Chapter 20
Exchange
Ninia met the gaze that was fixed sharply on her. Tarahan stood there with a thick book in one hand—the very beginner’s medical text she had been struggling to find.
Instead of grasping the situation, she first felt a strange lightness, as though she were floating. The man she’d kept in her thoughts was suddenly standing right before her, making the moment feel unreal.
I thought I wouldn’t see him for months.
He was the sort to disappear for long stretches, a man who would venture out to finish whatever task called him even in a blizzard. The snowfall that had seemed to pause was thickening again. Staring up at him, Ninia muttered before she realized it.
“…You didn’t go out today.”
She startled herself the instant the words left her mouth. What made her think she could speak to him so casually? Even to her own ears the question sounded oddly personal. Tarahan’s expression sharpened with a faint mockery.
“Sounds like you’d rather I vanish. Were you hoping I’d be gone?”
His cutting words left her blinking, at a loss. Reflexively she lowered her eyes, then glanced back up as if to mend the moment, repeating the motion several times before finally blurting a clumsy denial.
“That’s not it… it’s just snowing so much.”
Going outside in this weather wasn’t wise, she thought, no matter his special bloodline.
“I’ve no idea what nonsense you’re talking about,” he said dryly.
Oddly enough, she agreed—it was like a mouse fretting over a lion. Better to have kept quiet. But the words could not be unsaid.
“…Strange,” he muttered, clicking his tongue. His eyes held a hint of suspicion, as though he truly wondered if she were worried about him.
Ninia lowered her gaze again, then looked back at him. He disliked the way she watched him: her once-clouded eyes cleared as they found his, like blue light breaking through fog.
Eyes like a rain-soaked creature, he thought.
Her gaze seemed almost enchanted, yet she seemed unaware of it. Each time their eyes met she quickly looked away, only to glance back again as though she’d forgotten her own retreat. It was almost amusing.
Look at that, he mused, bemused by this snail that hid in its shell but kept peeking out.
In his hand was a book so thick most people would struggle to lift it. A forbidden text of the Piéchen Empire, it was also a temple taboo. Reading the title, Tarahan asked with quiet amusement,
“Does the holy lady think she’s allowed to read something like this?”
Medicine, pharmacology, magic—these were the classic forbidden studies, outlawed in the goddess’s name. Hardly the sort of text a former saintess should touch. Did she hope to learn one of these arts and fall from grace? His eyes took on a darker edge.
“…It doesn’t matter anymore,” Ninia answered evenly.
Her dry tone cooled his interest, though his stare stayed fixed on her. Was she acting? Did she feel nothing at all? Who could guess what turned inside that small head?
“Not sure you can get through a single page,” he said, handing her the book.
Caught off guard, she accepted it with both arms, cradling its weight like a solid reminder of reality. She quickly murmured thanks.
“Thank you.”
Quick to apologize, quick to give thanks, he thought.
Still holding the book, she remained standing before him. Tall shelves walled them in, the air thick with the scent of old paper and wood—but his presence overpowered everything else.
He was standing far too close. Their breathing mingled in the quiet library, the nearness stirring a faint current in the still air.
“Come down this evening,” he said.
“…Pardon?”
He arched a brow, clearly unwilling to repeat himself, but she only blinked in confusion. Seeing her hesitation, he clarified,
“Dinner. You said you wanted to eat together, didn’t you?”
His reminder finally clicked. A small “Ah…” slipped from her lips, her slow thoughts catching up. Beneath lowered lashes, blue irises flickered like a cluster of stars. A shy blush warmed her pale cheeks as she gave the faintest nod.
“…Yes. I’d like that.”
Her quiet assent trembled in the hush of the stacks. After a brief silence, she stepped back a couple of paces, still clutching the book.
‘I’d like that,’ is it, he mused as he brushed past her to leave. He had heard her say she liked something, had thanked him, even apologized.
A strange thought crossed his mind: when this brief-spoken woman said her few words, did she fall into silence because there were none left?
That evening Ninia descended to the dining hall to share a meal with him.
When she’d first left this place she’d thought she would never return, yet here she was again in the same seat. Their second meal together.
A simple starter was set before them—not fruit or vegetables, but a small dish made from bird’s eggs. Tarahan watched her and asked,
“No prayer?”
“…Ah.”
Just like the last dinner, she had skipped the blessing before the meal. Caught off guard, she couldn’t answer at once, as though he had discovered a secret.
Did I do that before?
The memory of their earlier meal was clear, yet she hadn’t even realized she’d forgotten to pray.
She looked down at the food. The pre-meal prayer was meant to thank nature and the goddess who created it. Tracing the purpose of the ritual in her mind, she slowly shook her head.
“I don’t think I need to anymore.”
Then she speared a quail-egg fry with her fork and slipped it into her mouth. A faintly briny aroma, a rich flavor. Tarahan watched every motion—the parting of her lips, the slight movement of her soft mouth.
She assumed his attention was only surprise that a former saintess no longer prayed.
How absurd.
A lifetime of faith and devotion had faded after she witnessed death and felt her sacred power drain away.
Everything she had once practiced would now be an act of defiance. Ninia decided she would forgo the prayer from now on. It felt right.
If he found her odd, she found him stranger still. She had never expected him to grant her any requests.
I already received my reward, she thought.
He had given her a ring of keys—permission to roam parts of the castle. She knew well the helplessness of doing nothing. Needlework had filled the hours, but wandering the library felt like freedom.
Small permissions, small freedoms. Which was the true gift? Perhaps both. The thought made her heart beat a little quicker.
Once again her gaze drifted to him. Sensing it, Tarahan continued eating, but let her stare linger.
Those eyes again.
Her look had annoyed him at first, yet to his own surprise it was becoming… intriguing. From the start she had bruised his pride, and now she behaved as if she had no dignity left to trample.
He wondered if that gaze would remain the same no matter what he did.
“You once asked me for a chance—to do well,” he said.
She blinked, the small sound of her mind whirring almost audible. But he didn’t mind repeating himself. His sharp knife sliced through the meat; he smiled faintly, red juice glistening.
“Have you been practicing?”
Only then did she realize what “chance” he meant. Her eyes darted from the tablecloth to the dishes to the bleeding steak.
Her thoughts spun. His words were true enough, but what sort of practice did he mean between a man and a woman? She couldn’t find an answer and finally admitted,
“I’m not sure what I should be practicing.”
“And yet you dragged things out and shamelessly begged me for another chance?”
The bite in his voice made her small hands tighten on her lap. She couldn’t tell what he meant or what lay behind it.
Her stomach churned like a boat on a black sea. Aimless blue eyes finally returned to him. Pleased by her helplessness, his gaze curved with satisfaction.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
His voice softened, almost tender, as if offering mercy to something fragile.
“How to please a man.”
