He’s actually doing it…?
Fred had only meant to taunt him. He hadn’t seriously expected Ian to do the laundry.
Yet, surprisingly strong for someone who looked so frail, Ian effortlessly gathered up an armful of clothes large enough to block his view. Then he glanced toward one of the knights watching nearby.
So where am I supposed to do this?
Ian jerked his chin toward the laundry and narrowed his eyes. The knight, who had been staring at him blankly, hastily blurted out that there was a fountain outside the east entrance.
Back when the previous Higher was still alive, every visitor to the Grand Duke’s domain had made a point of stopping there at least once.
Now, no one went near it.
The warm stream that never froze even in the bitter cold, twisting through the air in a different shape each day, had once been called the pride of Higher.
Many still remembered the magnificent sight of steam scattering across endless fields of snow.
But all of that belonged to the past.
Not once since Logan had ascended to the position of Grand Duke had warm water risen from the fountain.
There was no mechanism behind it, and no one understood how it worked.
People had simply regarded it as a symbol of blessing—something that occurred at a mere glance from the generations of Highers who had come before.
Now it had become little more than an eyesore, occasionally used as a place of punishment.
The water never froze, but it was as cold as ice. Simply forcing someone to keep their hands submerged in it was considered punishment enough.
Unaware of any of this, Ian gave a small nod and turned away.
“…He’s really going?”
In truth, the mansion’s maids handled all the laundry.
Not one of the knights had ever had to wet his own hands doing it.
Fred, who had imagined Ian growing flustered and helpless, stared blankly at his retreating back.
Ian didn’t so much as glance around at Fred’s bewildered voice.
How could a member of royalty possibly do his own laundry?
Even a lowly baron would leave such work to his servants.
And Rox was far more conservative than Shertian.
I heard he doesn’t even feed himself with his own hands!
While Fred stood there caught somewhere between confusion, indignation, and disbelief, Ian stepped into the corridor.
After wandering around for a while, he eventually found the east entrance.
Ian hadn’t had any grand reason for agreeing to join the knights.
He was simply growing restless from being shut up in his room all day.
Unlike the modern world, where there were endless ways to kill time, there was practically nothing to do here.
Even if he wanted to read, he would first have to learn the language.
At the moment, Ian couldn’t even write his own name.
Well—
There was also a chance he might see that man again.
He could still picture him sitting atop his horse, his face tense and hardened.
It wasn’t strange for someone of high status to have assassins after them.
What Ian found odd was that not a single knight had stepped in to help, even when the man could easily have died.
Is there some kind of power struggle going on?
I heard he’s frail. Maybe they’re threatening him like that to force him out of his position.
The misunderstanding Kyle had planted in Ian’s mind only grew more firmly rooted with time.
It could hardly have been further from the truth.
But once a misunderstanding took hold, people had a way of seeing only what confirmed it.
Snow crunched beneath Ian’s feet as he crossed the deeply blanketed ground.
When he finally reached the fountain, he lowered his gaze.
Inside the intricately carved structure, water was indeed flowing without freezing.
So there really isn’t any detergent.
He wondered whether he was supposed to wash everything with water alone.
Then he noticed a wooden board lying submerged at the bottom, perhaps forgotten there long ago.
Its ridged surface looked remarkably like a washboard.
Ian rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and plunged an arm deep into the fountain.
Splash.
The water might not have been frozen, but its temperature was perfectly suited to the sub-zero air.
Ian’s jaw clenched on instinct.
He wasn’t dressed as lightly as he had been during the procession, but that made little difference once his hands were submerged in water like this.
Damn, that’s cold.
By the time Ian managed to pull the wooden board free, his entire right arm was soaked.
He set it down, then reached for the clothes he had carelessly tossed onto the ground.
He knew exactly what this was.
Petty harassment.
Still, he was used to this kind of thing.
He had done the very same work at the orphanage where he had lived before being adopted.
Ian had supposedly been abandoned in a public restroom, his umbilical cord cut and nothing else done for him.
He spent his childhood in an orphanage on the outskirts of Seoul.
Its director was infamous for skimming money from government subsidies, and winter heating was where he pinched pennies most aggressively.
The only time the children were allowed to wash themselves with warm water was the day before a sponsor or social worker came to visit.
As a result, the perpetually grimy children usually had no choice but to wash both themselves and their clothes in cold water.
Winter there announced itself in a particular way.
One child would start coughing.
Then, almost as if on cue, the others would begin coughing too.
With no one to properly care for them even when they were sick, the children always seemed to suffer from some lingering illness of their own.
That was how winter arrived in that place.
Ian, the oldest of them, would gather the younger children’s clothes and plunge his hands into icy water.
There were so many children too young to do anything for themselves that the basin was often piled just as high as the laundry in front of him now.
Even so, it hadn’t been especially difficult.
It was better than letting his hands swell and split open.
Better than going outside and hearing someone accuse him of deliberately showing off the fact that he didn’t have a mother.
Then, one day, Ian’s overseas adoption was finally approved.
The director stared at a bank balance with several zeroes behind it and said,
──Hey, kid. Go there and live well. Eat well.
