CHAPTER 49…………….
“Brother, brother!”
The boy walking ahead through the grass turned his head.
A little child was running toward him, laughing brightly. The golden-haired boy looked at the child who had called him with indifferent eyes, then cast a quick glance at the attendants wringing their hands in the distance.
Regardless, the child stubbornly clung to the boy’s leg. Arms stretched upward as if asking to be held, the child began to whimper when the boy did nothing.
The boy let out a quiet sigh, lifted the child in both arms, and raised him high.
The child, thinking he was being played with, burst into gleeful laughter. Looking up at him helplessly, the boy forced an awkward smile.
It was a surprisingly gentle smile.
Unlike the other brothers who were always sharp and prickly, this boy’s calmness drew the child to him often. The sunlight glinting off his golden hair was so pretty that the child reached out to grab it.
Then, suddenly, the child noticed the hand holding him.
Beneath the sleeve, his brother’s arm bore many marks. Only later did the child realize they were scars—at the time, he had simply thought it was dirt.
Even in summer, the boy always dressed formally, never exposing any skin but his face. Only when the child grew older did he begin to understand why.
After letting the child play with his hair, the boy gently set him down on the grass. The hand that stroked the child’s head felt so reassuring that he couldn’t help but grin.
“You really are fearless.”
“I’m actually scared of a lot of things!”
“Go back to your mother. She must be worried.”
The boy’s hand softly patted the child’s back. At the time, the child wondered why that hand looked so large. He looked down at his own soft, white, unscarred hands, and for some reason his throat tightened.
The dazzling scene flipped, swallowed by darkness.
“You must become king.”
The child, now a little older, looked at those imploring him—Hamel, Bennet, Dolores. The one standing at the front made the child realize this was a dream.
After all, his grandfather had passed away eight years ago. There was no way he could see him again.
“Your Highness, we will aid you. You will surely ascend to the throne.”
“Your Highness!”
“Your Highness, please preserve yourself!”
Fleeing wildly from the echoing voices, he froze when he saw her. His mother, with black hair, pale skin, and a sorrowful face, spoke to him.
“Ian, you must become king. That is the only way for us to survive.”
Mother, but… but I’m not fit to be king. You already know that, don’t you? Mother, what I truly wish for is—
“Ah…”
When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the gray ceiling, faint light filtering in. Lukewarm dampness trickled down from the corner of his eyes to his temples.
He slowly sat up. Tousled hair, dried tear marks at the corners of his eyes, and a vacant expression.
It took him a long while to shake off Ian and return to being Noah.
“Noah, what’s the matter?”
“Hm?”
Noah blinked, fork in hand. Tiela gave him a worried look.
“You’ve only cleared away two plates. How will you keep up your strength eating so little?”
“Ah… right.”
Compared to his usual five plates at minimum, it was indeed a small amount. Noah answered lightly as though it were nothing, but his fork didn’t move again. Instead, he reached for the fruit dish.
Whenever he dreamt of his brother, it was always like this. They were clearly fond memories, yet he would feel weighed down afterward.
His gaze deepened as he thought of the man in his dream—the current king.
Since his confinement eight years ago, they hadn’t met once… except for that day, a month ago.
Seeing his brother again, still blunt as ever, but alive and well—that alone had been a relief. He wished they could have spoken more.
Noah shook his head. Really, what beauty was there in a man whose bloodline had tried to kill him? Even now, thinking such thoughts was shameless.
There had been a time when the weight of duty—You must become king—pressed unbearably on his shoulders. Only after his release did he realize it had been a burden. Yet the guilt still lingered.
Chewing down on grapes along with the self-loathing that kept trying to surface, Noah glanced at the water glass Cordelia placed before him.
When the ball ended yesterday and Cordelia immediately seated herself primly for dinner, Noah had nearly burst out laughing.
Her expression screamed how bored and lonely she had been. Isaac and the others also struggled to stifle their laughter, though when Kallia finally let out a giggle, they all had to work hard to console the pouting Cordelia.
That alone showed how dearly she was loved.
“Are you sick or something?”
Her sparkling eyes fixed on him. Feeling like a child about to be scolded, Noah guiltily admitted,
“My stomach’s a little unsettled today.”
