Chapter 020. A Heart Like Foam
“Are you sure you don’t need any help?”
Enoch opened the freshly restored door and peeked his head inside. Trish’s head was visible just below his.
“Why don’t the two of you catch up a bit? It’s been a while since you last saw each other.”
Anastasia shrugged and gestured lightly, signaling them to go back.
“But still….”
Trish hesitated for a moment before slipping into the room.
“You want to help?”
“…Would that be alright?”
Her green eyes sparkled brightly. Though taller than Anastasia, she was still young.
“Of course it would be. In that case, I’ll rely on you.”
“Yes!”
She seemed genuinely happy at the mere fact that she had been given a task. Well, given her personality, it made sense that the border margrave’s household had written her a letter of recommendation.
Anastasia sat back down on the bed and watched Artorius pull an armchair over beside her.
Coincidentally, Trish still hadn’t seen Artorius.
He had been standing just outside her line of sight.
“Ah, miss! Shall I bring refreshments for you as well—hiiik!”
It was a reasonable reaction.
She must have seen Artorius at the main gate, but only from a distance….
More importantly, he differed slightly from ordinary Saden knights.
His presence.
The exquisitely crafted armor, oddly warped in places, and the way he casually dragged an armchair over and sat comfortably even in front of a noblewoman.
And the helmet that concealed his face and head, along with the long black hair flowing beneath it.
It would not be wrong to describe him as a gaunt monster mimicking human form.
“Were you startled by me?”
Artorius asked in a low voice. Trish froze before his faintly burning blue eyes, managing only a stiff nod.
Unable to watch any longer, Anastasia lightly kicked Artorius’s shin.
“Don’t scare her, Artorius.”
“…I did not intend to frighten her.”
Enoch, who had been watching from outside, approached and gently patted Trish’s shoulder and back.
“That was rude, Trish.”
Though his words sounded like a scolding… his gaze wasn’t particularly stern.
In truth, both Anastasia and Artorius understood.
It would be strange not to be startled.
“S-sorry….”
Trish bowed her head to Artorius, and the strange knight waved a hand dismissively in response.
“I am not offended. Help Anastasia pack her belongings.”
His tone was gentle, archaic—so refined it felt out of place in modern speech. He also casually reached out and stroked Anastasia’s hair without hesitation.
To Trish, he was a mystery in every sense. But a perceptive maid does not ask questions where obvious doubt exists.
Trish nodded, slipped out of Enoch’s embrace, and resumed carefully packing the few belongings Anastasia had.
“Oh, Enoch. So… did you visit Esteban Hothongel?”
“Yes. While the princess was out hunting yesterday, I went. However, none of the game you brought back was present.”
It was a subtle inquiry.
“Ah, the hunt was mostly an excuse… I actually went to the Brown Forest.”
Enoch’s expression stiffened briefly.
Anastasia, busy removing Artorius’s hand from her hair, did not notice.
“…I see. Ah, the ready-made garments you mentioned were sent today by Lord Hothongel. They have not yet been unloaded from the carriage, but I will have someone transfer them directly onto the royal carriage.”
“Good. Then Enoch, you should go pack as well.”
Enoch did not immediately understand Anastasia’s instruction.
Pack?
“Me, miss?”
“Yes. Trish and I are going. Are you planning to stay behind? There won’t be much worth seeing if you do.”
The old butler thought for a moment before bowing his head.
“Thank you for your consideration.”
Anastasia’s suggestion essentially meant that she would take full responsibility.
More precisely, it also meant she would guarantee Enoch’s employment as her butler for the rest of his life.
If he followed her, it would be as good as severing ties with the ducal house.
“I still haven’t finished repaying my debt from when you were young, Enoch.”
Anastasia shrugged with a smile.
Trish, glancing back and forth between her grandfather and Anastasia, soon brought two large bags neatly packed with clothing and accessories.
“I’ve finished packing, Princess!”
“Good. Then go help Enoch pack as well. Spend some time together. I’ll rest a little.”
At Anastasia’s small gesture, a bright smile spread across Trish’s face.
She was a lovely child.
A girl like a wildflower in a field, with bright red blossoms.
Watching Trish’s cheerful expression with a hint of admiration, Anastasia then turned her gaze to Enoch’s kind eyes as he looked at the girl.
“…So that’s what family is.”
A warmth she had never been allowed to have.
Anastasia bit her drying lips absentmindedly and pulled the Sir Forlorne resting at her bedside closer.
“Well then, we’ll be going!”
Trish clung to Enoch’s side and exited Anastasia’s room.
Once the two left, the room seemed to lose a shade of its color.
