An heir.
“I’ve focused so much on my magic that I’m already forty,” the Marquess continued, his tongue loosening.
“The saddest thing about mages is that the moment we rejoice at having reached a level where we can introduce ourselves as such, we die.”
He was long-winded, but the gist was simple.
He was aroused by his beautiful, young bride-to-be and wanted to bed her before the wedding.
One moment, he was playing the part of a magnanimous husband, and the next, after only a few days, he was revealing his true, vile nature.
Ezekiel struggled to keep his disgust from his face.
“I am sorry, but our mission is solely to escort Miss Quillucsia.
We cannot grant private requests.”
“Look, Sir,” the Marquess sighed, feigning frustration.
“You may not be interested, being a Holy Knight, but I’m telling you, I’m in a hurry.”
“I sympathize with your situation, Marquess, but it is a matter in which we cannot interfere.”
“What do you mean you can’t interfere!”
Ezekiel’s eyes narrowed slightly.
The Marquess, having raised his voice, belatedly shot a wary glance at him.
“Ahem, my apologies.
I got carried away.
Anyway…”
It was likely a flicker of memory—that while Ezekiel had sworn an oath and officially had no ties to the imperial family, he was still of noble blood.
“Take yesterday, for example.
I was merely trying to have a conversation with my future wife, and you treated me like some kind of ruffian…”
“You misunderstand,” Ezekiel cut him off.
“I was in my room and heard Miss Quillucsia’s voice.
I did not know who she was with.
I only came out because she sounded distressed.”
At the word ‘distressed,’ the Marquess’s face soured.
“It’s not as if I was going to harm her, and you knew it was me when you saw us, did you not?”
“She was uncomfortable.”
“When women say no in front of others, it’s just a formality!”
The man was incapable of reason.
Ezekiel didn’t reply, and the Marquess clicked his tongue.
“Or is it something else?
Even though she’s an adopted daughter, you feel the need to protect her?
Some kind of sibling loyalty?”
Once Iris became the Emperor’s adopted daughter, she and Ezekiel could technically be called siblings.
But that was a notion Ezekiel had never once considered.
Inevitably, his composure cracked.
He couldn’t hide the look of utter disbelief on his face.
“Worldly ties have no power before the oath I swore to Udal,” he said, belatedly schooling his features.
But the damage was done; the Marquess had seen it.
“For someone who says that, your expression is quite foul.”
“That is not the case.”
His immediate denial was useless.
The Marquess was thoroughly offended, perhaps sensing the revulsion in Ezekiel’s gaze.
But he didn’t give up.
“In that case, as long as my bride does not explicitly say she dislikes it, you will not interfere.”
“First of all,” Ezekiel began, his voice cold.
“Miss Quillucsia is not yet your wife.”
“I’m just saying!” the Marquess fumed, pressing him again and again.
“If your mission is to escort, then stick to escorting and do not interfere.
Understood?”
“I will be faithful to my duties,” Ezekiel replied, his voice devoid of emotion.
“My principle is to neither interfere with nor cooperate in your private affairs.”
The Marquess approached Iris right after his meeting with Ezekiel.
Climbing from his carriage, he stormed over and knocked on the window of hers.
When Iris opened it, he announced, “Miss Quillucsia.
We need some time to get to know each other.”
“Time to get to know each other…”
“Our marriage was decided so suddenly.
Don’t we need to at least talk?”
Without waiting for her consent, the Marquess climbed into her carriage, making it clear he intended to ride with her until the next village.
The maid, flustered, pulled Henry toward her, but the Marquess waved her off.
“Young Henry.
Wouldn’t you like to see my carriage?”
Even a child like Henry could sense the Marquess’s true intentions.
As he looked back and forth between his sister and the Marquess, his eyes wide with anxiety, the maid quickly coaxed him.
“Young Master, did you know that the Marquess has a wizard’s hat?”
“A wizard’s hat?”
In the end, it wasn’t difficult to entice a child.
Henry and the maid moved to the Marquess’s four-horse carriage.
As soon as the door closed, Iris impassively drew back the curtains.
“An unmarried man and woman in a closed room together is bound to start rumors.”
“You and I are to be married soon.
What does it matter if people talk?” the Marquess grumbled.
But Iris did not draw the curtains again.
Fortunately, the Marquess seemed to be in a better mood just from being in the carriage with her.
He soon launched into a stream of drivel.
“Did you know I have three mansions?
Most of them are in the fief granted to me…”
Three mansions, forty sacks of gold from the Emperor—his conversation consisted entirely of his wealth and achievements.
Henry might have found it interesting, not for the money, but for the question of how powerful a water mage truly was.
But it held no interest for Iris.
Even if it had, she would have found it impossible to pay attention.
Below the line of sight from the window, the Marquess was fiddling with the hem of her dress.
“Even this dress, if I use water magic, like this…” Water materialized in the air, forming a droplet that soaked the fabric.
Iris wasn’t impressed in the slightest, but she forced a smile as if she were.
She immediately regretted it.
The Marquess’s hand closed over hers.
“…Someone will see, Marquess.”
“They can’t see from outside, so it’s fine, isn’t it?”
Iris desperately glanced outside while trying to pull her hand from his sweaty grasp.
Every time the escorting knights glanced their way, she feared they would see her humiliation.
At the same time, a desperate part of her wished they would.
“Is something the matter?”
Good heavens, when he had intervened yesterday, she had been mortified but also so deeply grateful.
And because of that, she prayed that Ezekiel, at least, would not see her like this now.
She was ashamed.
Ashamed for him to see her reduced to this.
Her frantic glances outside were, in fact, born of a desperate wish for Ezekiel, and only Ezekiel, not to know.
Wanting his help, yet not wanting him to see.
It was a truly base and wretched ambivalence.
“Why is the Marquess in there?”
“Said he wanted to talk.”
“Hmm.”
The knights’ words drifted in on the wind.
The Marquess must have heard them, but the mage was utterly shameless.
“Your maid must be lazy.
Your hair is a mess.” Using her perfectly coiffed hair as an excuse, his wrinkled hand brushed her cheek.
It felt like an insect crawling on her skin.
Iris flinched.
It was then that Ezekiel came into view.
The man who had been invisible for the past five days, no matter how much she looked, was now slowly riding past the side of the carriage.
His movements were no different from any other knight on patrol.
Naturally, his eyes met hers, and she wanted to squeeze her own shut.
But she couldn’t.
If she did, he would immediately know something was wrong.
And she didn’t want him, of all people, to find out.
“How about we have dinner together tonight?” the Marquess proposed loudly.
Iris quickly turned her head to face forward.
She couldn’t hear the sound of Ezekiel’s horse moving away.
He was still circling nearby.
She forced a smile.
“Shall we?”
“Oh, so my bride agrees with me!
I have so many questions for you.
What you like, what foods you dislike…”
“But I grew up in the countryside, so I’m a bit unfamiliar with noble dining etiquette.
Will that be acceptable?”
“I don’t know much either, having only studied.
My title is practically a reward from His Majesty for studying hard,” the Marquess chuckled.
The conversation continued, but Iris couldn’t remember a word she said.
Eventually, Ezekiel finished his patrol and moved away.
From a sidelong glance, he seemed to have no interest in her whatsoever.
Iris wanted to die.