“She came here to be the fiancée of Soltaire’s son, so this is the bare minimum she ought to do.”
Paul and the tutor turned toward the voice that had cut into their conversation.
Despite the chill in the air, Ryan wore only a white ruffled shirt with a blue coat draped over his shoulders, leaning crookedly against the wall with his arms crossed.
“It’s not as if she’s being paid a pittance for it, right?”
· · ·
“Isn’t that so?”
Ryan surveyed Anasta with a resentful glare.
Paul watched Ryan, who had once again slipped back into his sharp-edged temper.
He had thought Ryan’s heart had opened slightly to Anasta after playing chess together, but the barriers were back up.
Still, it came as no surprise; it was only natural that long illness would leave Ryan’s temper unpredictable.
· · ·
Ryan lingered where he stood, watching Anasta for a long while, then pressed his lips together as if lost in thought.
“Ah, damn it.”
Suddenly, Ryan’s hand began to tremble.
“Are you alright, Young Master?”
“Get back.”
“I will fetch the doctor just in case.”
“I said there is no need!”
A brief flurry of commotion stirred the room, and naturally, the stir reached Anasta’s ears.
Thud!
For the first time, the book perched atop Anasta’s head tumbled to the floor.
“Young Master!”
Anasta saw Ryan gripping his wrist in pain.
Color drained from everyone’s faces, including hers, fearful this marked the onset of a seizure—yet Ryan was the only one who relaxed his knitted brow.
“I’m fine now, so stop making a fuss.”
Ryan’s face looked at ease, as though what had seized him was nothing more than a passing tremor in his hand.
“I need to return to my room.”
“Young Master.”
“I don’t need someone to steady me, Paul.”
Ryan shoved Paul’s hand away in irritation, then turned to leave.
“And before that, Instructor.”
“Yes, Young Master.”
“Her posture slipped.”
He pointed toward Anasta.
“Correct it thoroughly so she makes no mistakes.”
With that, he returned to his chambers as though he had nothing left to see.
Unable to make sense of the turn of events, Paul hurried after him at once.
“Young Master, I will bring the physician immediately, so please rest in bed…”
· · ·
“Young Master?”
Ryan did not answer, lost deep in thought.
Puzzled by his silence, Paul called to him again.
“Ah, what did you say?”
“I said I would summon the doctor…”
“It’s not as if I have the right to refuse anyway. Do as you see fit.”
His tone was sharp, but the compliance was unusually meek.
Noticing this, Paul cast a curious glance at Ryan.
Normally, Ryan reacted with extreme sensitivity even to minor tremors like these, but today he seemed strangely different.
Specifically, ever since the moment Anasta—who had not received a single strike from the ruler all day—rushed to his side to comfort his pain.
Ryan had watched Anasta pouring every ounce of effort into her preparations ever since her attendance at the banquet had been decided.
Despite the exhausting, long etiquette lessons, she never neglected his meals or medicine, and not once did she complain of fatigue.
‘She’s doing this because of her contract with the Duchess.’
Whenever that thought crossed his mind, he remembered Anasta’s face as she rushed toward him when he feigned illness.
He could not forget those green eyes staring at him like those of a frightened rabbit.
· · ·
Strangest of all, he had felt pleased by her reaction.
Ryan leaned his head back against the wall, weighed down by this unfamiliar emotion.
As was typical for him, his mood swung wildly these days.
While his spirits would suddenly plummet because of Anasta, there were other times she brought him calm.
Then the profound irritation would return at the thought that such a flawless, capable woman had been sold to him and his family for money, when she deserved far better than this lot.
“You haven’t played chess with me lately.”
Anasta said as she set a plate of food before Ryan.
“I lost interest.”
He answered coldly, but the truth was that he simply no longer wished to sit across from her.
As for the reason, Ryan himself had yet to understand it.
“…The strike from the cane you received yesterday.”
Ryan spoke up hesitantly.
“Did it hurt?”
“That hardly counts as pain at all.”
“The instructor must be lenient, then.”
“Perhaps.”
Ryan let out a small sigh, glancing at Anasta’s fair, unblemished hand.
“And your leg?”
“…It is gradually improving.”
“Use the crutch if it hurts. Don’t push through it for nothing.”
· · ·
“It will put me in an awkward position if your injury worsens.”
Speaking in a grumbling tone, Ryan watched Anasta silently nod her head.
Very little time remained before the banquet.
“It’s been a while since the last banquet you attended, hasn’t it?”
