“Chapter 52”
At the Archduke’s command to inspect the dogfighting arena personally, Khalid immediately returned underground.
I tried to follow them, but Khalid stopped me with a wave of his hand, and I quietly returned to the safehouse instead.
On the way back, I passed through Maersen, which was already being cleared out. Though there were still people trying to flee and others loudly proclaiming their innocence, the moment soldiers bearing the Archduke’s seal appeared, they quieted down like docile lambs.
It was exactly what one would expect from Maersen, so deeply under northern influence.
Even without that, the overwhelming number of troops brought in was enough to silence any resistance. It looked almost like an attempt to take over Maersen by force. Quite literally, the army had marched in.
“He must’ve been really worried about you.”
I murmured, glancing at Schurel, who was still unconscious.
I had thought he would come rushing to check on him, but the Archduke had chosen to take care of the aftermath and cleanup first. The only time he mentioned Schurel was that one brief comment to Khalid, where he had expressed displeasure.
“Well… I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation, but seeing that he’s not here right now, it’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?”
As a Grand Duke, prioritizing official duties was admirable, but I couldn’t help pouting. To me, Schurel was my only brother. And to the Grand Duke, he was his precious lover—lying there after suffering such a horrible ordeal—and yet he hadn’t rushed to his side. That bothered me more than I cared to admit.
‘Is he really the Grand Duke? Really? Seriously?’
‘Yes. He once said I was like a fireplace in the middle of winter. Isn’t that such a cute expression?’
‘He called you a fireplace? That—what does that even mean?’
‘He meant that being with me is warm and comforting, like sitting by the fire. He’s clumsy with words, but that’s why he’s so honest. I find it incredibly endearing.’
‘You must miss him a lot. I feel bad for dragging you here…’
‘It’s fine. I got to see you like this, didn’t I? I’m sure he’ll understand.’
‘Still, I’m sorry. Just stay until the wedding, then go back quickly. Alright? I’d feel too guilty keeping you away from him any longer.’
‘Even if you tried to stop me then, I’d still go. So don’t worry.’
That conversation before the wedding now pierced straight through my chest.
The face that had smiled so longingly, saying he’d leave even if I tried to stop him, was still so vivid.
I sniffled, trying to suppress the sting in my nose, then chuckled softly.
“He’s not exactly what I’d call lovable.”
What part of him, and how exactly, could anyone find cute?
No matter how finely dressed he was, the Archduke Klaus was always more striking than adorable—far from anything like “cute” or “endearing.”
His hair, which I had first assumed was black, was actually a deep brown. A faint scar cut across his right eye, and he wore a black eyepatch over his left. His pale northern skin and sharp, double-lidded eyes slanted upwards, giving his features a fierce and intimidating look.
People usually liken those with sharp eyes to cats, but the Archduke made you think of a wild predator instead.
“More like a tiger than a cat.”
Sure, he had a scar and wore an eyepatch, but underneath all that, he was breathtakingly beautiful.
As these thoughts ran through my mind, night quietly passed and dawn began to break.
“Urgh… uh, kuh!”
Suddenly, Schurel groaned and stirred from his deep sleep. Clutching his chest as though in pain, he looked as though he was suffering a seizure. I shot up and grabbed his hand.
“Hey, are you awake? What’s wrong? Does it hurt somewhere?”
I found myself speaking to him the way I used to back when we were in Riviere. His eyes fluttered open—dry and unfocused—and he whispered with cracked lips:
“…Sister?”
His voice was like iron, but hearing him call out to someone so dearly missed stirred a strong desire in me to respond. Yet that term—sister—snapped me back to my senses.
“Lord Schurel? Are you awake? Are you in pain?”
“Huh… Where…”
The blue eyes that once sparkled like a clear lake had turned dull. They wavered and trembled with fear, as though lost, and it was painfully clear that the past three years trapped in that dogfighting arena had shattered him.
“Y-you need to take this medicine first. Here, please take it.”
I held out the antidote prescribed by the physician, but Schurel recoiled as if it were poison.
“Ugh… get it away! Get it away from me!”
Whack! He slapped my hand away with surprising force and shoved my shoulder, knocking me to the floor. It wasn’t the pain that hurt most—it was understanding why he was rejecting the medicine.
“You have to take it! It’ll make you better!”
Choking back tears, I got up again and clung desperately to his arm. He swung his arms wildly, trying to shake me off in his panic.
After enduring his violent resistance several more times, I finally managed to force the medicine into his mouth.
“L-let go of me!”
Then—just as I started to relax—he lashed out again and slapped me across the face.
Crash! I toppled over and hit the chair, then the floor. But I saw him swallow the medicine.
That was good enough. A success, I told myself, even as I laughed foolishly.
“…Is he really worth getting hit for?”
The sharp voice full of disapproval broke the silence.
“Huh? Oh… Your Highness, you’re here?”
“You’ve got the nerve to act casual looking like that?”
Khalid swept his gaze over me from head to toe, his face twisted in anger—but for some reason, I couldn’t figure out why he was so upset.
My cheek still throbbed from Schurel’s slap. I turned toward the mirror to check my reflection.
“Oh.”
“So this is what people mean when they say something makes you want to scream.”
Khalid gritted his teeth, clearly exasperated.
“You tell me—what kind of debt do you owe Schurel to go this far?”
“W-well… it only looks bad, it’s not actually that painful…”
I mumbled excuses, unable to meet his gaze.
My bobbed hair was a wild mess. Blood trickled from my nose, and my cheek was red and swollen—likely to bruise. My wrists, shoulders, and arms, all places Schurel had grabbed, were either already bruised or starting to turn red.
It was a sorry sight, to say the least.
Embarrassed by how pathetic I looked, I tried to explain, albeit clumsily. After all, I had done it all for Schurel.
But Khalid—why was he the one so angry?
I asked hesitantly.
“If you’re worried about me…”
“Who said that?!”
“Right… of course not. But I’m really okay. As a marquis’s daughter, I couldn’t very well leave it to a servant… if the Archduke were to see this, it would be… damaging to your dignity, maybe?”
That was probably when the Archduke, who had likely been standing outside the room from the beginning, entered.
Klaus had a commanding presence. The moment she stepped inside, I stopped rambling.
Outside, the night had faded, and dawn was softly creeping in.
Having finished the post-operation cleanup, the Archduke had finally come to see Schurel. Her eyes flicked to me—who had stayed by his side and cared for him all night—filled with a strange expression I couldn’t quite read.
A chill ran down my spine.
Her slow, deliberate gaze swept from my head to my toes. I felt completely exposed. My appearance was a mess, and I instinctively lowered my head in embarrassment. I quickly wiped the blood still trickling from my nose.
When I dared look up again, her gaze had already moved on, as if it had never settled on me at all.
Without a word, she approached Schurel.
Though the antidote had calmed him slightly, he still wasn’t in his right mind.
“W-wait! He’s not fully conscious yet—!”
I tried to stop her, worried he might lash out again like he had with me—but I didn’t even finish my sentence.
Schurel reacted the same way he had to me—swinging his arm at the person approaching him.
Whack!
But his hand stopped in midair.
My jaw dropped in shock.
Unlike me, Klaus had effortlessly dodged the strike. Then, in a swift, decisive movement, she grabbed Schurel by the collar and lifted him from the bed.
“Open your eyes, Schurel.”
“Urgh… ugh…”
“Open them.”
The command came in a low, seething voice full of suppressed rage—utterly cold and unyielding.
