“His Grace will be here shortly. He specifically instructed that if Lady Dirnant should happen to come by, I was to escort you into his office straight away.”
I nodded awkwardly. That man knew I would come. Then again, anyone with even an inkling of my personality could have guessed as much. There was no way I was the sort of person who would let being carried all the way to my bedroom slide with an ‘Oh, my, is that so? Ho-ho-ho.’ The thought that he knew me so well stirred an odd feeling in my chest. Or did most nobles act like this?
Met with Sir Ver’s smile, I cautiously pushed the door open and stepped into the office. A window stood ajar, as if to air out the room, and the curtains fluttered gently in the breeze. While the office itself was plain and modest, various stacks of documents rested atop an elegant desk. Wow, look at those sharp corners! The papers were squared off to perfection! They stood in formation, not budging an inch against the wind.
The desk clearly took after its master. After staring dumbfoundedly at the rare sight, I began looking around the office in earnest once Sir Ver closed the door behind me. Honestly, there wasn't much to see. What would his office back at the family estate look like? Judging by his character, I doubted he would tolerate a single stray sheet of paper poking out of line.
Given my own habit of building haphazard towers out of paperwork whenever I worked, I found his neatness nothing short of miraculous.
Yet as I looked around and prepared to sit on the sofa, my head tilted at the sight of a piece of paper resting precariously on the edge of that impeccably tidy desk. Utterly out of place, the page was even crumpled.
He seemed to have left it behind without a second thought. Just as I stepped toward the desk to straighten the sheet before the draft swept it away, a gust of wind sent it tumbling to the floor.
“Ah, honestly.”
I picked up the fallen paper and lightly brushed it off. Surely he wouldn't think I threw it away, right? It couldn't have gotten dirty—or so I thought until I realized the texture under my fingertips felt suspiciously like the letter I had read yesterday. Unfolding the crumpled sheet almost involuntarily, Isabel’s familiar handwriting appeared before my eyes, just as I had suspected.
[To my forever beloved fiancé, Khalid.]
H-How verbose. And all she gave me was a blunt ‘Dearest Scarlett.’
Beneath that greeting stretched an epistle far longer than what she had sent me. The instant I saw it, a wave of disgust washed over me, and I nearly flung the letter away. Had I lacked reason, I might have done just that.
Setting aside someone else’s tearful love letter, even the name Isabel was enough to irritate me, so I went to set the paper back on the desk. But then my own name, ‘Scarlett,’ caught my eye in the middle of the text, and I found myself looking back at the letter.
‘Should I just see what she wrote about me?’
‘It’s someone else’s private business, though.’
‘No, honestly, my name is right there. I’ll just read that one part.’
Wavering between curiosity and reason, I ended up letting curiosity win. Fine, I’d read just my part. Nothing more.
[…Scarlett seems to dislike me.]
[I cannot quite understand why my actions provoked her anger. In truth, all I did was remove a man who was entirely ill-suited for her. It hurts me deeply that she fails to recognize my good intentions.]
[As her friend, I genuinely wished to protect her. Does she not deserve a far better man? That is how I feel. I only wish Scarlett could understand my heart… Though, to be fair, it is not as if I cannot understand her perspective at all.]
[Still, Khalid, surely Scarlett will understand my feelings someday, won't she? When I love you this much, how could I ever covet her lover? You are so wonderful, after all.]
[I love you, Khalid. I am so very proud that you are my fiancé. Now I wait only for the day you return to the capital. It brings me such joy to think of meeting you alongside Scarlett. Though you have already seen her in Sorel, I want to formally introduce Scarlett to you myself—to you as my fiancé, not as the Commander-in-Chief. I know for certain you will take a liking to her.]
My hands began to tremble violently. What in the world was this? The trembling soon crept up to my shoulders, then consumed my entire body. Just what was this?