“She seems lively.”
Artorius said with a faint smile—one only Anastasia could recognize.
“Indeed. She has something I don’t.”
Artorius’s blue eyes shifted from the door Trish had left through back to Anastasia.
Anastasia met his gaze, almost defiantly.
A brief, awkward silence followed.
Artorius spoke first.
“She does have freckles you lack.”
Anastasia narrowed her eyes.
“That’s not what I meant, Artorius.”
“Are you speaking of family?”
His direct remark cut straight to the point, causing Anastasia to inhale and press her lips together.
After a slight tremble, she gave a small nod.
“…Yes.”
Artorius considered for a moment, then extended one hand and lightly tapped his own knee with the other.
An invitation to sit.
“…Please don’t mistake me for a cat, Artorius.”
Though she said that, Anastasia was already getting up from the bed.
“Am I the one treating you like a chair, or are you the one treating me like a chair?”
“That sounds like you intend to keep making me sit on you.”
“…You’re frighteningly perceptive.”
Anastasia allowed his hand to hold her at the waist.
She was lifted lightly and then seated.
Honestly, it was comfortable.
The chest of Artorius’s dented silver armor was inexplicably comforting—more so than a sofa lined with lambskin.
The hem of her yellow dress was slightly pressed, but she had never particularly favored dresses anyway.
To her, they were merely tools for dressing herself like a doll.
“You agreed to go to the court more readily than I expected.”
Artorius asked, brushing her hair with his fingertips.
“Well, I don’t really have a choice, do I? It’s a summons from the royal family.”
“Did you not once say you would ‘devour the ducal house’?”
At his rebuttal, Anastasia raised an eyebrow and turned her body slightly.
She placed her small hand against Artorius’s chest, kneeling up and straightening her back.
Now at her eye level, Artorius met her deep navy gaze.
A steady, resolute color.
“Artorius.”
“…Yes?”
Anastasia narrowed her eyes. Her hand reached up to his helmet, lightly brushing it.
Tension, a mixture of unease and anticipation, hung in the air. Artorius swallowed dryly, like a wary wolf waiting for the small girl above him to speak.
“Do you doubt me?”
A blade-like question.
Artorius froze as if bound.
Looking up at her blue eyes, he slowly shook his head.
It was not a matter of strength.
He had survived even after being struck by her “Thunder of Usurpation,” and had even embraced her small body in his arms.
“…Of course not.”
Yet his voice barely came out.
He couldn’t even move, caught by this small girl who had leapt at him like a moth to a flame.
“Then that’s enough.”
Anastasia fiddled with his helmet’s faceplate, then instead of opening it, gently kissed it.
Artorius remained silent.
The tension snapped.
The unease vanished, replaced by a rising excitement that rippled through his soul like white foam upon the sea.
“Why are you so stiff?”
She smiled faintly and pressed a finger against the spot she had kissed.
“Act like you usually do, Artorius. You weren’t this hesitant before. You even used to pat my head.”
She didn’t dislike the gentle touch on her hair, but she wanted to tease him a little.
This much should be fine.
“…If I have offended you, I apologize.”
But Artorius’s reaction was different from what she expected.
It was far too cautious.
“Stop being so stiff.”
Anastasia smiled again.
“…Is it acceptable?”
“Since when did you start asking for permission?”
“…My apologies.”
Somehow, he felt like a large dog bigger than himself.
Anastasia slid down from Artorius’s lap and adjusted her hair slightly.
“Enough of that—just carry my bags. It’s time we go. Truly.”
Her whisper was like the melody of a violin, and Artorius nodded as if entranced.
He followed behind her as she stepped off his lap, grabbed the doorknob, and gestured for him to come along, carrying the two bags.
He had wasted one lifetime in vain.
He had confined himself to a ruined castle, driven himself into an endless abyss, convincing himself it was for the sake of all.
He had failed to accept the solace that had been offered to him in the form of her, and instead drove a blade into that fragile body.
Looking back, it had been a life devoid of anything precious—a life filled with regret.
“Anastasia.”
She turned around.
Her yellow hair shone brilliantly like rapeseed flowers scattering light.
“Yes?”
After a moment of thought, Artorius voiced his small wish.
“May I… continue to treat you as I do now?”
A smile spread across Anastasia’s small face.
“Now you’re asking for permission?”
A playful, mischievous smile, like that of a young lady teasing him.
It felt as though he had glimpsed the soft essence within a hard shell.
“Of course. I don’t dislike it.”
Those words brought him immense relief.
Artorius set down the bags and carefully pulled Anastasia into his arms.
Once again, he gently patted her small head.
