and looked forward again. His expression was cold and indifferent as always, but his mind was unusually tangled.
It was all because of a woman.
The woman he had seen on the street just moments ago kept lingering in his mind.
It was absurd. Anyone who heard would laugh in disbelief.
Haven Guenters was the kind of man who never gave a second glance even to the most beautiful women who tried to charm him.
He was the most noble bloodline in the Guenters Kingdom.
The younger brother of the late king.
The current Duke.
And the man considered the most likely candidate to sit upon the vacant throne.
And yet, such a man couldn’t stop thinking about a mere commoner woman? Who would believe that?
Still, it was undeniable.
Haven recalled the woman who had stared at him so intently.
She was utterly shabby. Her clothes were dusty and worn, her hair and face disheveled. She could’ve easily been mistaken for a beggar.
But why?
What lingered in his mind wasn’t her appearance, but her green eyes staring at him.
Eyes that looked as if they were about to burst into tears.
They were sunken, as if she had suffered greatly. Dark circles shadowed them, and her pale complexion hinted at poor health.
Someone completely unlike him.
‘She’s clearly someone who’s lived in hardship… and yet…’
Haven suddenly felt a strange pang in his chest and furrowed his brow. Was he… feeling pity for her? That couldn’t be.
Even in a prosperous city, there were always people living in the shadows. It wasn’t just one or two. But Haven had never felt sympathy for any of them—at least, not until now.
Trying to shake off the growing turmoil in his head, Haven dismounted. At once, a stablehand rushed up.
“His hooves don’t look too good. Pay special attention. Make sure there’s no issue with the shoes.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The stablehand bowed and took the reins. Just as he was about to lead the horse away, Haven’s brow furrowed again.
“Wait.”
“Pardon?”
The stablehand stopped at Haven’s words. Frowning, Haven seemed to search his mind for something, then asked,
“Where’s Luke… Where is Luke?”
“…Sir? L-Luke?”
“Yes, Luke. How could I forget him? I definitely traveled with him…”
Haven murmured to himself in disbelief. Luke was the beloved horse he’d raised since childhood. Despite protests from his servants, he had fed and groomed the horse himself. And yet, he had completely forgotten about him until now.
Even considering his memory issues…
Whinny.
A neigh—no, almost a laugh—echoed in his ears. Luke was quick-witted and mischievous, sometimes acting playfully.
It must have been one of those moments. He had probably popped his head into that basket out of sheer curiosity…
Then suddenly, a sharp pain struck his head like a blunt weapon. Haven staggered without realizing it. Fedwin rushed forward in shock.
“Your Grace! Are you all right? Shall I fetch the royal physician—”
“No need. Don’t cause a fuss.”
Haven stopped his knight from calling for help and turned back to the stablehand.
“Where is Luke?”
“Luke is…”
The stablehand looked troubled. At that moment, the steward’s voice answered clearly.
“Luke is dead, Your Grace.”
“…Dead?”
Haven turned to the steward. The man bowed deeply and nodded.
“Yes. As far as I know, he did not return with you after your ‘accident.’”
A loyal horse. If he were alive, he would have returned with his master. Since he didn’t, it was only natural to assume he had died. It was a reasonable assumption. But Haven, having no memory of the event, couldn’t help but feel frustrated.
Most of the people who had brought him back were from the former queen’s faction.
“…I see, Yannick.”
So now, it wasn’t something he could ask—“Did you see my horse back then?” Haven tried to suppress his discomfort and headed for the mansion.
As he walked, the steward and other servants followed.
“Haven, you’re finally here!”
A woman’s delicate voice called out as soon as he stepped inside. He stopped mid-conversation with the steward. At the same time, the steward whispered with a troubled tone:
“The Queen Dowager is here.”
“…I see.”
Haven’s expression turned even colder. His icy blue eyes fixed on the woman approaching—Isabella Guenters, the former queen.
Red hair adorned with luxurious jewels.
Golden eyes, the hallmark of the Duke of Theclan—her birth family.
A face painted nearly white, to an almost eerie degree.
A woman most nobles in the kingdom praised as beautiful smiled radiantly and chirped in a bird-like voice,
“Why are you so late? I waited forever.”
“I wasn’t informed of your visit. It would have been helpful to receive notice in advance.”
Haven responded in a dry tone. Isabella fluttered her lashes and replied sweetly.
“I wanted to surprise you. Do we really need such formalities between us?”
“Even between family, certain decorum should be observed.”
Despite her playful tone, Haven didn’t even crack a smile. Instead, he replied coldly, almost deliberately snubbing her. Isabella’s face briefly stiffened, but she quickly forced a smile and tried again.
“Haven, tonight—how about watching a play with—”
“Yannick, how is Flita? I heard she had a cold yesterday.”
Haven gave her no chance to continue. Turning away, he addressed the steward. Torn between the queen dowager and his master, Yannick hesitated before answering.
“Fortunately, her fever broke and she’s feeling much better. In fact, she was hoping to greet you… Ah! There she is.”
Following the steward’s gesture, Haven’s gaze turned.
A nanny stood there—with a child peeking shyly from behind her.
Flita.
His daughter.
