“I suppose I was rather foolish.”
“You were kind.”
“Same thing—just like an idiot. Ah, dear me, my coarse tongue slipped.”
When I clapped a hand over my mouth, Khalid burst into laughter. Not a shred of demureness in me, was there? No, wait, that wasn’t it. I gave my head a brisk shake and spoke up. “And that goes for everyone around me.”
“Does that include me?”
“Yes. Naturally.”
He bent his head. Reaching his opposite arm right across my body to brace himself against the sofa, he cradled my head. When his lips parted from mine with a quiet sound, an lingering reluctance rose within me, and meeting his gaze, I whispered softly,
“Once more.”
Khalid’s expression turned subtly layered at my words. Then, the pleasantly thick scent of his cologne swept over my senses, and his soft tongue pushed past my lips.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and clung to him. As he moved inside my mouth, grazing my inner flesh, a wave of warmth surged through me unbidden, and I nestled even deeper into his embrace.
After setting a deep imprint upon me, he brushed his thumb across my trembling, breathless lips. In that moment, the fact that he was engaged to Isabel crossed my mind. Why had he gotten engaged to her in the first place? Any assumption that it was out of love had long since been ruled out. Isabel’s House Wither wasn't a terrible family, but compared to Prodiad with its royal lineage, it was utterly modest.
I should have just engaged myself to him instead.
Without question, House Dirnant was a far more fitting match for Prodiad than Wither could ever be. No marriage could be more flawless than joining royal blood with royal blood. If I threw a fit and insisted on marrying him, His Majesty the King himself would be the first to step forward and arrange it. He certainly held the power to do so.
The thought suddenly startled me. We had barely been dating a few days, and here I was thinking of marriage. On top of that, Khalid hadn’t even broken off his engagement with Isabel yet. I almost brought up the matter of his engagement, then closed my mouth. It felt like prying too deeply into his personal affairs, and part of me wanted to leave him to handle his business with Isabel on his own.
Hoping to divert my mind from the matter of him and Isabel, I glanced around. My eyes landed on the desk, and recalling that he had been writing something just moments before, I called out to him.
“Khalid.”
“What were you writing just now?”
There had been a distinct sense of relief in his movements earlier. Had he been under a lot of stress too?
At my question, Khalid’s eyes crinkled with a smile. Ah, how soothing. No, wait, focus. So what was it?
“Hmm?”
“Something good.”
“I’ll tell you once I have permission—though it will surely be granted.” He gave a noncommittal smile. What was that? Now I was even more curious.
“Am I not allowed to see it?”
“You may. None of my belongings are off-limits to you.”
“Hmm, but?”
“But I will show you later.”
Seeing his teasing smile as he echoed my words, I couldn't even stay annoyed. Still, feeling a touch petty about him hiding things from me, I intentionally mussed his neatly combed hair before rising to my feet.
“Lunchtime is almost over. I should head back.”
I am a busy woman, after all. At my parting words, Khalid smiled faintly. Having come by to play in his office—no, that sounded odd—having stopped by his office, I gave a wave and stepped toward the door. Leaning against the doorframe, he saw me off with his gaze. I gave the man standing there with his arms crossed a light kiss and promptly turned my steps toward the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
Parting ways with Khalid left me in high spirits as I headed back. Yet, as if the heavens were determined to ruin my mood, just a few paces from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, I came face-to-face with someone I had no desire to see—and a thoroughly unexpected figure at that.
Brown hair much like Isabel’s, paired with blue eyes a shade deeper than hers. As though living proof that Isabel had inherited her beauty from this woman, even the silhouette of the figure approaching from afar was breathtakingly lovely. Though age had softened that radiance a little, time had clearly spared her any harsh cruelty.
She truly lived up to her reputation as the most courted woman in Sierra. Before she married into Winchester, men were said to have offered entire villas just to win her favor. Not that I could ever comprehend such behavior, of course.
“Countess Wither.”
