Chapter 45
Was her regression an opportunity? Or was it simply another level of life’s difficulty, where not making mistakes would be fortunate enough, opportunities be damned?
Every time Pheon looked at Kaella’s clear face, he fell into deep thought. It was a face that could captivate anyone just by being seen. Clean and composed, her delicately sculpted features showed no expression at all.
That only made him agonize over her even more. What on earth was she thinking?
Beatrice Lavalle’s sudden appearance was already enough to scatter his focus, and he had to think about how her luggage had been reduced thanks to the magic transfer device.
Yet Pheon halted all those thoughts and simply looked at Kaella.
She was offering the Duchess’s bedchamber? The woman who had stormed out declaring she’d never marry him even if it killed her—no, that dying would be better—couldn’t possibly wear an expression like she’d scraped out her liver and gall bladder, washed them spotless, and casually slipped them back in as if nothing had happened. She couldn’t.
“Your Grace.”
“Go ahead.”
The head maid and even the butler turned to Pheon with expressions that screamed, Is this for real? It meant he was the only one who could stop her.
But Kaella’s word was law. The man who, before her regression, had ignored her words, avoided her eyes, sealed his lips, and shut his ears couldn’t dare do so again.
To him, her words were an inviolable law that must be obeyed. He couldn’t presume to block her in front of Beatrice. Kaella must have her reasons.
So Pheon merely nodded silently, adding not a single word. In the end, Beatrice Lavalle decided to stay in the Duchess’s bedchamber, which the Duchess had never once used.
“Show her the way.”
“I know where it is.”
With a pointed look that said she’d visited Lüsenford Castle far more often than Kaella had, Beatrice shot back and spun on her heel. The remaining head maid had no choice but to whisper to Kaella.
“Your Grace. How…?”
“It’s fine. There’s no better room available right now, is there?”
Kaella cut her off sharply and turned away.
She didn’t feel good seeing Beatrice Lavalle either. The Lady of Monde had painted her as utterly pathetic. Jealous, envious, consumed by malicious thoughts.
If she never crossed paths with Beatrice, Kaella was the type to seek out joyful things rather than dwelling on hating others, getting irritated, or feeling depressed. She paid attention to others’ circumstances and sought out places in need of help.
No one had anticipated Beatrice Lavalle’s arrival, but in hindsight, it wasn’t surprising. At least not to Kaella.
Throughout their marriage, she’d seen Beatrice drop into Lüsenford briefly too many times—shaking Pheon, captivating him, toppling Kaella, then vanishing completely. So this was nothing new. It was only the beginning.
“Your Grace.”
The only issue was that her husband was markedly different from the man she’d married before dying. Pheon called to her with a complicated expression—no, a face full of dissatisfaction and irritation. What had displeased him now?
“I didn’t dare intervene since Your Grace gave the order, but do you plan to keep tolerating that rude attitude?”
Kaella looked at him in slight surprise. She just couldn’t get used to it. A husband thinking the same way she did felt utterly foreign, no matter how many times she experienced it.
She didn’t want to revise her assessment of the Lüsenford Duke, Hyperion Sivbrand Ferraro, at this point, yet reasons to do so kept cropping up.
“If I’ve made a mistake, please tell me. I’ll correct it.”
“It’s not that Your Grace made a mistake…”
She hated change. Kaella shrugged her shoulders. She just wanted to sink into this and quietly close her eyes. Pheon gazed at her before cutting himself off.
“No. I’ll handle this myself. Your Grace should do as you think best. Just…”
Just? Kaella looked up at him.
“I suspect there will be times when I must stop Your Grace from doing something. I ask for your understanding in advance.”
Ah, that was familiar. Kaella nodded solemnly.
“You must do as you see fit, Your Highness.”
Did that mean he could evict Beatrice from the Duchess’s bedchamber? Even if it was under repair, why offer a room that had never been used…? Pheon’s thoughts reached that point, and he glanced at Kaella. Could it be?
His wife walked on with her usual demure expression, elegant and silent as always. Pheon extended his arm.
“Hold on. The thawing season always requires caution.”
The memory of Kaella slipping on the stairs, breaking bones, and the knights carrying her back lingered vividly in Pheon’s mind.
