Chapter 52
Edmund remembered what her feet had once looked like.
Small, pale, delicate.
Now they were ruined.
The moment he pulled off her shoes, her feet swelled painfully, covered in burst blisters, raw skin, and even bleeding spots. Worst of all, her little toenail had broken off entirely.
Even someone as used to physical pain as Edmund couldn’t look without wincing.
“You actually walked all this way like this?”
The words came out sharp, harsher than he meant. As soon as he heard himself, regret stabbed him. He could never seem to speak kindly—only curt and cutting.
I’ll do better. Once we’re somewhere safe… I’ll learn to speak gently.
He swore it silently.
Cassia quickly defended herself.
“But I never slowed us down, right? I didn’t hold anyone back!”
That only made him frown more. Why was she acting like she’d done something wrong? She was the one suffering.
The irritation slipped into his next words.
“Your feet look like they’ve gone numb. Like you can’t even feel pain.”
And yet, his hands moved with the opposite of harshness.
He dug through his pack, pulled out a small glass vial, poured its contents onto a clean cloth.
Cassia blinked.
“Wait—isn’t that Willace’s healing potion?”
“Yeah. It’ll fix this much easily.”
“Hold on! Then you should be the one saving it! What if you need it later?”
Willace’s warning echoed in her mind—
“This potion was hard to make with limited materials. Save it for when you really need it!”
Edmund’s reply was simple.
“This is that moment.”
And he pressed on before she could argue further.
His grip was firm as he caught her ankle, but the cloth against her wounds was tender, almost reverent.
It tickled, like dandelion fluff brushing her skin.
“….”
“….”
Cassia turned her face away, cheeks warm.
Why does this keep happening? Why do I always feel like I’m just… getting in the way?
Still, she let him tend her.
Minutes later, Edmund sighed with relief.
“There. It’s healed.”
“What? …Oh, it really is!”
Cassia’s feet were smooth again, pale and whole. She babbled in surprise—marveling at the potion, protesting it was wasted on her, saying he should’ve saved it.
To Edmund, though, every word sounded like she was scolding herself, pricking her own heart with tiny thorns. And somehow, it pricked his too.
He lifted his eyes to her face. Her newly cut short hair framed her features so differently.
“…What?” she asked, uneasy.
He thought of her long, glossy hair—how beautiful it had been. How he had secretly wanted, just once, to touch it carefully.
Strange. Why am I the only one mourning it? She never spares a thought for herself.
And then, it struck him.
If she won’t regret or treasure herself… then someone beside her should. Someone should do it for her.
I want to be that someone.
The realization made his head flare hot. His face turned scarlet, and he bolted upright, spinning away so she wouldn’t see.
“Edmund?”
“….”
“Edmund!”
“….”
But before his fumbling silence grew awkward, a knock came at the door.
Knock, knock.
“Excuse me?”
It was the inn staff. Edmund opened the door, still red-faced, and saw several maids.
“We’ve prepared the bath you requested.”
“What? A bath? I didn’t—”
He stopped. Behind them, familiar figures appeared: the nanny and Willace, back from errands. Clearly, they had arranged it.
The maids quickly brought in a large wooden tub, filled it with steaming water, and set up screens. Then they left.
Cassia clapped her hands.
“Perfect! Edmund should go first!”
Both the nanny and Edmund shouted at once.
“No way!”
“Of course my lady goes first!”
They almost never agreed on anything—but when it came to Cassia, their priorities aligned.
Without hesitation, they exchanged a quick look, then moved in perfect sync.
The nanny grabbed Cassia.
“Come, young lady, I’ll help you wash!”
Cassia yelped. “Wait—Edmund’s dirtier—! Kyaa!”
Too late. They dragged her, stripped her, and dumped her into the steaming tub.
“Let’s go, Willace! Time to fetch more food!”
“But the supper’s already—”
“Then something else! Anything!”
“…Anything?”
Before Willace could argue, Edmund yanked him out the door.
***
Cassia melted into the hot water, sighing.
Good thing Edmund healed my feet first. If I’d stepped in with them in that state, I’d be screaming right now.
The nanny fussed happily.
“Your feet looked so terrible before, but now they’re perfect again. Amazing.”
Cassia glanced at her. “What about you?”
“Me? Oh, I’m fine. I’ve lived rougher than this, back in the day.”
The nanny winked, then gently scrubbed Cassia clean. She nearly wept when she touched Cassia’s uneven, freshly cut hair.
“Our lady’s beautiful, flowing locks…!”
“It’s fine. Hair grows back,” Cassia said lightly.
The nanny smiled, eyes fond, and stroked her cheek with a rough, wet hand.
“My sweet, kind young lady. You’re too good for this cruel world. I worry for you.”
“Pfft. You’re the only one who thinks I’m that good.”
If Moretti or Lady Lillifen—or heaven forbid, the duchess—heard those words, they would scream.
But then Cassia blinked.
Wait. She had heard something like that before.
“Throw you into a city, and you’d get scammed out of everything in a day. Someone has to watch you, make sure you’re not tricked.”
That was Edmund’s voice. Not long ago, but it already felt like ages.
So much had happened since.
Her chest ached with nostalgia.
That was when the nanny’s unexpected words pierced her ears.
“But tell me, my lady—what will you do once we’ve escaped somewhere safe?”
“…Huh?”
She had called her my lady again.
“I… I’ll think about that when the time comes.”
The nanny’s smile turned oddly knowing. She whispered,
“Why not truly become the Cohen family’s young madam?”
“…What?!”
Cassia nearly slipped under the water.
“W-w-what are you saying? The young madam of House Cohen?!”
“But you already are. Legally, you’re the young lord’s wife.”
“That was forced on us by the duke! Neither Edmund nor I agreed to it!”
The nanny’s eyes didn’t waver.
“Even so, you can’t return to House Florence. Not really.”
And Cassia froze.
It was true. Florence was no home for her—not for the original Cassia, and not for her. Even in the original story, Cassia hadn’t leaned on her family. She had clung to Petric instead.
“But still—it’s absurd! Florence and Cohen are worlds apart. Everyone knows that!”
That was objective fact. In any normal situation, Cassia would never have been chosen as Edmund’s wife.
The nanny’s hands gripped her shoulders, eyes fierce.
“So you’d save him—endure all this—and then just step aside? I won’t allow it.”
“Nanny…”
“If Lord Edmund has even a shred of conscience, he’ll spend his whole life cherishing you. Anything less would be unthinkable.”
