A series of tedious days followed.
Their path wound through the mountains, as they were required to inspect the purification towers along the way, but the journey was not overly arduous, for they found occasional respite in the castles of local lords.
At each stop, the higher-ups would dine with the lord of the territory.
The conversation invariably began with inquiries about monster activity and ended with lavish praise for the princess.
As a duke’s daughter, Sylvia was always invited, but it was only then that she truly understood how far her social standing had fallen.
As Lady Appleton, the Supporter, she was meaningless without Heston by her side.
“My, are they not the most handsome couple!”
“The bond between Lord Lockwood and Lady Appleton is the stuff of legend!”
The same nobles who had once been so desperate to link her with Heston now chattered with breathless excitement as they flanked Heston and Princess Katrin.
The princess would nod, wearing the placid smile particular to the high-born, and Heston… Heston was simply Heston.
He never once let his gaze drift toward Sylvia, who stood a great distance away.
Not even when she excused herself midway through a banquet, claiming a sudden illness.
After that, Sylvia began to politely decline the invitations.
It was clear she was a presence of no consequence.
Whatever her excuse, the hosts would offer a smooth smile, wish her a swift recovery, or express their admiration for her profound patriotism.
If all else failed, they would end the exchange by asking after her father’s health.
It was plain that not a single person would miss her absence.
At first, the slight stung her pride, but soon she came to a quiet, painful realization.
‘I truly have relied on Heston for everything.
I believed I had accomplished so much on my own, but…’
Even on the day she feigned a more serious illness, secretly hoping he might come to check on her, no word came from him.
A flush of shame warmed her cheeks, as if Heston had seen straight through to her pathetic heart.
He was so composed through it all, as if he had always known this was how things would be.
And yet, she remembered the confusion that had clouded his features not so long ago.
She also recalled a curious incident.
A certain marquis, who had been insufferably persistent in pairing her and Heston, speaking as if their wedding were imminent, had treated them with cool professionalism the very next day.
“Did he have a sudden fit of maturity?
What is wrong with him?” she had asked.
Heston, who was leisurely scouting their surroundings, had replied, “Ah, I spoke with him.
I asked him to desist.”
“You said that a dozen times yesterday.
Why did he suddenly acquiesce?”
“I… mentioned my family.” Heston had blushed, as if ashamed.
For him, a man who would rather die than flaunt his connection to the Lockwood duchy, to use his name to silence the marquis… It seemed an extreme measure.
Why go to such lengths?
As if reading her thoughts, he offered an explanation.
“If word of such talk reached your father, you would be scolded again.
He is already displeased that you spend your time with me.
Besides, it was making you uncomfortable.
You barely touched your food last night.”
‘For my sake?’ Her heart had softened at his words.
She remembered his gaze, which, though his face remained impassive, had constantly flickered between her hands and her plate during the meal.
That day had felt different.
Her heart had fluttered, a cool breeze had stirred the air, and for once, it was just the two of them.
Heston seemed more inclined to enjoy the scenery than to focus solely on his duty.
He seemed… at ease.
Relaxed enough, perhaps, to indulge her subtle probing.
“And what of you?
How do you feel about it?” she had asked.
“Me?” He had seemed surprised by the question, but then he smiled, as if realizing what a good friend she was for considering his feelings.
“I find it uncomfortable as well, of course.”
It was a clean, simple, friendly smile, holding not the slightest hint of any other possibility.
She had agonized over it for a week afterward but eventually convinced herself that Heston, ever the professional, simply disliked the nobles who fixated on their friendship, and that was why he had answered as he did.
‘Of course!
It is not as if he would have said, ‘No, I enjoy it.’ The question itself was flawed.
I must stop digging myself into this hole and simply confess to him properly when the time is right.’
Having settled the matter so neatly in her mind, she had felt quite mature, even wise.
‘Stupid, stupid girl.’
Sylvia sat before the blazing campfire, drew her knees to her chest, and buried her face against her thighs.
She should have understood it perfectly in that moment.
Heston had never felt anything for her at all.