The hand wrapped around her waist tightened, and just as his tilted head was about to claim her lips, the flustered woman, her eyes wide with panic, covered Casar’s fever-glazed eyes with both hands.
“Wait a moment, Your Grace…”
“?”
“It seems like you are acting this way because of the fever. I think it would be best for both of us to stop here. If you really cannot hold back, should I move to another room instead?”
Ha.
Casar let out a quiet laugh, feeling the small, soft hands covering his eyes. He felt just like the brutish jailer who had harassed her, except he had not bitten her ear.
He realized he had not made a mistake thanks to her bluntly pointing out his fever-driven, reckless advance, and yet he found himself amused by his own excitement at merely touching her.
“There is no need for you to move to another room. You are right. It is probably just the fever.”
“I will sleep on the sofa tonight. You are the patient, so, ah!”
Before Scáthach could finish her sentence, her vision spun, and she blinked in bewilderment as her back met the soft mattress. At the edge of her sight, the Duke’s crimson eyes, now calm, gazed steadily at her.
“Do not treat me like a patient. I will not touch you again, so sleep here.”
The Duke kept his word and did not lay a finger on Scáthach. It was natural, considering he had left the bedroom before dawn and had not shown his face since.
That was for the best. After all, almost kissing the head of House Blachnatt had been so shocking to Scáthach that she had been unable to sleep all night.
It did not matter that the Duke was objectively handsome enough to make one swoon, or that her own heart had fluttered in that moment.
If their lips had actually met, she would have been unable to deny the servants’ accusations that she had become his mistress.
Left alone in the bedroom, Scáthach looked at the fresh bouquet placed on the bed again. Unlike yesterday, she could not manage a smile today.
Fed up with the noisy bedroom cleaning that clearly showed no consideration for a mistress, Scáthach retreated to the bathroom. When she emerged, she found herself all alone, but honestly, she preferred it that way.
Taking a deep breath, Scáthach picked up the questionnaire and fountain pen left on the table. The form, supposedly prepared by Sergeant Lakan, contained far more questions than she had expected.
She answered without hesitation about her tenure at the hospital, the date she had visited the villa, and her arrival and departure times on the day of the incident. After all, she only needed to state the facts. But then…
While diligently recording answers, Scáthach’s eyes widened at the final question, written in elegant script unlike the others.
[Did you truly lose your memory?]
No… I remember everything.
The injury from the bullet fragment you fired, the blood you shared with me… I remember it all. But that day… that one day… I ran because seeing you, heir of House Blachnatt, would have made my stomach turn.
After all, the day I fled was the very day my parents were executed and hung from the walls of the Teshia Empire.
Erasing the honest reply forming in her mind, Scáthach moved the pen and wrote a brief response instead.
[Just a little… Enough that it does not interfere with daily life.]
Reading it over, she thought it sounded fairly convincing. She hoped he would not press further out of wounded pride, if nothing else.
Having finished the questionnaire yet still confined to the bedroom, Scáthach asked the butler, who had come up to serve meals, for some scrap fabric and a sewing kit.
Thus, she spent the entire evening sewing, then soaked her body in a steaming bath. After massaging the stiffness from her neck, she changed into a neat, simple chemise dress the butler had prepared.
Walking back to the bedroom through the corridor connecting the bathroom and dressing room, Scáthach swallowed hard at the overwhelming presence filling the space.
“Oh… you are back?”
“”
Casar, who had been reading her answers, lifted his crimson eyes to look at her.
You are back, she had said, as if she had been waiting for him. The unfamiliar phrasing made him pause, holding his gaze on her a moment longer before replying.
She chewed her lips, looking oddly awkward. It had only been a day since last night, yet the tension between them was unbearable, even though she had clung to him like a stuffed toy while sleeping just last night.
“Umm… So, were you very busy today?”
“I went on a tour of the territory.”
“Oh…”
“Why?”
Her expression seemed to darken for an instant, but before he could ask why, she smiled brightly, as if nothing were wrong.
“I was just… curious. You were not here all day, so I wondered…”
“…I see you have finished the questionnaire.”
Setting the document down on the table, Casar chuckled as his eyes fell on the neatly stacked, colorful little rabbit plushies in the wicker basket.
“What is this? Did you make them?”
“I had some free time…”
And had she not gone and made ones that looked just like him? He picked up a pale gray rabbit from the basket, its hue amusingly reminiscent of her subtle hair color.
“Planning to sell them?”
“N-No… I used to give one to each child who came to the hospital…”
Scáthach blinked, watching the gray rabbit held hostage in his large hand.
Perhaps because his hand was so big, the little rabbit looked even smaller and more pitiful. Held like that, it almost felt like she ought to rescue it…
“From tomorrow, make them in my office.”
“I have already finished the questionnaire… Does that mean I am still under suspicion? You said you met Director Loegal.”
Displeased by her prolonged reply to his simple instruction, Casar frowned. Seeing his grim expression and his silence, she hesitated, then asked again.
“And… when will I get my necklace back…?”
“I believe I said I would return it if you cooperated.”
She had not been particularly uncooperative, but neither had she been cooperative enough to warrant its return. When he pointed this out, she quickly stepped closer to him.
“But I am cooperating! I answered the questions diligently, and even though you did not handcuff me, I did not run away!”
She was right. After skimming her answers, Casar acknowledged it was unreasonable to keep treating her as a suspect, as her statements aligned with those from Director Loegal, the nuns at the convent, and the patients.
Moreover, it was clear the Security Force had botched the investigation.
