Chapter 2.
“He probably didn’t know I was here. He must’ve just been surprised to see me after so long.”
Of course, they had exchanged letters even during the war, and in the final letter she sent after victory was assured, she had clearly written, “I have to come to the capital for my debutante ceremony.” If we run into each other, don’t acknowledge me.
So either he hadn’t received the letter, or he had and ignored it.
Either way, Cyril’s reaction today put Adrienne at a disadvantage.
Just like the rumors said, the capital’s social scene was brutal and exhausting for a country bumpkin like Adrienne.
It was even worse when the torment came from young ladies preparing for their debutante balls or their parents.
‘Let’s just run.’
If she stayed any longer, they would only keep asking what kind of relationship she had with Sir Tesar, what kind of relationship it would become, whether there had been any promises in the past, and so on.
Sir Tesar and I just grew up punching and kicking each other; we’ll become enemies who beat each other with words in the future, and in the past I once received a one-sided declaration that he would absolutely never marry me….
If only she could say that.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t, so escape was the only answer.
Exactly five minutes later, Adrienne excused herself with the pretense of feeling unwell and quietly slipped away.
Despite all the harassment, time had passed steadily, and dusk had already fallen.
Adrienne walked slowly through the garden, now wrapped in darkness.
Wandering aimlessly, she stopped beside a bronze statue.
If she went any farther into the secluded areas, she might run into a pair of nobles indulging in a dangerous little affair.
‘I’ll stay a bit longer, then sneak out the back. Good thing I had the carriage wait outside.’
If she had left her carriage inside the palace grounds, the Casinel family crest, all ornate and unnecessary, would have been fluttering everywhere. News of her escape would have spread just as quickly.
She sighed as fatigue washed over her, and a long shadow fell at her feet.
Only then did Adrienne realize someone was standing behind her.
Given the location, it wouldn’t be a street thug, but if it was someone she knew, that would be troublesome.
‘In situations like this, pretending to be sick is best.’
Lowering her eyebrows, Adrienne gently pressed her temple with a delicate hand and slowly turned around.
And then—
“What are you doing here alone?”
Her expression twisted instantly.
That man. The so-called sensual handsome man.
Cyril Valentin de Tesar was standing right in front of her.
“Oh. It’s just you, Cyril.”
Adrienne dropped the sick act with astonishing speed.
Her neatly shaped brows returned to normal, and the hand that had been playing frail simply brushed her hair back instead.
“…You do realize it’s been two years since we last saw each other, right?”
“Time really flies. I was surprised too.”
“Could you at least pretend to be happy to see me?”
“I am happy. Really happy. You look fine. Very fine.”
At her excessive sincerity, Cyril let out a hollow laugh.
What made it even funnier was how, despite his words, his eyes were carefully scanning her from head to toe.
Once Adrienne finished assessing him as well, she looked up at Cyril and suddenly paused.
She narrowed her eyes at him as if seeing something strange, then tilted her head.
“Cyril.”
“What?”
“Were you always this ridiculously tall?”
She didn’t think he’d been this bad two years ago.
Adrienne swallowed her words.
Of course, he’d already been tall back then, but now it felt different.
The very act of looking up at Cyril felt unfamiliar.
“…Adrienne, I told you before. Your memory is seriously distorted. I’ve never been shorter than you since I was thirteen.”
“I only remember the you who was tiny until thirteen.”
This time, Cyril frowned.
The unspoken complaint of “How long ago do you think that was?” was clear, but Adrienne remained unfazed.
Compared to the five years they were apart, the eight years they lived together were naturally more vivid.
For quite a long time, Cyril had been shorter than Adrienne.
Even now, Adrienne was tall for a woman—5.5 breu (about 170 cm)—and she had been around that height at thirteen.
Sickly and fragile, Cyril had always existed below her line of sight in her memories.
And now he was this tall.
Thinking back, the way Cyril had shot up as if watered like bamboo was nothing short of a miracle.
Come to think of it, the fact that Cyril Valentin—who once looked like he could die at any moment—had grown up to become a soldier, even a member of the Emperor’s guard, was a miracle in itself. A miracle through and through.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“…Like what?”
“You’re staring like a parent who sent their kid far away.”
“You really don’t hold back with your words.”
“What do you mean, ‘young lady’?”
Cyril snorted as if he’d heard something ridiculous.
“I know because my cousin’s in the army, but I hear Sir Tesar is incredibly taciturn.”
The words Adrienne had heard earlier echoed in her ears.
Taciturn? Cyril Valentin?
In what world was that considered taciturn?
“More importantly, Cyril. Didn’t you get my letter?”
“The last one I got was half a year ago.”
“That explains it. You just had to acknowledge me back there.”
Cyril caught her muttering and opened his mouth. It was a habit he had whenever he was dumbfounded.
Adrienne, well accustomed to it, waved her hand lightly. Close your mouth.
Still, anyone would be baffled if, after greeting a childhood friend they hadn’t seen in two years, they were told off like that.
Cyril nearly asked what kind of structure her brain had but stopped.
He knew a fake-innocent, dismissive answer would come back.
“Give it back.”
“Did I leave it with you?”
“Who said they’d give it back once they returned safely?”
Cyril pulled out a handkerchief from inside his coat and waved it in front of Adrienne.
[Cyri]
The embroidery was clumsy beyond words, and even that was incomplete.
Cyril vividly remembered how dumbfounded he’d been when he received it on the day he left for the battlefield.
“…My name isn’t Cyri.”
“I know.”
“You know, and yet you embroidered it like this?”
“So you’ll get annoyed every time you look at it. You hate things like this. If you come back safely, I’ll make you a proper one.”
And just like that, Cyril had his perfectly good name robbed of its “l.”
To be honest, he thought Adrienne had simply made a mistake.
The embroidery itself was crooked and messy. Anyone could tell it was a beginner’s work. Missing a letter didn’t seem strange at all.
So Cyril accepted the handkerchief without complaint.
Imagining Adrienne—who had no talent for handiwork whatsoever—wrestling with the fabric made him feel strangely sorry for her.
In any case, her excuse was fairly convincing.
And in truth, every time he looked at the handkerchief, he would click his tongue at his incomplete name.
He endured for two years, expecting to get his name back.
And today was that day.
“Who is it?” Cyril pressed.
Adrienne shrugged.
“Obviously me. Since I’m staying in the capital now. Don’t worry. I keep my promises.”
With an almost generous expression, Adrienne pulled another piece of cloth from her dress pocket.
Last time it had been red; this time it was pure white.
At a glance, there were far more letters than before. It seemed she hadn’t been completely idle.
Still, thinking that she had embroidered it while worrying about his safety didn’t feel bad.
Hate him or love him, he was still her friend.
“Why white?”
“…So it’s harder to maintain? Or so you can just display it?”
“So you won’t go anywhere dangerous again.”
The way she looked at him, as if asking whether he didn’t understand such a deep meaning, was obnoxious.
Cyril would bet his entire fortune that this was something she’d come up with on the spot. She probably just grabbed the first white cloth she saw.
Still, the fact that she hadn’t forgotten their promise deserved some credit.
Chuckling softly, Cyril accepted the handkerchief.
But only for a moment.
“…Adrienne de Casinel Blois.”
“You haven’t forgotten my name. Good job, Cyril.”
“Are you messing with me right now?”
His already bright yellow eyes burned with anger.
Cyril unfolded the handkerchief.
[Syril Valentin De Thesa r]
Where a C should have been, a proud S sat instead.
The noticeably improved embroidery and the otherwise perfect name only made it more heartbreaking.
If you were going to mess it up, you should’ve messed up all of it….