In Lüsenford, many suffered far worse injuries and died. So the Duchess fracturing a bone from a fall wasn’t honestly a big deal. She wasn’t a soldier, and she’d be cared for anyway.
But that memory haunted him both before her death and now after regression. Back then, he could have done so much.
For instance, he could have checked exactly where and how badly she’d broken, carried her himself to her bedchamber. Then he could have inspected that horrific state of the room and changed it while he was at it.
Things he absolutely hadn’t done back then—he now ruminated on them endlessly. The things he hadn’t done became must-dos, and the things he had done were pointless.
“Yes. Thank you.”
Kaella—or rather, the Kaella who from childhood had constantly chirped, “Oppa, come with me!"—didn’t lean on him any more than that.
She merely took his arm lightly, like when alighting from a carriage or mounting a horse, without putting her weight on it. At this rate, he wondered if he’d even be providing proper support.
Pheon had no choice but to press closer to her. But even half a step nearer, and Kaella would walk a few paces before subtly pulling away. She seemed uncomfortable with him drawing too close.
In the end, even with their shoulders level, Pheon felt like he was walking alone. Lonely, just as Kaella had once described.
“Bring the horses.”
At Pheon’s command, a knight immediately dashed to the stables. Since the Emperor had sent Beatrice, the investigator might arrive early too. There would be much to do.
Kaella released Pheon’s hand, intending to send him off. But a large hand in pitch-black gloves covered the back of her limp hand.
“Shall we take a short ride in the breeze, Your Grace?”
What was that supposed to mean? Kaella was stunned multiple times by words Pheon would never say. Since she’d died and come back to life, it seemed he’d acquired a new talent.
“Your Highness, we have a guest.”
“A guest’s arrival shouldn’t disrupt the lord’s daily routine. Besides, Your Grace is still recovering, aren’t you?”
Lüsenford Castle had multiple stables, so horses were always readily available anywhere. It was all preparation for battles that could start anytime. Thanks to that, a massive black warhorse approached Pheon.
“You mentioned earlier that you thought you could start riding again soon. Let’s begin now.”
With that, he grasped Kaella’s waist with both hands and lifted her effortlessly. In an instant, she—burdened with her heavy winter dress and furs—floated into the air and settled onto the saddle.
By the time Kaella gasped in surprise at his tremendous strength, Pheon had swung up behind her and taken the reins. It gave her a glimpse of the power and speed he wielded in battle.
“No escort needed.”
“Have a safe ride.”
Contrary to its enormous size, the horse began walking very docilely. Still faster than on foot, Lüsenford Castle’s stark, drab silhouette quickly receded behind Kaella’s back. She glanced back at the castle and wobbled slightly.
“Don’t tense up. Lean back.”
Stiff as a flower pressed against a wall that men wouldn’t even glance at—Kaella, who had never ridden with a man and thus never ridden alone.
Whenever she was with Pheon, she kept fumbling awkwardly and making mistakes, always recalling the whispers she’d heard before dying. Most came from Beatrice’s mouth, with the Duchess of Monde fanning the flames.
That was why even noble ladies who could barely stand face-to-face with Kaella spoke such words casually—words only they should utter.
That was the state of her honor and treatment after losing both her father and title at once. She’d heard them so often they now reflexively came to her mind.
Pheon must have heard them too. They were that loud.
“Your Highness, where are we…?”
Ignoring the instruction to lean, Kaella asked something else. She wobbled unsteadily between his arms, struggling to balance on her own.
Pheon simply pulled her back sharply. The petite woman tumbled into his embrace, carrying the faint scent of flowers.
A vibrant summer fragrance unimaginable in Lüsenford. The precious Duke’s Daughter must be startled, but after all, he was a mongrel cur, baseborn without a father—rudeness suited his nature better.
Lest anyone see, he tucked Kaella tighter inside his cloak. Ashamed to meet the face that kept turning toward him, she closed her frosty eyes near his racing heart.
“You haven’t seen the surroundings yet.”
Clop-clop, the horse picked up speed a bit. The occasional clip of hooves on hard stone sounded cheerful.
“Let’s take a quick look around.”
After all, Your Grace would be leaving this place before long.
He urged the horse faster, fleeing far, very far from Lüsenford Castle.
With every bit of distance, his breathing eased, feeling only the light, warm presence cradled in his arms. His shoulders felt unburdened. Yes. This was how he wanted to ride—holding her, escaping the world.