Although Security Force members were dispatched by the Imperial Correction Bureau, they were still under the jurisdiction of the local lord.
But by the time he had finished touring the territory with his retainers and gone to deal with the Security Force, all personnel involved in the case had already been taken to the Imperial Palace, replaced by entirely new staff.
Had Attila moved first to avoid criticism for their shoddy investigation? He knew how much Casar hated such underhanded interference…
Or perhaps Attila had discovered something, like why Emperor Pobgen, who despite his dementia had been physically robust, had suddenly died of a heart attack.
But what truly irritated him at this very moment was the last line she had written on the document.
Enough that it does not interfere with daily life…
Convents lay outside the judicial authority of both the Imperial Palace and local lords. Naturally, Casar, who had not even been the lord at the time, could not find her no matter how thoroughly he searched Lindkoem.
Afterward, occupied with the military academy, he had no chance to look for her outside of holidays, and now this girl, who had vanished without a trace, claimed she had forgotten only him.
At first, he had assumed she was lying, but on reflection, she had no reason to lie. In fact, from her perspective, it would be far more advantageous to cling to their past connection and appeal to his sympathy.
That she had genuinely forgotten only him, that was what rankled. It was not as if he wanted her to remember anything specific, it just felt ungrateful and infuriating.
“I have already told you how to leave here: do not stray from my side for even a moment. I will return your necklace once you keep your promise.”
For Nemed, this was his final holiday before graduating from Merton College, the prestigious university in Corbe, with a law degree. Facing his son, the father anxiously tapped his foot.
“Something feels wrong. Scáthach is not the type to skip work without notice…”
“Why worry so much? Maybe she is just unwell…”
Unaware of the errand his father had sent Scáthach on, Nemed replied carelessly. Loegal sighed, gazing at the unexpectedly clear sky.
The gloomy weather earlier had already felt ominous, was something truly amiss?
“I would prefer it if that were the case.”
Seeing his father’s unease was serious, Nemed spoke first.
“I will go check on her.”
Nemed immediately went to Payone Convent to look for Scáthach. Even before stepping inside, he sensed something was wrong.
Security Force officers surrounded the convent buildings, citing that the inner areas fell under church jurisdiction and could not be entered freely.
When one officer learned Nemed had come looking for Scáthach, he approached and began interrogating him, asking if he knew a woman named Scáthach who lived there, what their relationship was, and so on.
Soon after, many residents of Lindkoem underwent repeated questioning. As a result, word spread rapidly through the village that Scáthach had murdered someone and been dragged off to prison.
Not long afterward, news arrived that Duke Casar de Blachnatt had died, and naturally, Lindkoem villagers began whispering sordid rumors that the beautiful Scáthach had been involved with the late Duke and that their relationship had collapsed when he refused to promise her a future.
Nonsense!
That was what people who did not know Scáthach would say. The nuns of Payone Convent, Nemed and his family, and even patients who frequented Loegal’s hospital all submitted weekly petitions on Scáthach’s behalf.
His father declared it was all his fault and insisted he would resolve the matter himself, as Scáthach was innocent. Though uneasy, Nemed returned to Merton College, trusting his father’s word.
About a month passed.
Convinced Scáthach would be back by now, Nemed made time to visit Lindkoem, and as he arrived directly at his father’s hospital, he dropped his bag upon hearing an old man’s cry.
“Our nurse has become the new lord’s mistress!”
The old man, who had always slipped candies into Scáthach’s apron pocket, beat his chest in despair.
He kept repeating how his daughter, who worked in the royal palace, though it was not called that anymore, had seen Nurse Scáthach and heard she had become the new lord’s mistress.
Pale with shock, Nemed immediately headed for the Lindkoem manor.
“I saw the lord myself not long ago! He said if my testimony checks out, she will be released!”
His father shouted after him, trying to stop him, but Nemed heard nothing.
A mistress?!
To him, Scáthach was irreplaceably precious.
It had been when Nemed was sixteen and Scáthach fourteen. After losing his younger sibling to an epidemic, Nemed had accompanied his father, who had partnered with Payone Convent for medical volunteer work, in hopes of calming his heart.
Apparently, he had not been able to hide his gloom.
After each volunteer session, Scáthach, his sister’s age, would awkwardly comfort him as he cried shamelessly behind the building. She had also lost family, and there had been days when they both broke down sobbing together.
Ever since, he had cared for Scáthach like a younger sister.
Even the time he learned Scáthach had been shot by some noble while searching the forest for her dog, Nix, who had run off during a hunt, Nemed had been the one to dump every bouquet that shooting bastard sent daily to her hospital room.
“That jerk shot her and thinks flowers will make it better?!”
“But he does not seem like a bad person…”
“Scáthach, did I not tell you? All men are rotten to the core!”
“Is Nemed rotten too?”
“Honestly, I am not, but once you start making exceptions, there is no end to it, so I guess I should suspect myself too…”
At his uncertain reply, Scáthach had laughed brightly.
When he had half-jokingly suggested they live together in the capital after his graduation, sharing an office, half for his law practice and half for her clinic, it had never been a marriage proposal or a promise of forever.
He had intended it no other way, and if he had, Scáthach would have drawn a firm line and run far away.
And now this? Scáthach would never willingly become anyone’s mistress. Clearly, that bastard new lord had taken advantage of her under the false accusation of murder.
She was so undeniably lovely that he had always worried about leaving her behind, and now this had happened!
Determined to bring Scáthach away immediately, Nemed headed straight for the Lindkoem manor. With his little sister touched by one of the Ten Houses, rational thought was the last thing on his mind.