~Chapter 84~
Amel?
Did His Grace just call me Amel?
Hearing Christan address her like that, Amel froze with her mouth slightly open. He tilted his head.
“Do you dislike it?”
Of course she didn’t. Amel frantically shook her head.
“N-no! Not at all… I just never imagined Your Grace would call me that way…”
Her voice trailed off as she glanced past the curtains. The banquet hall still seemed crowded.
“Then shall we go outside?”
“No. I like it here.”
“…Pardon?”
Amel was flustered by Christan’s calm reply. Did he mean… to dance here?
“This place isn’t so bad for dancing.”
Faint music drifted in from the hall. The only light came from the gaps in the curtains and the pale moonlight. It was a poor setting, yet somehow, it felt not so bad.
“…Alright.”
Swayed by the mood, Amel answered as if entranced.
Christan smiled faintly, placed a hand on his chest, and bowed like a gentleman asking for a dance. Amel bent her knees in a light curtsy in return.
His large, firm hand wrapped around her back. Nervous, Amel swallowed hard.
When her hand rested on his shoulder, the two began to move.
The balcony was small, so their steps had to be narrow. Even so, Amel’s heart pounded as if it might burst.
Come to think of it… just being here alone with him is enough to cause a scandal.
The thought that they were in a secret place together doubled her nervousness. They were only dancing—but it felt like no one else must ever find out.
What is His Grace thinking right now…?
As she spun lightly with the music, her silvery dress rippled like moonlit waves. Christan’s gaze, fixed on her face until now, shifted.
“Your dress suits you well.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
His firm reply made Amel beam. Even in the dim light, her face shone like a morning star—the very sight he had longed to see in the nearly two months apart.
“Very beautiful.”
Her steps froze. Her smile froze too. Christan’s words, spoken without thinking, silenced even him.
“Did you just call me beautiful?”
“N-no…”
He stammered—something he rarely did. Amel immediately protested.
“What? Then are you saying I’m not pretty?”
“That’s not it…”
Watching his flustered face, Amel felt as if struck on the back of her head.
Could it be…?
She remembered when she stayed at his mansion. Back then, he had been blunt and honest—if something suited her, he said so; if she looked pretty, he admitted it. But he had never spoken with any personal feelings, leaving her restless.
For him to falter now… over just saying she was pretty?
Could it be…?
They stared at each other in silence. Amel’s eyes trembled as she held his gaze. She had once bragged to her teacher that he was nearly hers. But now, in this real moment, she felt no certainty at all.
…Could it be?
Her hopes wavered when she saw his calm face. Her own cheeks burned hot, but his complexion remained steady and clear.
…Of course not.
The whirlwind of emotions died down quickly. Scolding herself for foolish thoughts, Amel dropped her gaze—then suddenly stopped. Her red eyes fixed on something.
“Amel?”
Christan called her name, puzzled, but she didn’t hear.
Her gaze was locked not on his face, but beside it. Even in the faint light, she saw it clearly—his ears, flushed bright red.
At once she knew.
His cold walls had crumbled so much that the man before her barely resembled the iron fortress she once met.
“…Your Grace.”
Clutching his hand tightly, as if it were her lifeline, Amel whispered the words trembling on her lips.
“Do you… like me?”
When Christan came back to his senses, he was already standing before Amel.
Earlier, when the Crown Prince led her onto the balcony, Christan had lingered below in the garden, ready to intervene if needed. But soon, Amel was left alone there—as though the Crown Prince had deliberately arranged their meeting.
Relieved that the worst had not happened, Christan had been about to leave. But lowering his guard, he let Amel sense his presence. She leaned out dangerously far, wearing the perfect silvery-blue dress. He should have told her to be careful, yet more than that, he had wanted to see her up close. That’s why he leapt upward in a flash of aura.
Now, seeing her up close, he was speechless. The silvery-blue gown harmonized with her clear aura, enhancing her pure charm. And at its center, her vivid red eyes captured him completely.
He sighed inwardly.
She had always been pretty, but he hadn’t imagined she could become more beautiful. And of course, he wasn’t the only one who thought so. Just moments earlier, watching her dance with the Crown Prince, he had felt a fierce urge to steal away the prince’s sight.
While he was lost in such thoughts, Amel had begun to scold him in her sorrowful voice. He had feared she was crying, but thankfully she wasn’t. Anger—he could accept that, since he knew he was in the wrong.
And then… they had danced. He had meant only to check on her and leave. But being with her made him greedy. He wanted this dance to be so wonderful that she would forget all about dancing with the Crown Prince.
But in lowering his guard… he had slipped again.
“Do you… like me?”
“….”
Christan could not answer immediately. Yet he wasn’t shaken as much as before—the cracks in his calm expression were faint. Perhaps because Count Winterfall had once asked him a similar question, he was better prepared this time.
But Amel didn’t know this. Her expression grew darker by the second. She must have believed his silence meant he felt nothing for her.
…What should I say?
He didn’t want to see her disappointed or sad. Yet he couldn’t recklessly reveal his heart either. Gaspar’s words returned to him like a nightmare.
He had promised himself: to protect her, even if it meant pushing her away. And now, her red eyes stared at him like a pleading rabbit, her lips trembling. It shook him deeply, but still—he mustn’t give in.
“…Amel.”
He spoke in a low tone. At that, her face dimmed, as if bracing for rejection.
“Please.”
“…?”
Her eyes flickered, confused.
“Do not tempt me into a trial.”
His voice carried a desperate weight. It was rejection, yet it sounded almost like a plea. Amel stared at him blankly.
“I… I do not…”
Time slowed. Every movement of his lips, every sound of his tongue was vivid. He felt like a grim reaper, delivering words of death.
“I do not… like you—”
Just then, time snapped back to its normal pace. Both their heads whipped toward the curtain.
Someone had pulled it aside and was staring right at them.