Ryan asked, recalling Anasta’s mention of having attended banquets a few times before.
“Are you excited?”
“Excited? Why would I be?”
“Everyone’s eyes will be on you. The young ladies of noble houses, and the arrogant men…”
Ryan furrowed his brows for a moment.
“The men, too…”
“I do not care much for drawing the attention of others.”
“Right, you’ll receive nothing but ridicule for being the wife of a dying man.”
“Is that something worthy of ridicule?”
“It’s obvious.”
Ryan wanted to answer, but he fell quiet when he saw Anasta’s innocent expression as she gazed back at him.
“In any case, it’ll be ridiculous.”
Ryan changed the subject.
“Because shortly after being introduced at the banquet, you’ll be leaving the ducal estate.”
· · ·
“It will make you the laughingstock of everyone.”
Though he felt no amusement whatsoever, Ryan forced a mocking smirk onto his lips.
When he observed Anasta’s reaction, however, her face remained calm and composed.
‘Does she truly want to leave this mansion?’
Ryan’s temper soured once again, and his brow creased.
“I’ll give you one piece of advice: once you leave this estate, stay quiet for a while.”
· · ·
“I mean don’t get involved with someone or marry right away.”
“I have no one to marry in the first place.”
“No one knows what life holds. Just as I fell ill all of a sudden, you might meet a man…”
Every time the word ‘man’ left his lips, an inexplicable bitterness churned inside Ryan.
“You might meet a remarkably fine man.”
· · ·
“If you marry right away, my reputation—which is already in the gutter—will be dragged down further, so conduct yourself properly.”
“Is there truly no way for me to remain by your side, Young Master?”
Caught off guard by Anasta’s sudden words, Ryan lost his balance against the wall and lurched forward.
“What?”
“I lost the bet, but isn’t there any way I might not have to leave your side?”
Anasta asked, looking straight into Ryan’s eyes.
It was an utterly absurd and shameless thing to say, yet Ryan’s stagnant heart began to pound fiercely, as if jolted back to life.
‘Why?’
Ryan asked himself, staring at Anasta as she held his gaze unblinkingly.
“If there is a way, I would like to know it.”
She spoke without hesitation. She seemed prepared to do whatever it took not to leave this ducal mansion.
“Why… why do you want to know that?”
“…You look lonely, Young Master.”
Ryan’s face froze at another unexpected reply.
“I am lonely, too. That is why I want to remain by your side.”
“Do you think that’s reason enough?”
His low voice reverberated in the room.
Ryan stared intently at Anasta with clouded eyes as he turned her answer over in his mind.
‘Lonely…’
This newfound sympathy caught him entirely off guard.
“This is not where you belong.”
Ryan turned his face forward and slowly picked up his spoon.
“Return to where you came from as soon as your leg has healed.”
· · ·
“Like I said before, if you won’t leave of your own accord, I’ll tell my father. I’ll tell him I have no use for you anymore. In the end, you’ll be forced to leave this mansion.”
From that moment on, Ryan began treating Anasta coldly.
He acted harshly, as if declaring, ‘I don’t need your pity,’ and each time, Anasta wanted to tell him it was not mere pity at all.
Yet she held back her words; she could not clearly define the sentiment herself.
It was neither simple affection nor cheap pity.
The only certainty was that whenever she looked at Ryan, she was reminded of her past.
She remembered herself sinking into the depths of the sea, gasping for air.
“My Lady.”
The Head Maid standing before her called out.
“Everything is ready.”
Anasta looked at herself in the mirror.
The day of the banquet had finally arrived. The preparations that had begun at the break of dawn were now complete.
Her golden hair was braided to one side, adorned with numerous butterfly pins.
Her gown featured elegant green pleats that harmonized splendidly with her golden hair.
“You look remarkably beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
Anasta offered a faint smile in response to the Head Maid’s praise.
“Is your leg feeling alright?”
“Yes, I believe it has completely healed now.”
Even though, in truth, it had healed long ago.
· · ·
Once the banquet concluded, I would have to leave this place.
Even though Count and Countess Winterlit would fly into a rage, and even though I would become an outcast cast aside by the Soltaire family.
Still, I would finally be free after losing my usefulness as a tool for the Count’s family, and with the funds I had saved, I would be able to see my sister.
Even so, the knot tightening in my chest could only be because of Ryan.
“Shall we head out now?”
“Alright.”
Anasta stepped out of the annex.
END
