Episode 15
I watched what little color remained drain completely from the butler’s appalled face. As I froze, unsure of what expression to wear, Kirhin gestured toward the head maid, who had hurried over.
Nina certainly had an air about her that set her apart from ordinary maids. Her practiced gaze and upright posture spoke volumes about her pride. Her brown hair was immaculately smoothed back beneath a plain, solid-colored headband devoid of patterns or embroidery, which paradoxically gave her an even more austere aura.
She seemed far more composed than Brook. Still, I could sense the distaste in her swift appraisal of my appearance.
It was hardly unreasonable. I was covered in grime, tears, and snot, my torn hem looked dreadful, and I reeked of both a foul dungeon and the rancid Allmon house all at once.
Kirhin gave a curt nod at Brook’s reply.
With a nod signaling me to follow, Kirhin strode ahead, his hurried steps widening the distance between us. Forcing my wobbling legs forward, I managed to keep pace just behind him. Though I had no leisure to look around, the vivid color and sheer softness of the carpet beneath my worn-out shoes were unmistakable.
I struggled to make sense of everything unfolding, but my mind refused to cooperate.
Why had Kirhin taken me out of prison? Was it truly just as he said—that if the case closed with an innocent person blamed, he would never find his father’s true murderer?
Or was that all a pretext, and he actually intended to kill me? Would he torture me like Peterson had, demanding I confess everything I knew?
He didn’t seem like that sort of man, but there was an erratic edge to his actions that defied reason. Besides, I was in no state to think clearly. Too many things were tearing my world apart at once.
Worn down by exhaustion and tension, my legs felt as heavy as lead. My head spun so violently that I wasn’t even sure whether following him was the right choice. As my steps began to falter, Kirhin reached the library doors and shoved them open with a flourish.
I raised my head slowly. The library was larger than the whole of Mrs. Allmon’s house put together, its walls lined with bookshelves packed densely with tomes.
My nose was sharp—especially when it came to any scent that didn’t belong to the Allmons.
The atmosphere wasn’t the only thing different here; the scent itself was entirely foreign. The dusty aroma of old books, reminiscent of a grand library, mingled with the dry warmth of burning logs, and threaded through it all was a distinct, exceptionally crisp and fragrant presence.
The fire burning in the hearth cast flickering shadows across the surrounding bookcases. At the center of that mesmerizing dance sat a single, motionless silhouette.
I saw a man seated before the fireplace, his legs crossed as he turned a page. A languid voice drifted out into the quiet room.
It felt like gazing upon a masterpiece, rendering me unable to blink. I feared that if I did, the painting might vanish into thin air.
That reverence, however, did not last long. Kirhin’s voice, thick with resentment, soon shattered the library’s stillness.
At that blunt, unflinching retort, Kirhin clutched at his hair in exasperation. The man snapped the book shut and rose to his feet, his towering shadow swaying broadly against the hearthfire’s glow.
His noble green eyes gleamed with a chilling severity. While his tone carried a trace of playfulness, the look in his gaze was anything but light. Kirhin averted his eyes and parted his lips, but no rebuttal came.
The man’s eyes finally landed on me. I had been watching him the entire time without blinking once. His dark, sweeping brow arched, and he seemed to let out a short, quiet chuckle.
It sounded like a casual remark, but Kirhin pricked up his ears, catching the subtle familiarity beneath the words.
My feet moved on their own. Truth be told, I wasn't even aware I was moving. Had I known, I never would have dared. I would never have thrown my arms around him with such filthy clothes and such a wretched stench clinging to my skin.
The chest against my cheek was as unyielding as stone, yet it was not cold. I understood nothing else, but that single remark Kirhin had made earlier—‘I wasn’t the one who saved you’—suddenly clicked into place because of the conversation I had just overheard.
The one who ordered the baron’s son to drag me from that prison was none other than this man. The weight of that realization was overwhelming.
A hush descended, swelling until the tension in the library felt ready to burst. Before Kirhin, his mouth hanging agape in disbelief, could utter a word, a frail sob broke the silence first.
“Ugh… hic…”
I hadn't intended to weep. But the moment his hand touched my shoulder—hesitating in mild surprise before seemingly preparing to push me away—the tears tore through me without warning.
I wrapped my arms around his waist as if trying to crush him, trembling from head to toe, utterly incapable of letting go. If anyone had tried to pry me away from him right then, I would have torn out their throat with my teeth.
Shame was forgotten as a flood of tears drenched my face and soaked his shirtfront. The quiet whimper soon gave way to an unvarnished wail. I clung to him, weeping uncontrollably.
He could have found me bothersome or repulsive and cast me aside, but he didn't. He simply stood there, an unbending pillar to lean against, letting me pour out all my pent-up misery in safety.
I cried as if releasing a lifetime of sorrow, so close to blacking out that I never noticed the flustered look in Kirhin’s blue eyes turning into sheer amusement. Once the sobs began to taper off, his slick voice drifted over as if he had been waiting for that exact moment.
My strength gave out then and there. Every drop of energy drained from my exhausted body all at once, and I lurched, slipping downward. Darkness swallowed my sight. Kirhin reflexively reached out a hand, but a grin quickly spread across his face. Before the girl could crumple like a blade of grass against a harsh wind, Lars’s arm had already swept around her waist.
Lucien was still a child with lingering youth about her, but Kirhin, having known many women, was certain of one thing.
Once she matured a bit more, she would become a celebrated flower of this kingdom. And not just any ordinary bloom, but the finest flower of them all.
A woman’s beauty was usually considered a blessing, yet without the solid backing of a noble house or a husband, it could just as easily turn into a curse. The world was far too full of vulgar men whose only ambition was to snap the stem and pluck the flower.
Brief though their encounter had been, Lucien had proven herself remarkably clever and composed. Seeing her concern for Mrs. Vino despite her tender years showed genuine loyalty—a virtue rarely found among common housemaids, which made her all the more appealing to him. If House Beekman took her under its wing, her beauty would prove a fortune for both Lucien and the family alike.
‘…Though I certainly never guessed she’d be acquainted with that terrible man.’
Kirhin gave a playful wink and shrugged his shoulders.
Realizing he had stepped slightly out of line as a sharp glare instantly cut his way, Kirhin hastily made for the entrance. When trifling with someone who could make you vanish without a trace whenever he pleased, one always had to know where to draw the line.
At the chime of the handbell he rang in the air, Nina appeared with brisk, orderly steps to report that everything was prepared. Seeing Kirhin’s urging expression, Lars snorted in disbelief.
At Kirhin’s sly glance, Lars lowered his gaze. Lucien, unconscious as she was, still clutched a fistful of his lapel tightly between her fingers.