Ian knew they were meaningless words.
A casual farewell tossed his way like alms because the man happened to be in a good mood.
He knew that.
Even so, Ian had no choice but to nod.
For someone his age, being adopted at all was a once-in-a-lifetime stroke of luck.
That night, even beneath his worn-out blanket, a faint smile kept creeping onto his face.
Whenever it did, he hurriedly covered his mouth with one hand.
The child sleeping beside him stirred and rolled over.
It was the first time the cramped orphanage had ever felt insignificant.
His heart was pounding so loudly it seemed to beat right beside his ear.
That was how it had been back then.
Ian, who knew nothing, had truly believed he was finally going to have a family of his own.
Never once imagining the future in which he would press the muzzle of a gun against that family’s head.
Scrub, scrub.
Ian dragged a brown tunic across the wooden board.
He had no idea why something as trivial as washing clothes had dredged up memories from so long ago.
Slowly pushing through the thoughts rising in his mind, he resumed moving his hands.
At least the clothes were dark.
If they had brought him nothing but white garments, he might have been tempted to set something on fire instead.
“Oh my!”
A maid leaving through the entrance as usual spotted Ian and let out a small cry of surprise.
The east entrance was relatively quiet, frequented mostly by servants fetching firewood or maids heading toward the annex.
The maid had already heard the rumor that had swept through the mansion that morning, so it didn’t take her long to understand what was happening.
When the other maids came out behind her and saw Ian silently plunging his hands into the fountain, they clustered together and began whispering.
“Goodness, whose idea was this?”
“It had to be Fred. He’s the only one childish enough to think of something like this.”
“Tch. He drove one of the new knights away last time too. He acts like such a bully, but the second Lord Claude catches him, he can’t do a thing. And he’s ugly!”
The youngest-looking maid muttered the last part with a pout.
Another maid beside her clearly agreed, though she seemed to feel that the comment required correction.
“Banni. You shouldn’t insult someone’s appearance. Of course he is ugly, but don’t you know that pointing out an unpleasant truth is the rudest thing you can do?”
“You’re the rudest one here.”
“Let’s just go. He’s from Rox. It’s better not to get involved.”
Ignoring the bickering that immediately broke out beside them, another maid urged the group onward.
It was the orange-haired maid who had visited Ian’s room several times.
He didn’t seem like a bad person.
But he was still from Rox.
Getting involved with him could only bring trouble.
Even so, the maid who had first noticed Ian continued to watch him with concern.
“Still… making him wash clothes outside in weather like this?”
The maids knew better than anyone how miserable such work could be.
The Grand Duke’s domain was lenient in most matters, with only a few strict exceptions.
Elsewhere, nobles who mistreated their servants were hardly unusual.
If someone held a title, even a minor one, things might be different.
But commoners could be beaten simply because someone disliked the sound of them breathing, and they had no right to protest.
The Grand Duke’s domain had been the first place any of them had worked where servants were even allowed to use lukewarm water.
That thought troubled her.
But in the end, she still couldn’t bring herself to approach Ian.
She was afraid of getting dragged into whatever trouble surrounded him.
For people who hadn’t been born in the North, talk of enemy nations and war felt like a distant story.
Perhaps that was why she also felt sorry for the prince who was being so openly despised.
“Here…”
This should be fine.
The maid returned carrying a large woven wooden laundry basket she had found somewhere and set it down beside Ian with a heavy thud.
She had noticed that he had nowhere to put the clean clothes and had simply been stacking them awkwardly along the edge of the fountain.
Then, before their eyes could meet, she fled like an arrow.
By the time Ian looked up, all that remained were footprints trailing across the white snow.
By the time Ian lost all feeling in his frozen hands, evening had already fallen.
Without allowing himself to become distracted even once, he scrubbed every trace of sweat and grime from the clothes.
Then he looked back at the enormous pile.
There’s so much.
Still, he was relieved to have finished before it grew any darker.
Ian rose to his feet and headed straight for the training grounds.
Thump.
The pile of clothes landed heavily on the ground, soaked through and weighted with water.
Fred stared at Ian as though he were looking at a madman.
“You actually washed all of this?”
He had expected Ian, who had marched out so boldly, to come crawling back looking miserable.
When Ian failed to return after lunch, and then remained gone even as evening approached, Fred had assumed he had simply retreated to his room.
This is why you can’t do anything with people who’ve been raised coddled!
Ian’s sudden appearance made a mockery of the laughter Fred had just been sharing with the other knights.
Just to make sure, Fred grabbed a few pieces from the pile and inspected them.
Every single one was spotless.
Fred hadn’t even considered the possibility that Ian would return.
The idea that he might actually wash everything had never crossed his mind at all.
While Fred stood there at a complete loss, Ian casually shook out his bright-red hands and turned away.
He hadn’t eaten anything and was hungry, but exhaustion outweighed hunger.
Ignoring the stares following him, Ian headed back toward his room.
No one tried to stop him.
He had memorized the route earlier while following Aily, so it didn’t take him long to find his way back.