Chapter 68
It seemed that she, too, was just as absent-minded. He only now noticed her arm. He gestured toward Rose’s arm, which had been bandaged without a proper splint. Realizing his question late, Rose made a slightly embarrassed expression and answered in a small voice.
“…It’s uncomfortable.”
By uncomfortable, she didn’t mean the splint itself—probably just that it made her work difficult.
Haven frowned in disbelief and spoke again.
“If the bone doesn’t heal properly, what are you going to do?”
“I’m fine, Your Highness.”
Rose offered a faint smile, though fatigue showed on her face. Somehow, her simple response irked Heaven, and his reply came out rather bluntly—uncharacteristic of him, the “Heaven Gaunters” people knew.
“Fine? You could be dealing with this for the rest of your life.”
Rose blinked for a moment, her green eyes flickering slightly at his words. After hesitating, she cautiously spoke.
“…For the rest of my life?”
“Yes, for the rest of your life. You’re still young, and you have decades ahead. But if the bone heals crooked or improperly, it will cause all sorts of trouble. Regretting it then won’t help.”
Heaven frowned, realizing his words sounded like nagging from an old man. He waved his hands and continued.
“Forget it. It’s your choice anyway, so I shouldn’t meddle… Rose?”
But he couldn’t finish his sentence. Rose’s expression as she looked at him was unusual. Though she hid her face with a handkerchief, he felt as if she was about to cry—so much so that he grew uneasy.
“Ro—”
Just as Heaven tried to call her, Rose spoke first.
“Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. But… really, I’m fine.”
Her voice caught, and the atmosphere became awkward. There was something off, though he couldn’t pinpoint what.
“….”
Heaven frowned without realizing it, then silently nodded and turned to leave.
Rose watched him leave the room.
It seemed he was returning to the main residence.
She guessed why he was leaving. After all, staying here all night made no sense. Spending prolonged time with a sick child didn’t mean he had no reason to leave.
He couldn’t just remain by the child’s side forever. Even if he wanted to, his status as “Duke” wouldn’t allow it. So Rose did not blame him.
“…For the rest of my life.”
Rose silently repeated his words, reflecting on the difference between the “lifetime” he imagined and the “lifetime” she actually had left. Did he even realize it?
She forced a bitter smile. Every day was precious. Time spent with him, time with the child—she wanted to preserve it all, if she could.
…But she knew she couldn’t.
Rose gently touched Plita’s cheek, her eyes reddening.
“Your time must keep moving, little one. It cannot stop here. Your time with your father…”
“So please…”
“Now, rise.”
As if responding to her wish, Plita turned her head toward Rose’s hand and made a small sound. Slowly, the child’s eyes began to open.
Contrary to Rose’s assumption that Heaven had returned to the main residence, he had actually gone to fetch firewood. Yet, the moment he reached the first floor, he frowned in thought.
“…Where should I get firewood from?”
Of course, he didn’t know. Even as the head of the household, he couldn’t know such trivial details. But soon, he relaxed and headed toward the entrance.
Even if he didn’t know, his personal guard would. Or, if not, they could find out.
“Sir Pedwin.”
Heaven called quietly as he stepped outside. Pedwin, stationed near the annex, would be nearby.
“Your Highness?”
As expected, Pedwin appeared promptly. Heaven, standing before him, spoke to the knight with utmost courtesy.
“Where should I get firewood from?”
“…Excuse me?”
Pedwin frowned, thinking he had misheard.
“Your Highness, I beg your pardon, could you repeat that?”
“I mean firewood. Do you know where it’s kept?”
“…Oh.”
Pedwin chuckled awkwardly, partly out of disbelief and partly out of helplessness. But he had an obligation to answer faithfully.
“The storage is behind the annex… no, I’ll fetch it myself. How much should I bring?”
Pedwin corrected himself, astonished that the Duke would do it personally. But Heaven waved him off.
“No. Even if you bring it, placing it inside is my job. I might as well do it myself from the start.”
“Then I’ll bring it inside the annex. To the lady’s bedroom…”
“No. We should minimize the number of people entering the annex.”
Heaven shook his head at Pedwin’s suggestion. Resigned, Pedwin said:
“Understood, Your Highness. I’ll guide you.”
Though reluctant, Pedwin led him to the storage behind the annex.
“…Here it is.”
Pedwin hesitated as if unsure, but Heaven nodded and stepped in. The scent of wood hit him immediately.
“As the head of the house, I’ve never been here once.”
“That would be strange if you had,” Pedwin replied, following him inside.
Heaven laughed lightly, looking at the piles of firewood and scanning the dim storage. Small windows were almost blocked by the stacked wood, letting in almost no sunlight.
She must have come here every day.
Heaven couldn’t imagine a frail woman moving logs thicker than her arm, especially with a broken arm. Yet she did it week after week without asking anyone for help. He didn’t know whether to call it foolish or admirable.
With a wry smile, he pointed at a metal pail and asked Pedwin:
“…Should I fill this with firewood?”
“Yes? Ah, yes! That should work.”
Pedwin didn’t know for certain, but the metal pail seemed the only option.
Heaven began filling the pail. Even after a few logs, it grew heavy.
‘Better bring as much as possible.’
It would save her at least one trip. As the child’s father, this was the most he could do for the woman caring for his child.
‘How ridiculous.’
His status as Duke was useless in front of her. Though she addressed him formally, she treated him more as Plita’s father than as Duke.
For the child’s sake, she didn’t spare scolding him either.
“Before anything, she’s just a five-year-old girl, Your Highness.”
“And before your title, you are her father, Your Highness.”
Heaven remembered her words and chuckled, lifting the heavy pail. Pedwin trailed behind, unsure what to do.
Just a five-year-old girl.
And her father.
Heaven gestured for Pedwin to stay behind and walked into the annex. Carrying the pail down the corridor felt strange.
Perhaps it was the thought that, as a royal child, he had never done this before and would never do it again. It was unfamiliar, awkward—but also filled his heart.
The heart of a father chopping firewood for his family on a cold day.
‘In my lost memories… have I ever chopped wood?’
Surely, he hadn’t left all this work to a frail woman. He felt a pang of longing for days he couldn’t remember.
