ITMFYWCLBU 23

“Clarisse… I’m sorry. Something came up, so I’ve been called in tomorrow.”

A few days after they returned from the summer villa, Alexis said that in the carriage on the way back from the castle, his brows drawn with genuine regret.

Tomorrow, Clarisse was supposed to visit the Luvelier Marquessate. She was scheduled to meet Alexis’s mother and go over wedding arrangements.

Because Alexis would be marrying into the Brantome earldom, the Brantome household was leading the preparations—but it wasn’t as though they could ignore Alexis’s family. So Clarisse kept in close contact with her future mother-in-law, and whenever time allowed, she went in person to give updates and hear her wishes.

Alexis’s mother was a gentle, unhurried woman, and although she was “sending her son away” as a son-in-law, she seemed sincerely delighted to gain a daughter-in-law. Since she had no daughter of her own, she was clearly looking forward to planning her new daughter’s wedding, and Clarisse wanted—if possible—to honor her preferences. That had been true the first time as well.

(What’s strange is that this time, Mother’s wishes are a little different than before…)

Perhaps it was because so many small, unfamiliar events had already occurred. The basics remained the same, but the flowers to decorate with, the dishes to use at the reception—those details were slightly different.

After the wedding, they would host a reception at the Brantome estate. They had to decide everything down to the smallest detail: decorations, tableware, the wines, the menu. Clarisse needed careful discussions with both her mother and her future mother-in-law, and the brand of tableware her future mother-in-law requested was different from what Clarisse remembered.

(She said the Luvelier household would purchase the dishes, so in the end it will be up to them… but it’s still a little odd.)

It was a minor difference, and the design was similar to what she had chosen last time—still within her taste. It didn’t feel like her preferences had changed so much as… the world itself was slipping, little by little, off the tracks Clarisse knew.

(When things differ in small ways like this… it makes me think the future might be different too.)

She wanted it to change in a way that led to happiness, but she had no way of knowing which direction it would go. All she could do was lower her eyes and pray Alexis wouldn’t be put in danger again.

“Clarisse? I’m talking to you—are you listening?”

“Oh—yes. Work, right?”

She realized she’d drifted into thought and quickly offered a smile, trying to cover for it.

“Yeah. So… maybe we should postpone your visit to my family tomorrow.”

“Hm? It’s fine,” Clarisse said at once. “I can go by myself. We’re just having tea and talking about the wedding.”

Even when Alexis attended these meetings, he rarely offered opinions. His presence was nice, but not necessary.

“If you’re sure… If that’s what you want…”

He said it lightly, but his expression was faintly dissatisfied.

(Does he think he’s being left out? Is he sulking?)

She didn’t say it aloud, but she recognized that face. Clarisse chuckled, leaning in to peer at him.

“We’ll only be talking about tableware and flowers. I’ll tell you everything afterward, of course.”

“…You and Mother get along really well,” Alexis muttered.

It was something he should have been happy about, and yet he still looked unimpressed.

“…Don’t tell me,” Clarisse teased, “you’re jealous of your own mother?”

She said it assuming there was no way—but Alexis’s cheeks flushed faintly, and he turned his face away with a stubborn hmph.

It was, somehow, a direct hit.

(He really is jealous…?)

Clarisse blinked in surprise—and then, helplessly, found it adorable. The fact that she could even think that only proved how far gone she was.

“Mm,” she hummed, still laughing under her breath, and rested her head lightly on his shoulder. Alexis finally looked back at her, his fingers stroking through her dark-brown hair where it was tied half-up.

“I can’t go with you,” he said, voice low, “but you’ll go with one of the Brantome staff, all right?”

Ah—right. The mysterious “brides-to-be being attacked” incident he’d warned her about.

(I still haven’t heard a single rumor about that, though…)

Even so, she couldn’t ignore him. If she acted careless, Alexis might forbid her from leaving at all tomorrow.

“I understand. I’ll take Ellen with me, and I’ll bring one of our guards.”

The Brantome estate employed several soldiers for security. Usually they guarded the manor or accompanied her father when he went out, but if a member of the household requested an escort, of course they would come. She could easily ask one of them.

“Good. Then I can relax.”

Hearing that, Alexis finally seemed satisfied.

“Speaking of security,” Clarisse said, “it feels like the number of guards around Lady Mathilda has increased again…”

She’d always had a few, but now it was close to ten, and Mathilda looked suffocated by it. She had more guards than Gracian himself.

“It’s because the wedding is close,” Alexis said. “His Highness is worried. And the villa incident still hasn’t been resolved.”

“Even so… there are plenty of soldiers inside the castle…”

If Mathilda were outside, perhaps. But inside the castle, did she truly need a small army following her everywhere?

“Remember the villa,” Alexis replied quietly. “There were sentries there too, and she was still breached. If anything happened to the future crown princess, it would be disastrous.”

“…That’s true, but…”

Still, the way the guards trailed after her wherever she went clearly stressed her. Clarisse had even heard her ask Félicité if something could be done. Félicité had only looked troubled and said, “Please endure it a little longer.”

“Once she’s married, she’ll share a room with His Highness,” Alexis added. “The number will settle down then. It’s only two more weeks.”

Two weeks—yet Mathilda already looked miserable. It was hard to tell her to simply endure.

“Couldn’t we at least make some of the guards women?” Clarisse asked. “Having so many men constantly at her back must be… mentally exhausting.”

If the intruder from the villa were caught, perhaps Gracian’s overprotectiveness would ease—but with no leads, there was nothing to be done. Then the least they could do was change the shape of the burden.

Alexis paused, then nodded. “That’s a fair point. All right—I’ll bring it up to His Highness.”

“Thank you.”

As they spoke, the carriage rolled to a stop before the Brantome estate’s front entrance.

“Well then, Clarisse,” Alexis said, taking her hand to help her down. “I hate to part, but this is it for today. Be careful tomorrow.”

He kissed her cheek—soft, quick—and then, just before he withdrew, pressed a kiss to her forehead as well, before returning to the carriage.

Clarisse stood at the entrance and watched until it disappeared down the road.

When she finally went inside, Ellen—who had come out upon hearing the carriage wheels—was wearing a strained, uncertain expression.

“What is it?” Clarisse asked.

“Well… the master—your father…”

Clarisse’s face tightened at once. Had something happened?

But the next words made her go slack with disbelief.

“He bought a baby cradle.”

“….”

Clarisse lifted a hand to her brow, exhaled a long sigh, and said nothing as she climbed the stairs.

Ellen led her to an unused room, where she could already hear her parents speaking brightly, as though debating the fate of the kingdom.

“Father. Mother. How many times do I have to tell you it’s too early?”

Why were they preparing a nursery before the wedding even took place?

The moment she stepped inside, her parents turned toward her with matching beaming smiles.

“Clarisse, look!” her mother said. “Isn’t it adorable?”

“I made sure it works for a boy or a girl,” her father added proudly.

Their joy was so wholehearted it seemed to bounce right off her complaints.

(Honestly…)

And yet—

(In the future… I died before I could ever show them a grandchild.)

If the world was truly changing, little by little, then maybe—just maybe—she could at least give them that.

Staring at the cradle planted right in the center of the room like a declaration, Clarisse felt something twist in her chest: part exasperation, part tenderness, part quiet grief—an emotion too complicated to name.