#021. Crossing the Threshold
“Welcome, Lady.”
The knight, Perry Collins, greeted her politely at the front gate of the mansion.
Anastasia looked back at the empty garden and gave a bitter smile.
Across the garden, Enoch and Trish were walking together, chatting quietly.
But no one was there to see her off.
Only the knowledge that this tragedy wasn’t her fault could console Anastasia’s heart.
“If we leave now, when should we arrive, Sir Collins?”
“We should reach before the evening sunset fades.”
“Good.”
Perry Collins extended his hand to escort her, but Anastasia glanced at Artorius behind her.
He willingly lifted her into the carriage with a firm embrace.
“Thank you, Artorius.”
“It’s nothing.”
A lady could always rely on her knight for assistance.
“You and your knight seem especially close,” Collins remarked.
It was unusual to him. Typically, knights from Saden didn’t become so familiar with the ladies they served—especially the younger ones.
They couldn’t quite let go of the customs of the northern forests where they were raised, and their words and actions tended to be rough.
But this knight was different.
“I suppose… we are rather close.”
“Impressive.”
Collins turned to look at Artorius with curiosity.
Judging by his voice, Artorius seemed to be in his mid-to-late twenties. Even allowing a few years’ margin, he couldn’t be more than a little older.
Yet in just a few years after crossing the forests, how could he be so fluent in the kingdom’s etiquette and language?
Collins closed the carriage door and took his place on the driver’s seat.
“Your name is Artorius, correct?”
It was a probing question, almost teasing.
“Yes.”
“I heard that Saden knights use their clan names instead of surnames. Which clan do you belong to?”
Artorius’s blue eyes finally flicked toward Collins.
“I do not belong to any clan.”
“What do you mean…?”
For the Saden, a knight’s clan and its honor were paramount. Collins couldn’t understand such an answer.
“I am merely the knight of the Second Lady Etrangere. Pay me no mind and focus on your duty, herald.”
“…I see.”
Collins shook his head.
It was impossible. How could a Saden knight, who had been here less than a week, be this loyal?
Of course, it helped that Artorius wasn’t technically a Saden knight, but that was beside the point.
Behind the royal carriage, Enoch and Trish sat in the driver’s seat, preparing the black carriage of the duke’s house, filled with Anastasia’s new clothes.
“Sir Collins, I believe we may depart now.”
The lonely garden had no one to see her off.
Artorius didn’t want to leave Anastasia here any longer than necessary.
Though he had lightly teased her, asking if she was planning to ‘swallow the duke’s house’…
It wasn’t necessary to remain in this dreadful place to destroy it.
“It seems the carriage behind is ready as well.”
Collins replied calmly, gripping the reins.
“Indeed. I will ride between the two carriages.”
“How fast should we go?”
Even Saden knights couldn’t maintain a horse’s speed for long. Momentarily, perhaps—but the reason humans used horses as transport was for endurance.
It was impossible for the Saden, sometimes called giants, to match a horse in stamina.
“As you like.”
“…What?”
Collins looked up at Artorius in confusion, then snorted.
Sometimes, knights freshly come from the forests of Saden would make such bluffs.
“Then I will not hold back.”
Soon, Enoch gave a signal from the rear carriage that they could depart.
Collins pulled the reins sharply, and the four horses of the royal carriage thundered forward, hooves striking the ground.
Anastasia opened the carriage window, watching the moment she left that cursed mansion behind.
In the royal court, ladies competed with each other through their dresses and poise. Likewise, the knights alongside them competed in skill.
And the most fundamental quality of a knight was strength and endurance.
“Have we already arrived?”
Perry Collins was dumbfounded.
Even among the Saden knights in the royal court, none could casually keep pace with a horse for hours.
“Truly remarkable…”
Without even catching a breath, Artorius leisurely opened the carriage door for Anastasia.
“Wasn’t that tiring, Artorius?”
“Not at all.”
“Good. Then please help me down.”
As usual, Artorius embraced her waist firmly and helped her down from the carriage.
At that moment:
“You’re here, Anastasia?”
Shining golden curls. Emerald-green eyes.
It was Prince Louis Janports I.
He had come to greet her all the way to the palace gate.
Anastasia glanced at him, held the edge of her bright yellow skirt, and bowed with proper etiquette.
“It’s been a while, Your Highness.”
Louis froze for a moment. His expression went blank, unsure how to respond.
Until Anastasia snickered.
“…Were you teasing me?”
“Tell them I’ve been trapped in the tower too long and forgot my manners.”
“Even so, your greeting was very pretty.”
A faint smile shone in Louis’s narrowed eyes.
Anastasia thought of him as remarkably handsome—almost radiant. Even as a boy, he had seemed cute.
“Ah, this is my knight, Artorius.”
Anastasia grabbed Artorius’s large hand without hesitation.
Their eyes—Artorius’s blue and Louis’s green—met.
“…You’re already close with your knight, I see, Anastasia.”
Anastasia deliberately ignored the faint bitterness lingering on Louis’s lips.
“Hmm? Yes.”
“…I see.”
Louis bit his lower lip, but Anastasia turned toward Artorius to avoid looking at him.
“Artorius, could you bring my luggage inside first?”
“Of course.”
Artorius showed no objection, simply stopping the duke’s black carriage behind them and giving instructions to Trish and Enoch.
But Louis Janports ground his teeth in frustration.
“…This is strange.”
“What is?”
Anastasia asked innocently, making him sigh.
“I don’t understand why you speak formally to your knight while he speaks casually to you.”
His green eyes were serious.
But Anastasia was not.
“Do I really have to tell you, Louis?”
In this life, she didn’t know if he was completely infatuated with her, but in the past life, he was just another person.
He had probably forgotten her entirely. A fleeting connection from childhood, nothing more.
‘Perhaps Sir Hawthorne was right.’
It was difficult to possess both warmth and coldness, softness and strength.
In her past life, Anastasia had been neither cold nor strong—just small, fragile, and gentle.
She could understand why people hadn’t cared for her, but now, anyone’s concern seemed like mere flattery.
“…It’s not like that.”
“Consider it a secret between me and Artorius. You’re not trying to pry into a lady’s secrets, are you?”
Anastasia narrowed her eyes, and Louis waved his hands in surrender.
“O-of course not.”
“Good.”
She planned to take full advantage of his feelings, just as everyone in her past life had used her heart.
Through bitter death, she had learned the truth: human relationships were merely a business paid for in emotions—gold exchanged for feelings.
“But why did you summon me already?”
Louis stiffened at her question.
“…Huh?”
“You’re the court magician, but there’s no urgent need for a magician right now.”
“Well…”
“I thought you said you’d come when a ball was held. Did you not trust me?”
“No, that’s not it…”
Louis was backing away, while Anastasia pressed forward step by step.
“So… did you want to see me that badly?”
Her final words were a wedge, like water seeping into a crack in stone.
The unease in Louis’s expression broke, leaving him flustered.
“…Anastasia?”
“What? Isn’t it so?”
He couldn’t deny it—he had wanted to see her.
Louis exhaled deeply and nodded.
“…Yes.”
Had he really been this playful? At that moment, he realized he knew nothing about Anastasia—only memories from childhood and the dazzling, confident figure he had seen at the ball.
“So… where’s my room?”
“This way…”
Louis hesitated, then reached for her hand to lead her.
But it didn’t go as he intended.
Anastasia pulled her hand away.
Seeing his eyes widen in surprise, she whispered softly:
“Louis.”
Louis Janports’s hand froze in midair.
“We’re not that close yet, are we?”
