Rouche was dressed in a white suit of the finest linen.
It complimented his silver hair and hung on his body so perfectly that I first thought he was a figment of my imagination.
The culmination of a very strange dream.
But I knew he couldn’t be because it was his hand that had stopped me from falling.
“Pardon me, Your Grace,” I said, bowing my head and quickly moving away.
But when I glanced back, he was right behind me.
“Why are you following me, Your Grace?”
“I have been chasing after you ever since you left your chambers.
Did you not notice?”
“But why…?”
“What a curious ornament decorating your cheek,” he stepped closer, trying to get a look beneath the hood of my cloak.
“Is it some sort of modern fashion accessory from the capital?”
Despite the ludicrous state I was in, I felt no need to hide my face from Rouche out of embarrassment.
I knew he wouldn’t care about Seria’s face no matter how it looked.
He was a man of ambition, not swayed by such things as physical beauty.
As I untied the pouch with the ice crystal, I said, “It’s not a fashion accessory.
It’s a—”
My words caught in my throat when Rouche reached out and lifted my chin.
His eyes narrowed and focused on my cheek.
“Who hit you?” he asked, an underlying menace in his tone.
“Well, actually…”
“This looks like the handiwork of the Seria Sterne of old.”
How did he know?
Before I inhabited her body, Seria had the nasty habit of slapping others with intense ferocity for any minor effrontery.
Now, in the oddest twist, I was on the receiving end of Seria’s slap.
I felt the lingering effects of such violence, and I understood why servants tended to lay low when I came around.
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
I didn’t want to tell him, but I knew it was a bad idea to mislead him.
“I did.
I slapped myself.
Would you mind please letting go now, Your Grace?”
Rouche stared at me for a moment before finally releasing my chin.
My heart was pounding.
“I slapped myself during a quarrel with the Lady Saint,” I clarified.
“A quarrel…” he said.
“Who else was present?”
“Lady Begonia, the dressmaker.”
“I see.”
Will he summon Lady Begonia to hear her side of the story?
Yes, most likely he would.
I repositioned the pouch on my cheek, noting that it was indeed far superior to ice.
An ice pack would have begun to melt by now and lost much of its soothing effect, but the ice crystal remained pleasantly chilled without the slightest trace of moisture.
No wonder Begonia always kept one on hand.
Trying to fasten it without a mirror was a bit of a challenge.
As I struggled, Rouche watched me and shook his head.
After a few failed attempts he reached out and wrapped the string around my ears, securing the pouch to my cheek again.
“Since I am here already,” he said, looking up and down the corridor uncertainly, “I might as well wait with you until the banquet hall is open.”
“Would you wait here in the annex?” I asked.
It would take at least another three hours for me to finish preparing.
He wouldn’t really wait all that time just for me, would he?
“I can go and get ready, then meet you at the main residence, Your Grace.”
“Yes, well…” Rouche looked slightly perturbed by something.
“The Marquis of Hanneton might try to visit before then.”
“He has already come, has he not?
Surely he won’t try again.”
Rouche paused.
He looked at me closely, asking me the question without saying the words.
“I smelled his cologne on you,” I said, nodding.
“I assumed that you had run into him here.
It makes sense.
Lina was here, so naturally he would have come after her.”
Rouche’s expression shifted so subtly that I couldn’t quite make out what it meant.
But it didn’t look good.
“Your Grace?” I asked.
“Are you upset?”
“No, no… You just reminded me of the High Priest’s impending visit.”
“I see.
It must be very burdensome for you, Your Grace.
All of this activity in your castle.”
Even kings were happy to extend grand welcomes to a visiting High Priest.
Such a visit was believed to be a blessing upon the territory and a gift of divine favor.
No regular noble could refuse such a tremendous honor.
The Archduke of Berk had no need for further honor or glory.
Therefore, to Rouche, visits from dignitaries of the High Church were nothing more than tedious affairs that congested the halls of his castle.
Following Lady Begonia’s advice, I chose to spend the hour resting on a bench in the garden.
I sat down and cast a sidelong glance at Rouche, who had followed me and even taken a seat next to me.
He was sitting up straight and staring straight ahead at a line of hedges when, without even turning to face me, he spoke.
“Why do you keep peering at me like that?”
I didn’t know what else to say, so I simply spoke the truth.
“I was thinking that your white suit is going to be dirtied sitting out here, Your Grace.”
Rouche chuckled.
“My, would I love a peek into that head of yours.”
“My head?
Why?”
“Because the way your mind works is quite unique,” he answered casually, as though it were perfectly obvious.
“But they wouldn’t clean the garden benches every day, would they?” I continued.
“Your annex is cleaned by Lennon every day, so I have faith that I shall be unsoiled.”
“Lennon?”
Since when had Lennon taken on the chores of a simple servant?
Even so, I found it hard to believe that he would wipe down every object in the garden every day.
I discreetly swiped the bench seat with my fingertips.
I stared in mute awe at my fingers.
At the very least, I had expected a bit of dust, but there was nothing.
Not a speck of dirt or pollen or anything.
“Why in the world do you have your chief aide tidying up in the garden?” I blurted.
Rouche looked at me and then chuckled.
“I do no such thing.
Lennon has a thing with germs.”
This was something new and unexpected… and weird.
But then again, the novel mainly revolved around Lina and her suitors.
Such details regarding the long list of supporting characters were few and far between.
Plus, my memory was by no means perfect.
I spent almost the full hour in a daze.
Rouche remained beside me the entire time, peacefully enjoying the silence of the garden.
Realizing that I had to get back to finish getting ready, I stood up and said, “Your Grace, did you mean to accompany back to my chambers?”
What a strange thing to say…
Rouche was up at once and walking beside me.
I kept fiddling with the pouch on my cheek, and the chill made my hand go numb.
Rouche noticed.
He lightly grasped my hand, wrapping it completely in his large, warm palm, then he let it go.
“Your hand is cold,” he said.
“My cheek is even colder.”
I looked away, forcing my eyes straight ahead, and cleared my throat.
Rouche laughed as we entered my annex.
* * *
“Excellent.
Even your enemies would fall in love with this look.”
Begonia looked me up and down with satisfaction.
The pink dress, now adorned with hundreds of carefully placed silver beads, glimmered enchantingly even under the faintest of light.
I marveled at my reflection in the mirror and Begonia’s skill.
Many of the alterations had been done in a panicked rush, but they really shined through.
Then I caught Rouche’s reflection in the mirror.
He was still sitting there.
Although it was my bedroom, there had been no other choice but to invite him in.
My sitting room had not been used for several days, and because of that, it was not fully heated.
That left either the frigid sitting room or the even colder corridor.
And I certainly couldn’t leave the Archduke of Berk to freeze in the corridor of his own castle.
Actually, Begonia wanted to let Rouche in.
It was her belief that laying one’s eyes on a beautiful creation before others had the power to invigorate people, and she thought that would be an appropriate gesture to offer the archduke.
Although I was not an artist, I understood her sentiment and agreed.
“Your Grace,” Begonia bowed before him with a smile.
“Forgive me for being forward with you, but as the designer of this stunning piece, may I ask for your honest opinion of the lady’s dress?”