It wasn’t a lie. He hurriedly grabbed an apple, split it cleanly in half with his hands, and popped a piece into his mouth, chewing slowly as he looked at the cup Cordelia had given him. Strangely, the table had gone quiet.
“What was that just now?”
Puzzled, Noah looked up to see everyone staring at him in surprise. He tilted his head and calmly replied to Isaac’s question.
“I’m eating fruit.”
“No, not that. Just now—what did you do?”
“Oh, I just find it inconvenient otherwise. Ah, would you like some?”
“…That’s not the point. Well, thank you.”
Ordinary people can’t just tear an apple apart with their bare hands.
Isaac didn’t say it aloud, only accepted the half and crunched into it. He remembered Noah being rather slim as a child. What kind of life had he lived these past eight years to develop such physical strength?
While Isaac misunderstood and felt pity, Kallia noticed Cordelia’s eyes sparkling in an entirely different way and clicked her tongue inwardly.
Here she goes again.
Sure enough, Cordelia’s gaze lingered greedily on Noah’s muscular arms.
She had suspected his strength when she first saw him move, but seeing it confirmed was thrilling. He could probably carry someone princess-style with ease. If she asked, would he do it? Just imagining it made a perfect picture in her mind.
Such strength, coupled with innocence, courtesy, and strikingly handsome looks… Her first impression of him came back. He truly was inspiring.
If only she had a pen. Of course, sketching at the table would get her scolded as unladylike. So instead, she simply watched as Noah lifted his glass, his throat bobbing slowly as he swallowed.
Noah, in many ways, was a man worthy of being a novel’s protagonist.
Later, Noah set a basket of fruit on his desk. Pulling the desk into the sunlight, he carefully arranged the fruit for study before settling into a chair a little ways back.
He dipped his quill into the ink on the side table and leisurely began sketching.
Isaac had offered to change his room, but Noah liked this one. Tucked away in a corner, it was quiet and free from interruptions—perfect for thinking or working.
Unaware of the whispered rumors among the servants about ghosts, Noah answered lightly when someone knocked.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
He rose and opened the door. Cordelia peeked in, wearing a thin yellow dress down to her ankles, fresh and bright like the goddess of spring.
“What brings you here?”
“I was bored. And I have something to talk about.”
Noah quickly fetched another chair from a spare room, offered her his own seat, dusted off the spare, and sat.
“You were drawing just now?”
Cordelia’s sharp eyes had already noticed the cluttered room. Gesturing for him to continue, she watched as Noah hesitated, then set aside his paper and board and sat down.
Well, the conversation wouldn’t take long.
“Yes.”
“What were you drawing?”
“A still life. I don’t have time for canvas work, though.”
Thanks to advances in papermaking, thin, good-quality sheets were cheap, making such hobbies affordable. He had considered paints, but pigments were too costly for this kind of work.
And in three days, they would return to the capital. There was no way he could finish a full piece by then.
“You really do love drawing. It’s amazing you can think about it all day.”
Am I competing with his art now? The thought furrowed Cordelia’s brow.
“It helps me clear my mind.”
Perhaps that was why Noah clung so much to drawing. With a wry smile, he suddenly remembered something.
“Ah—come to think of it, I finished your portrait, but I never gave it to you.”
“Oh, that’s right.”
He had nearly finished it before his body changed, but with everything that happened since her birthday banquet, he had forgotten.
“It must be beautiful. I’m really looking forward to it.”
“I only hope you’ll be pleased with it.”
Noah spoke with grave sincerity. Cordelia almost teased him—Why so serious between us?—but held her tongue. Better to take it slow.
After all, she still hadn’t figured out the source of the negative emotions that had disturbed her before.
Why had she gotten so angry that day?
The uneasy feeling still lingered, making her recall that sunset whenever she looked at Noah. Oddly enough, she had also thought he looked especially handsome that evening.
She had tried writing out her emotions on paper, but no clear answer emerged. If anything, it had left her more confused.
Could this be the beginning of love? It didn’t feel quite like jealousy, either. She just didn’t know. Maybe her older sister would, but somehow, Cordelia couldn’t bring herself to ask.
“Hey, Noah.”
Her voice dropped slightly.
“Do you remember the first conversation we ever had? Was the story you told me back then… about painting?”