The sprightly, swift horse trotted not toward the village below the castle, but the opposite direction. The loyal steed followed its master’s lead. The petite Duchess trapped in his arms merely darted her blue eyes about, unsure of their destination.
Pheon glanced down at his embrace and chuckled softly. Her pale face looked up at him. You’re so small, pretty, and lovable. He confirmed it anew.
“I thought you’d like somewhere without people.”
He parted the cloak slightly, and she peeked out, gazing around curiously. Kaella’s blue eyes absorbed the scenery meticulously, missing nothing—like a child seeing the place for the first time.
No, it was her first time. Pheon felt like he’d been struck in the back of the head. Yes, it was her first time here. The first time she’d set foot outside since arriving as his bride.
“It’s north of the castle. Close to the border… good forest for hunting. There’s a stream that’s just starting to thaw, so it’s at least worth seeing.”
His throat felt dry, words sticking, but he forced them out.
Even the dead Duchess had been confined to Lüsenford Castle without stirring until she was dragged to the North Tower—and only then had she seen what lay beyond its walls, more than ever before. Come to think of it, this forest led to that North Tower after a long ride. Pheon flinched again.
If only cute little herbivores like rabbits or squirrels—something resembling Kaella—came to drink at the stream, she’d enjoy watching them.
But the forest, still chilled by cold air, held only distant snow-capped jagged mountains, a gray stream, and densely packed trees.
No colorful, pretty landscape suited to her. All he could offer was this barren vista.
“It’s really thawing.”
A small voice murmured from his arms. The stream’s melting flow roared with decent force.
“Yes. It’s thawing a lot. It’s spring.”
Kaella watched a large unfamiliar bird flap away in the distance. The sky was clear and refreshing.
“So it is. Spring.”
She’d come in winter thinking she’d die in winter, yet here she was greeting a new season.
Kaella lingered at the unfamiliar stream, taking in the surroundings for a long while and breathing the fresh air. Lüsenford had places like this too. After etching it into her eyes for ages, she tapped the arm gripping her waist tightly.
“Let’s head back now.”
This was enough.
*
To Kaella, Pheon seemed profoundly indifferent. That indifference maximized toward those he disliked, and even toward those he favored, it wasn’t entirely absent.
No, he was affectionate, but sometimes indifferent even to Beatrice. And Kaella had struggled desperately for even a scrap of that affection.
“Your Highness, Lady Lavalle is look—”
“Kaella, what is this!”
It happened upon their return to the castle, as Pheon helped her down from the horse and they entered together. Beatrice, cutting off even the head maid’s weary, perfunctory report, rushed forward wildly.
Of course, she probably hadn’t meant to physically grab Kaella, but before Kaella could even startle at the face thrust toward her, Pheon blocked Beatrice. Beatrice flinched at the wall of a man before her.
“What’s the matter?”
“The room—the room is a disaster! How am I supposed to sleep there? No curtains at all, the bedposts are all broken! And why’s the head maid different? Where’s Doris?”
The Duchess’s bedchamber Beatrice faced was utterly eerie, like a ghost might leap out.
The garish deep pink velvet furnishings looked cheap, no curtains, and even the four-poster bed’s pillars were all shattered—no canopy to draw when lying down.
“That’s the best room available. You wanted it, didn’t you, sister?”
Kaella looked at Beatrice and mimicked exactly how Beatrice always spoke to her, rounding her eyes and tilting her head.
It must look strange and awkward compared to the flower of society, but it worked anyway.
“You… you…! Kaella, you…!”
Beatrice was at a loss for words. Her mouth gaping fish-like was comical and pathetic all at once.
To think she’d fought this easy, insignificant person for four years straight. All to look good to Pheon. If she just dropped that, it was this simple—someone far beneath her, really.
What Pheon thought of Kaella no longer mattered. She was used to his coldness.
“Not ‘you.’ ‘Your Grace.’”
So when Pheon quietly but clearly corrected her with a furrowed brow, Kaella was shocked.
Again? Defending her side over Beatrice’s?
Even that might have been smoothed over with a laugh by Beatrice. But Pheon drove the wedge home.
“No one in Lüsenford is of noble enough station to address the Duchess by name so boldly. Does Lady Lavalle not know the proprieties of rank?”