Walking down the corridor with the graceful carriage of a pristine lily, the countess smiled. Would Isabel look like that when she grew older? Startled for a moment by the gentleness and warmth radiating from her whole being, I offered a polite smile. Isabel was the one at fault; the whole of House Wither had never crossed me. I had even handled various matters for their family in the past. After all, how else could a count’s household with no ties to royal blood hold such sway over the Privy Council? Of course, some of it was out of genuine goodwill on my part, but I certainly couldn't claim there was no give-and-take involved.
For that very reason, House Wither was extraordinarily favorable toward House Dirnant. Even so, looking at a face that resembled Isabel so closely, I couldn't muster a purely sincere smile.
“It has been a long time, Countess.”
“My, it has been, Lady Dirnant.”
Unlike my stiff greeting, she seemed genuinely delighted. Feeling a prick of guilt over that, I was still slightly irked by how easily she set aside aristocratic formalities. Good grief. The moment I realized it, I was startled by my own pettiness. Now I was even nitpicking words and looking for faults.
True to form, her brown hair was adorned with lavish flowers and lace, and she wore a soft, shy smile in her blue gown. The sight was so girl-like that it was hard to believe she was around my mother's age.
“What brings you to the royal palace?”
At my inquiry, her eyes curved into a smile. Looking down at the woman who stood a full handspan shorter than me, it suddenly made sense why men had fallen head over heels and chased her with such devotion.
“Her Majesty the Queen invited me.”
Ah, of course.
Holding sway in the Privy Council as they did, House Wither maintained close ties with the royal family. Whatever the hidden reality might be, that was how it appeared on the surface. I accepted her explanation readily enough. Then, recalling that Countess Wither had originally been a noblewoman of Sierra, I could infer Her Majesty’s reasons for summoning her.
The countess spoke with a radiant smile.
“Her Majesty offered me some comfort, bidding me not to feel too downhearted over the state of relations between Winchester and Sierra.”
“Is that so.”
Sierra was Countess Wither’s homeland. And I was, in a sense, the primary architect who had trampled all over it. Even if the broader dynamic between two nations was the driving force, the fact remained that I had played a decisive role in those negotiations.
Once my thoughts traveled that far, an odd sense of guilt took hold. While I couldn't know precisely how she felt about the war between Sierra and Winchester, there was no way she could simply smile about it with ease.
Yet, contrary to my expectations, Countess Wither spoke with an exceptionally bright expression.
“Though truly, it matters little to me.”
“Pardon?”
“I married into Winchester, and so long as my husband is a Winchester man, I belong to Winchester as well.”
…Wait, really?
Was it really that easy to make sense of?
Not being in her shoes, I couldn't quite comprehend it, but her expression was so bright that I couldn't bring myself to question her. To be sure, marrying a foreign spouse would tie me to their country to an extent, but could someone shed their identity so easily? Just because of a husband? Did she love him that much?
Even with my doubts, I couldn't readily judge her circumstances, so I merely offered a smile. Everyone had their own values; it wasn't something for me to pass judgment on. With that thought, I gave a nod.
Countess Wither was from Sierra. Even within aristocratic circles, there was the notion that ‘a woman belongs to her husband once married,’ so perhaps it was understandable on some level—even if I couldn't comprehend how marriage suddenly turned into a matter of ownership.
“The Count mentioned that you concluded the negotiations with utmost brilliance. You truly are remarkable, Lady Dirnant.”
“Thank you. Ah, forgive me, but I am somewhat pressed for time…”
“Oh dear, forgive me for keeping you.”
At my excuse, the countess covered her mouth with a laugh, then offered an elegant, butterfly-like bow before continuing on her way. I watched her retreating figure with a strange expression.
Every time I saw her, I couldn't shake the feeling that conversations with the countess were always slightly off-pitch.
