14
Giggle, giggle.
The cheerful laughter of a child floated into the room through the open window. At that moment, Duke Decklen set down his teacup and clicked his tongue in disapproval.
“To laugh and chatter so loudly in the resting place of our ancestors… and she’s a Lady of noble birth at that. How thoughtless.”
“Ahem. Perhaps it’s simply because Her Ladyship is still young,” another noble cautiously suggested, glancing sideways at Heivan to gauge his reaction.
But the duke shot a sharp glare at the young noble who had dared to contradict him.
“Youth is no excuse for such careless behavior. Perhaps if she were an ignorant commoner, I could understand. But she carries the noble blood of Guenters… though I suppose it’s that other half of her blood that’s problematic.”
The atmosphere in the room froze at the duke’s words. Everyone understood the implication.
It was no secret in society that the Grand Duke’s daughter was born of a mother whose identity and status were unknown—likely a commoner.
Ahem.
Someone awkwardly cleared their throat, trying to defuse the tension, and glanced at Heivan.
Heivan sat alone in an armchair near the bookshelf, sipping wine. Had he not heard the duke’s comment due to his drunkenness? The noble who had glanced at him tilted his head at Heivan’s unreadable expression.
At that moment, a faint chuckle was heard. Heivan set down his glass and stood up. He then turned toward the table where everyone was gathered and walked over.
“Ah, Your Grace.”
Someone moved to steady him as he staggered, but Heivan waved the person off and walked straight to where the duke was seated.
Thud.
“…!”
The duke flinched as Heivan leaned over the table and stared directly at him. Embarrassed by his own reaction, the duke furrowed his brows and forced a smile.
“You seem to be quite inebriated, Your Grace. It’s only midday—perhaps you’ve had a bit too much to drink?”
“Inebriated…?”
Heivan repeated the word softly, as if talking to himself. His blue eyes stared coldly at the duke from beneath tousled hair. The icy look held no trace of drunkenness, and the duke visibly recoiled again.
Heivan’s lips twisted into a faint smile. Then, erasing all traces of amusement from his face, he spoke flatly.
“You’re quite busy, Duke.”
“Pardon? Ah… well, yes, of course…”
Caught off guard by the sudden change in topic, the duke frowned slightly. But Heivan cut him off before he could finish.
“First you fret over my daughter, and now you’re concerned for me.”
“…That’s…”
The duke’s face stiffened at Heivan’s sarcastic tone. He opened his mouth to speak, but Heivan had already turned away and was walking to the window.
It was a clear sign of dismissal. The duke’s face flushed with rage. The other nobles in the room anxiously shifted in their seats, holding their breath, glancing nervously between the two men.
Giggle, giggle.
Again, the child’s laughter floated in from outside. Heivan acted as if he couldn’t care less about the brewing tension behind him and leaned against the windowsill, looking out.
There, on the lawn, was Flitta, running around energetically. Though the distance made her expression hard to see, he could imagine her face lit up with a bright smile.
He had never seen his daughter like that before. In fact, he hadn’t even imagined her smiling so radiantly.
The Flitta he knew always looked at him with frightened eyes or clung to her nanny’s skirt, hiding behind her.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Heivan’s lips. He didn’t even realize it himself. Watching Flitta run, he followed her with his eyes—until he noticed the woman toward whom she was running.
“…!”
A spark lit in Heivan’s blue eyes. Standing there was the woman named… Roze, if he remembered correctly.
He murmured to himself.
She was the woman he had hired as Flitta’s personal maid—and the same woman who had once saved his child.
And yet, the fact that he remembered her name was unusual in itself. Even longtime employees in the Grand Duke’s residence hadn’t managed to leave a lasting impression on him. The only servant whose name he recalled was the butler.
He was an indifferent master in a world where nobles treated their servants as mere tools for convenience.
And yet, Heivan recalled Roze’s name so naturally that he didn’t even find it strange. It felt as if he was simply meant to know it.
Is she the reason Flitta can smile like that?
He watched his daughter laugh joyfully in Roze’s arms and chuckled to himself. It seemed he had made a surprisingly good decision. At the time, hiring Roze had been an impulsive act to save a woman who had helped his child…
“Your Grace! About what you just said earlier—!”
It was then.
Just as the duke, his face red and purple with rage, raised his voice, Heivan straightened up from the window and turned around.
He glanced once more outside, then walked past the duke without so much as a word.
“Y-Your Grace!”
Feeling insulted again, the duke’s face twisted with fury. But Heivan ignored the chaos behind him and left the room.
Only after the door closed behind him did the nobles rush to comfort the fuming duke.
“Are you alright, Duke?”
“His Grace was rather uncalled for…”
The nobles, who had been caught between Heivan and the duke, now scrambled to take the duke’s side. None of them thought to wonder why Heivan had suddenly left after gazing out the window.
* * *
“Butterfly, butterfly! Yellow butterfly, Roze!”
Flitta waved her arms like fluttering wings as she ran toward Roze. But before reaching her, the child tripped on a stone hidden in the grass and fell forward.
“Fl—My Lady!”
Roze had been watching the child play with a smile, but her face turned pale as she rushed over. Just as she reached Flitta, the girl propped herself up and looked up.
“…Mmm.”
Her round, pale green eyes immediately grew timid as she glanced up at Roze, afraid she might get scolded for falling so clumsily—just like the nanny used to do.
“Are you okay? Did you—ah, you’re bleeding. Oh no…”
Roze frowned in worry as she saw the scrape on Flitta’s knee, looking more pained than the child herself. Flitta blinked up at her, surprised.
“That must really hurt. Hold on, I’ll get some clean water and medicine—or better yet, let me carry you, My Lady.”
Roze couldn’t even bring herself to touch the bleeding knee and anxiously crouched with her back turned to the child.
“…Huh?”
Flitta stared blankly, as if she hadn’t understood. Roze looked back over her shoulder and repeated herself.
“We should go inside and treat it properly. What if it leaves a scar?”
“…Mmm…”
Flitta blinked slowly. The words were familiar. She had heard something similar before, when she’d fallen and scraped her knee—only, the nanny had scolded her harshly.
“What if His Grace sees that scar?! Come here at once. I’ll fetch a healer!”
“Don’t worry. If we show the healer, they’ll take good care of it.”
The warm voice of Roze overlapped with the nanny’s cold scolding. Flitta stared quietly at Roze as she gently reassured her.
…They sound similar, but something’s different.
The child tilted her head. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was—but unlike the scary nanny, Roze was kind. She liked that.
And she had offered to carry her!
Flitta had never been carried by anyone before. She hadn’t even imagined such a thing. But now, here was her chance.
Afraid Roze might change her mind, Flitta hurried over and wrapped her arms around Roze’s neck, climbing onto her back.
“You have to hold on tight, My Lady.”
“Mm!”
Flitta tightened her grip, and Roze let out a small laugh as she stood up with the child on her back.
Wooow…
Flitta’s round eyes grew even wider. Her head tilted back, and her pale green eyes filled with the vast blue sky.
The sky seemed closer than ever. Flitta’s hands twitched unconsciously. If Roze hadn’t told her to hold on tight, she might’ve reached out and tried to catch the sky itself.
