HUI 13

Chapter 13

A Request

Three days later, Ninia was walking down a corridor she had never seen before, guided by the butler, Severus. She looked around curiously at the unfamiliar path.

The lady of the house… asked the master?

When Ninia had first requested to meet Tarahan, Rosa had barely hidden her disbelief. But as the Grand Duchess, Rosa could not ignore the maid’s plea and had passed the message to Severus.

The butler, too, had scoffed, certain his master would never agree to such a meeting—yet here they were, unexpectedly granted an audience.

I really thought he’d refuse.

She had spoken expecting an icy rejection. Her plan had been to persist even after multiple dismissals, hoping that sheer irritation might eventually force him to meet her.

While these thoughts ran through her head, Severus stopped before a door and knocked. A low voice came from inside, and Severus opened it.

“Please, go in.”

Though his displeasure was obvious, Ninia considered him almost polite. She stepped through the open door. The study was as cool as the hallway. Behind the table, Tarahan sat, eyes fixed on a stack of papers.

“…Hello.”

After a brief hesitation, Ninia greeted him. Even as she spoke, it felt strangely inappropriate—like something one shouldn’t say to him.

Perhaps because of that, Tarahan didn’t reply. He merely picked up another sheet, never glancing her way. The only sound for a long while was the quiet rustle of turning pages.

“You.”

The sunbeam through the window dimmed as a cloud passed. Startled, Ninia looked up to meet his eyes. His expression was as if something about her presence irritated him.

“Are you staging a protest? Or can’t you even sit down on your own?”

“N-no.”

Flustered, Ninia glanced around. In the center of the room, a large sofa surrounded a low table.

Her legs ached from standing, but she hadn’t dared sit. She hurried over and perched stiffly on the edge. The seat was firmer than it looked—better than standing, but hardly comfortable.

Tarahan said nothing more, returning to his work. The silence pressed on her until even breathing felt difficult. After staring at the pattern on her dress for a long while, she finally lifted her head.

“I… have something to say.”

She expected to be ignored again, but this time Tarahan raised his gaze to meet hers. Ninia flinched. He looked almost incredulous that she had spoken.

“So you can talk.”

If there was sarcasm in his voice, Ninia acted as if she didn’t hear it, blinking mildly. That only annoyed him more.

When she’d signed the marriage-like contract without protest, he had expected outrage—tears, arguments, demands. He had been ready to personally suppress her tantrum. But she had signed quietly.

It was the same with the living arrangements. Tarahan had left her housing and meals to the butler, fully aware that everyone in the fortress disliked her. He had assumed she’d weep and blame others, but she remained silent.

She was almost invisible, as though she didn’t exist within these walls. That unnatural quiet could cause problems of its own; it was why he had once visited her room late at night.

If only you’d give me another chance…

The once-proud representative of the temple had instead behaved like someone willing to do anything he asked.

This is easier, I suppose.

Better meek and docile than a buzzing gnat. Yet her passivity irritated him in a way he couldn’t explain, and he’d left her room that night in a foul mood.

“So. What is it, Saintess?”

Tarahan still called her that, a reminder of the boundary she could never cross. Just as the goddess shunned the North, the Northerners did not believe in the goddess. Ninia would forever remain an outsider here.

“I have a request.”

Despite his clear hostility, Ninia seemed almost pleased that he was willing to listen. His sarcasm was unchanged, but he at least looked as though he might hear her out.

It would be nice if we could clear up the misunderstanding…

She had finally learned the reason for his hostility, but she knew no explanation or plea would convince anyone.

So she had resolved to do whatever she could.

“Speak.”

He smiled faintly, assuming at last she would ask for some dignified protest about her situation, as all temple folk did. But her next words shattered that expectation.

“Would there… be anything I can help you with?”

She couldn’t correct the temple’s lies about her, but she wanted to be of some use, at least as much as he had gone to the trouble of bringing her here.

I have no holy power, no special skills…

The thought made her feel painfully small, but it was the truth. Even weeds and wildflowers had their uses. Perhaps she, with nothing but her own body, could be helpful somehow. That was why she had come.

“Hah.”

Tarahan exhaled in disbelief, and Ninia shrank. Of course he must think her pathetic.

Who would ever “request” to be of help like that?

But his surprise was for another reason entirely. He found her idea unexpectedly amusing.

He stood and walked around the table toward her, casting a shadow over her. Leaning close enough for their faces to almost meet, he looked her in the eye.

“The temple’s former doll, offering herself?”

Ninia blanched. Temple doll—the nickname society ladies had used behind her back.

Not everyone who professed faith was devout. Jealous noblewomen, seeing Ninia invited to grand gatherings and admired by men, had mocked her as a decorative plaything of the temple.

Ninia only blinked, golden lashes catching the dim light like threads of silk. Her snow-white skin and blue eyes were so beautiful they seemed untouchable, like a sacred work of art.

Even her blinking is unbearably slow, he thought, watching her with a frustrated sigh. Just meeting her eyes always managed to twist something inside him.

When her face could grow no paler, he finally spoke.

“Fine.”

It was true he had purchased only the temple’s shell. Yet even a beautiful, polished shell could have its uses.

He straightened, stepping back. Ninia let out the breath she’d been holding, almost gasping.

Watching her, Tarahan gave a calm command.

“Get the land from Count Ervan Troyd.”

“…Count Troyd?”

Ninia repeated the name, startled. Only after a moment did she recall who he was.

The count had once been stuck in the North, far from the capital, but now, with the Empress as his patron, he slipped between North and Center like a bat.

He was also the one who, when war erupted in the Winter Lands, persuaded many nobles to flee. Ninia’s expression darkened.

“Before leaving, the count promised me that land,” Tarahan said lazily, leaning back. “But now he’s grown stubborn.”

Once, the count had been a leading figure of the North. If Tarahan could have taken his head, the other nobles would have quickly surrendered their own promises.

But killing the count—who had the Empress’s backing—would cause no end of trouble.

Still, there were other ways to make a man bend. Tarahan had been pondering this when Ninia came to him.

“Will you do it?”

It was a ridiculous request, and he had no real expectation she’d succeed. He merely wanted to see her flustered.

“Yes. I’ll do it.”

But Ninia nodded calmly, her blue eyes free of resentment or complaint.

Tarahan said nothing. Taking his silence as dismissal, Ninia carefully rose.

Just before leaving, she turned back.

“Thank you.”

She spoke with genuine sincerity, then disappeared.

Watching her go, Tarahan muttered without thinking,

“Thank me? She must be out of her mind.”