She had made no attempt to conceal from Duke Prodiad that she stole my lover. But worse than that was how cunningly she had framed her position, suggesting she might have spun this very tale to everyone around her all along. And the sheer audacity to prattle on about doing it for my sake after taking what was mine. Every single bit of it filled me with sorrow and blistering fury.
Betrayal, anger, sorrow, regret.
I never imagined that the person I had trusted for twenty years, the person I had firmly believed was my friend, thought of me this way. For my sake? Oh, good heavens, Isabel. No, you crazy bitch, you were simply rotten to the core.
As profound rage took hold of my mind, I settled into the coldest, most rational state I had known since arriving at Sorel Castle. At first, I had simply intended to avoid her and gradually drift away. That way, we could have kept an appropriate distance. I had hoped we wouldn't become close again, but I never wanted things to end like this.
In the end, I bit my lip until it nearly burst. I clenched my eyes shut, forcing back any threat of tears.
I had to admit it. Isabel, I treated you far, far too gently. I indulged your insolence far too much. Until you crossed my line, and crossed it, and crossed it again, I—
“Lady Dirnant?”
—doted on you so much that you forgot your place.
A familiar voice reached my ears—calm and composed. Even upon hearing it, I did not turn around immediately. It was Duke Prodiad, having slipped in unnoticed. I recognized the gentleness laced within his tone. Quietly setting the letter back on the desk, I ran my tongue across my lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood spreading through my mouth.
I remained composed enough to surprise myself. Straightening my clothes, I turned around. A man dressed impeccably in his military uniform met my gaze: black hair, reddish-brown eyes, and that unmistakable heat—now directed solely at me.
When I asked after him in a soft voice, Duke Prodiad knitted his brows. He looked between the letter that had been in my hands and my face, before stepping toward the desk as if realizing what had happened, picking up the sheet and crumpling it immediately.
“You need not pay it any mind.”
“Even though it’s from your fiancée?”
I burst into a laugh as I asked, prompting Duke Prodiad’s face to twist. It was a look of distinct displeasure, but I knew it wasn't aimed at me.
“As you know, aristocratic engagements carry no emotional—”
“Well, that hardly matters to me.”
Tracking Duke Prodiad with my eyes as he tossed the paper aside, I cut him off once more and held his gaze. Did he love Isabel? I had no idea.
Yet Isabel surely ‘loved’ Duke Prodiad. In that case, I found myself wishing those eyes would be filled with nothing but me. With a brilliant smile, I parted my lips.
“I heard you went through a great deal of trouble last night.”
“It was nothing.”
“I came to express my gratitude.”
“You needn't worry about it. Are you feeling well?”
“Yes, of course.”
Carefully choosing my words, I took a step toward him.
“At the same time, there is another matter.”
“Is something the matter…?”
“You didn't answer my question yesterday. About whether you dislike seeing me hurt.”
“So I came to ask.”
He wore an odd expression, as if he couldn't comprehend my words in the slightest, yet understood them completely. I kept smiling as I looked at him.
When I called his name, he seemed visibly taken aback.
“What sort of relationship is ours?”
“…What sort of relationship do you desire?”
Oh, so he was playing along.
“Friends?”
“…Hardly. That would only leave me far too anxious.”
“Scarlett.”
“Khalid.”
“Won't you date me?”
“I’d like us to be lovers.”
Duke Prodiad’s expression was consumed entirely by bewilderment. The heat rising in his eyes, the passion taking over his face—I looked upon it and gave a radiant smile.
After a brief silence, he finally spoke. As his flustered expression smoothed back into its usual composure, he glanced at the letter and met my eyes again.
“Is this… because of Wither?”
I closed the distance between us, picked up the discarded letter from the desk, and cast a languid glance over it before dropping it onto the floor. As the hem of my long dress brushed past it, I stepped closer still to Duke Prodiad. Close enough to feel each other's breath, to sense each other's warmth. He made no move to retreat. Emboldened, I curled the corners of my lips and reached up.
“The only one I want to know is you.”
Truly.
I whispered my answer against him.