Upon returning to my office, I found Celine exhausted and fast asleep. I wondered whether to wake her, but since there was nothing urgent, I decided to let her rest. Yet the scrape of my chair as I sat down must have roused her, for her head snapped up.
“Oh, you’re back?”
Yaaawn—even though negotiations are over, the paperwork is still piled high.”
“The aftermath of a treaty is always the busiest part.”
There were far too many loose ends to tie up.
A few colleagues in the Ministry had offered to handle our paperwork, considering we had just returned exhausted from Sorel, but I didn't feel comfortable leaving my documents in someone else’s hands and chose to manage them myself.
Sweeping the morning’s finished files to one side, I drew a fresh sheet from the remaining stack and placed it before me. Then, glancing at the girl beside me, I spoke up.
“Celine.”
“Yes?”
“Just out of curiosity… if you were to marry into a foreign country, could you assimilate completely into that nation?”
“What do you mean… Wait, don't tell me! Lady Scarlett, are you going abroad to get married?”
“What kind of nonsense is that? How could I possibly move abroad?”
At my exasperated look, Celine broke into an awkward grin. It seemed she found her own words absurd. “Well, of course Lady Scarlett wouldn’t,” she muttered, scratching her head, now wide awake as she beamed at me. It was impossible to stay mad at that face. Truly, she was second to none when it came to shameless charm.
Barring the sudden appearance of an older brother or sister, there was no chance I would ever marry abroad. Of course, things might be different if I threw a weeping, suicidal tantrum insisting I couldn't live without someone—not that even that guaranteed anything—but with Khalid around, that seemed out of the question.
Celine pondered my question for a moment before answering.
“Is that so?”
“I’ve lived in Winchester for twenty years. Even if I married abroad, that wouldn't erase twenty years of my life or change who ‘I’ am. I mean, sure, I might develop some affection for the new country, but becoming a complete foreigner… that feels pretty impossible. I’d miss home, too.”
“Even if your husband is from there?”
“What does that have to do with me? Does that mean I have to trade away my own identity?”
Her words struck a chord. Watching her search my face for an answer, I simply smiled.
“Never mind. Get back to what you were doing.”
Celine pouted at my dismissal and returned to her paperwork. Though she was young, I felt a brief sense of relief that her thinking aligned so closely with mine. Then, words Isabel had once spoken floated into my mind, and I laid down my pen, sinking into thought.
‘Scarlett. I’m definitely going to marry Duke Prodiad and build a happy family.’
‘Oh? Is that so?’
‘Mother told me. Finding a good husband is the most important thing for a woman.’
‘She’s not wrong. A good partner has a profound influence on one's life.’
‘And I will be a wonderful wife, a wonderful mother. That’s how I’ll build a happy home.’
Isabel’s words, whispered like an incantation. Perhaps meeting Countess Wither had triggered it, but my brow furrowed as I recalled how Isabel used to speak of it like an absolute creed. I hadn't thought much of it in the past, but looking back now, Isabel had attached immense importance to marriage. To her, marriage was sacred—the single greatest event of one's life.
Not that I opposed her view. Marriage in Winchester truly was a sacred pledge between two individuals. Even among nobles who weighed practical interests above all else, that held true. But with Isabel, it was different.
What made it different?
I hadn't realized it when I was young, but the thought suddenly struck me. She had never attended the Academy. Most family heirs attended the Academy to prepare for inheritance, yet despite being the sole daughter of House Wither, she had never gone. Isabel claimed it was because they employed private tutors to provide a better education at home, but nearly every noble knew the Academy wasn't merely a place for learning.
Come to think of it, who was the heir to House Wither? Probably Isabel’s cousin… Leaving the succession to a nephew…?
Recalling that sent a chill through me. Actions that had seemed entirely natural in her childhood, words that had once seemed nothing but sweet and charming, all began to resurface one by one, raising question after question in my mind.
And the moment I pieced that together, a realization dawned on me.
Perhaps I didn't know Isabel half as well as I thought I did.
