Chapter 8.
The Less Tiny One and the Even Tinier One (6)
“What about you?”
“What?”
“Am I not pretty?”
Adrienne suddenly asked that.
What was this now…?
Cyril narrowed his eyes and looked at her.
A few strands of hair, just as unruly as their owner, curled and fell down across her round forehead.
The flowing, vividly red hair contrasted sharply with her pale skin, making each color stand out more.
Below that, her eyebrows were clear and neatly shaped, and her already long eyelashes cast deep shadows.
Cyril had been looking at her with the intention of scoffing, but his expression gradually grew serious.
And her eyes—
The bluest eyes Cyril had ever seen sparkled steadily, even as the sun dipped lower.
Though her features were bold overall, the slight downward tilt of her eyes softened her impression.
Thinking back, he realized he might have thought she looked like a fairy at first.
That was before she’d called him tiny.
“…She’s not wrong.”
A realization struck him.
Adrienne de Casinel Blois was, just as she claimed—and just as everyone in the castle said—pretty.
Very much so.
“…Not really.”
Finally tearing his gaze away from her clear eyes, Cyril answered with words that didn’t match his thoughts.
She was pretty, yes—but if even he acknowledged that, there was no telling how unbearable Adrienne would become.
“Really?”
“…Yeah.”
After a pause, Cyril slowly nodded.
Adrienne dropped her doll with a soft thud.
“Cyril is pretty.”
Your eyes sparkle too.
Adrienne murmured quietly while staring at the doll, her voice subdued.
It felt as if she’d somehow seen straight through him, and Cyril flinched.
Should he change his answer now?
Say that actually, she was a little—no, more than a little—pretty…
Just as guilt began to stir in Cyril—
“It’s okay.”
“What do you mean it’s okay all of a sudden?”
“I just won’t marry Cyril!”
Adrienne suddenly perked up and shouted energetically, as if she’d never been upset at all.
The way she grabbed her doll was light and cheerful.
Struck out of nowhere, Cyril opened his mouth without realizing it, then hurriedly shut it.
“Who says I want to marry you?”
“Then don’t!”
“I won’t!”
Why would I marry someone as stupid as you?!
Cyril swallowed his anger and turned his head sharply away.
Somehow, it felt like he’d already lost before the fight even started.
As if he’d wanted to marry her or something…
Cyril continued denying it in his head, even as Adrienne left the room.
＊ ＊ ＊
The illness of unknown origin was Cyril’s oldest friend—and his cruelest one.
Just when he began to forget it, it would return to startle him, tormenting him through the night as if asking why he’d dared forget it.
After waking from a brief seizure, Cyril stared blankly at the ceiling.
Once the strange sensation of his body not feeling like his own faded, it was already morning.
The numbness throughout his body, followed by the sudden loss of sensation and clouding of consciousness, never grew familiar no matter how many times he experienced it.
I think I saw Jerome.
Cyril recalled his physician’s face from his hazy memory.
He seemed to remember pulling the bell cord urgently, so Jerome must have come.
As always, Jerome would have given him medicine and carefully massaged his arms and legs to keep the seizure from lasting longer.
Just like now.
Rub, rub.
The hands pressing down with gentle, ticklish pressure were extremely familiar to Cyril—
…Gentle?
—No, they weren’t.
Not at all.
Jerome was a grown man, and a skilled physician.
There was no way his touch would be this clumsy.
Only then did Cyril sense something was wrong.
He tried to turn his head, but right after regaining sensation, his movements were slow.
“…?”
After managing to look in the intended direction, Cyril saw someone unexpected.
Adrienne.
His lips moved, but no sound came out.
Sitting beside the bed, Adrienne had pulled just one of Cyril’s hands out from under the blanket and was awkwardly massaging it.
Judging by the way she tilted her head, she clearly didn’t even know if she was doing it right.
The unfamiliar, clumsy touch felt strange.
Is this a dream?
Still foggy from the medicine, Cyril barely managed to think.
It was a reasonable conclusion.
Why would Adrienne be here at this hour?
Besides, Jerome knew Cyril well.
He knew Cyril hated letting others see him sick.
Cyril believed that Jerome would never have allowed someone in so easily—not even Adrienne, whom he was fairly close to.
It’s a dream.
The reasoning made sense.
Relieved, Cyril slowly closed his eyes.
A fool who doesn’t even know what an heir is couldn’t possibly nurse someone….
Even if she could, Cyril didn’t want Adrienne tending to him.
Especially not after she’d already seen him at his weakest.
Still…
Thinking it was just a dream didn’t feel all that bad.
Cyril relaxed and drifted back to sleep.
In the dream world he returned to, Adrienne was waving at him.
Strangely enough, that alone seemed to erase the pain of the night.
Wrapped in a ticklish comfort, Cyril smiled faintly in his sleep.
＊ ＊ ＊
It was a day after winter had passed.
A spring breeze, still holding onto the cold, brushed past delicate branches.
Cyril lay in bed, staring blankly at the scene.
After being ill for several days in a row, his pale face was steeped in gloom.
“Your condition has improved a great deal compared to before. The paralysis symptoms are much less severe as well. It’s just a simple fever, so there’s no need to worry too much.”
Jerome spoke reassuringly, but Cyril only caught fragments of his words.
As a result, only negative terms like paralysis and fever stuck vividly in his mind.
And so, deflated, Cyril did nothing but wait for the next seizure that might come at any time.
Just last week, he had cautiously hoped that the beginning of being seven would be better than the end of being six.
To start a new year with a fever…
Disappointed, Cyril coughed lightly.
In the quiet room, the sound echoed louder than it should have.
Tap.
A small tapping sound came just then.
Cyril coughed a few more times before finally registering the noise and turning his head.
The sound was coming from the window.
Something thicker than a branch was tapping against it.
Casinel Manor, with its long history, had many old trees in its garden.
Even so, a tree was still a tree.
A branch moving on its own to knock on a window was impossible.
Besides, Cyril’s room was on the first floor.
Even tall trees didn’t usually reach first-floor windows.
“Adrienne?”
A shadow appeared at the window, and then Adrienne came into view.
The thick “branch” was actually a wooden sword.
Adrienne stood there, gripping it tightly.
“What are you doing there?”
Cyril muttered softly, knowing there was no way she could hear him through the glass.
It had been a week since they’d last met, since he’d forbidden visits out of concern that she might catch his illness.
Cyril quietly watched Adrienne.
Unlike him, who was always sickly, Adrienne looked perfectly healthy.
A rosy glow colored her pale cheeks, and her sparkling eyes were full of energy.
Must be nice.
Cyril thought dully, feeling a twinge of envy.
While he was stuck lying down without the strength to go outside…
Even knowing it wasn’t Adrienne’s fault, a petty jealousy crept in.
Tap. Tap.
Adrienne, who had been holding his gaze, knocked on the window again—harder this time.
“What.”
Cyril answered curtly.
It didn’t matter how he spoke.
She couldn’t hear him anyway.
Whether or not Cyril justified himself like that, Adrienne pointed at herself, clearly telling him to keep watching her.
What is she going to do now?
With no expectation at all, Cyril kept his eyes on her.
Adrienne stepped several paces back from the window.
She took a breath—
Whoosh!
—and swung the wooden sword.
It was sudden and swift.
Cyril’s mouth fell open in surprise.
Adrienne’s antics continued.
From time to time, she opened her mouth and tensed her face, as if letting out battle cries.
What on earth is that…
If Countess Parte had seen this, she would have screamed,
“Mademoiselle Casinel! Such improper conduct!”
Cyril felt much the same way as his tutor.
Yet at some point, he realized he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Adrienne’s agile movements.
“Count Casinel is known as a paragon of strength among soldiers. Young Master, you will return healthy after living under him. This nurse guarantees it.”
The night before leaving Tesar, his nurse had held Cyril’s hand tightly and said that.
At the time, convinced he’d been abandoned, Cyril hadn’t listened properly.
She’s… kind of good.
Watching Adrienne, he found the nurse’s words believable.
As the count’s blood, Adrienne’s movements were light and nimble.
Of course, to a knight’s eye it would look like child’s play.
But to Cyril, who couldn’t leave his bed, it looked convincing enough.
While Cyril was unknowingly entranced, Adrienne finished her brief demonstration and walked back to the window.
Tap, tap.
This time, it wasn’t the wooden sword.
She knocked with her small fist.
Startled back to himself, Cyril stiffened his expression as if he hadn’t been watching intently at all.
Adrienne now stood right in front of the window.
Her red hair swayed beyond the large glass pane.
The midday sunlight shone brightly over it, making Cyril squint slightly.
“…What did you say?”
If he couldn’t read her lips, it was probably because the day was too bright.
Adrienne didn’t look radiant because of the light—
—or so he told himself.
