“Apologize for what you just said. The Mother Superior is not someone who deserves such words.”
“Ha! Sure, I’ll apologize! If you can cure all our children within a week!”
It was an absurd demand. Just as Sister Anna was about to flare up again, Roxana, after a brief pause to think, stepped forward and replied first.
“Alright.”
“Sister Roxana!”
Sister Anna called out in alarm, but it was no use. Roxana spoke clearly, as if to nail it down.
“One week.”
“……”
“I’ll have them cured within a week. Keep your promise. The children are stable for now, so please leave for today.”
Her plan was to go directly to the Duchy of Russell and ask for help. As expected, the two nuns who knew Roxana’s situation strongly objected. But since she had already assured the villagers, there was no other choice. Roxana, being the youngest and most agile, was the best person for the task.
It was early winter, and the sun had already set. Roxana packed quickly and mounted the old mule. She smiled at the two nuns, who looked anxious.
“I’ll be back soon. Just make sure the children’s condition doesn’t worsen.”
“Sister Roxana, it’s dangerous at night. Leave in the morning.”
“It’s okay, Sister Elin. You know we don’t have time.”
“At least wake the Mother Superior and ask her opinion—”
“She’s finally getting some rest after so long. And I know she would say no. I don’t have time to persuade even her.”
Their eyes trembled with concern. To reassure her, Roxana held Sister Anna’s hand tightly and made a promise.
“I swear, I’ll return with the physician within a week. And with the medicine.”
—
It was a grueling journey. To save time, Roxana slept under the stars and ate nothing but hard bread and water. As she neared Count Russell’s territory, she recalled the last time she saw Curtis.
It had been about half a year after the Marquisate of Dalton was burned. He had once visited the convent. The moment she saw him, she tried to hide, but he was faster.
“Roxana.”
She had fled until her back hit a wall. His smiling face came closer. His features were as sculpted as ever, with a radiant smile—but Roxana knew he smiled more when he was angry.
“Impressive, Roxana. Even the Mother Superior praised you endlessly. How’d you manage that?”
She didn’t understand a word of what he meant. But she could see his pain—just from looking at her. His voice, tone, and eyes all carried a deep nightmare.
The one who planted that nightmare in him was none other than her father.
Instead of answering, Roxana stayed silent. Curtis’ gaze grew sharper, interpreting her silence in his own way.
“Answer me. Did you go mute or something?”
What he wanted was probably to see her in pain. Roxana remembered the day she left for the convent. She had thought it would be the last time she ever saw his face and had wanted to ask for forgiveness on behalf of her father. But when she apologized, Curtis didn’t even flinch, as if it were some kind of joke.
As Roxana looked away, she noticed something and suddenly reached for his cheek. Curtis looked surprised, then smirked.
“Finally changing your approach?”
He grabbed her wrist and brought her palm to his lips. His hot breath touched her hand. Roxana flinched, but reached into her robe with her other hand and pulled out a salve.
“There’s a wound. This is good for minor cuts.”
For a moment, his usually cold gray eyes wavered.
Clack.
“I don’t need it. How do I know you didn’t poison it?”
The salve she had painstakingly made from herbs rolled across the ground.
—
“Heeh-hing!”
The mule’s pained cry snapped her out of her doze. Roxana dismounted in alarm. As if it had been waiting, the old mule collapsed to the ground with a heavy sigh. Traveling for two days and nights nonstop had been too much.
After checking the mule’s condition, Roxana took down her luggage.
“I’m sorry.”
She was in a hurry, but unsure what to do—until she saw a farmhouse in the distance.
As she hesitated at the door, someone opened it. Their eyes widened in recognition.
“Who’s—Roxana, miss?!”
The homeowner was none other than her old maid, Mary.
After giving the exhausted mule water and settling it in the stable, the two sat down for a heartfelt conversation.
“I worried so much after what happened at the manor.”
“We’re doing well now. Thankfully, the Count took us all in as his own people and gave each family farmland. People say we’re better off than before… Oh.”
Mary flinched as she realized her slip of the tongue. Just then, a baby cried from the cradle. Mary quickly scooped up her son and soothed him.
“That was rude. I’m sorry.”
“No. I’m actually relieved you’re doing well. You’re married.”
“To a man I met here. Not handsome, but hardworking and kind. That’s all I needed.”
Roxana smiled faintly at her joking tone.
Curtis Russell had kept his promise. He seemed heartless, but in matters of duty, he was thorough. His icy gaze was terrifying, but this was the reason she broke her vow to never leave the convent—because she believed he would never break a promise.
“I never imagined something like this would happen. I thought you were dead.”
“The Count saved me secretly. Thanks to him, I survived and became a nun.”
“Now that you mention it…”
Mary glanced at Roxana’s clothes. Though worn and frayed, the robe clearly revealed a nun’s habit underneath. Her eyes were still kind, but Roxana seemed stronger now. She had likely endured much.
After putting her now-sleeping son back in the cradle, Mary asked gently:
“Have you taken your final vows yet?”
“Not yet.”
Though she had completed her novitiate period, the Mother Superior never contacted the order to begin the process. She only said it was too soon. Roxana’s expression darkened, so Mary quickly changed the subject.
“But that’s not what matters now. Why did you come all the way here? And alone?”
The past faded quickly. Roxana, now focused, held Mary’s hands.
“I know it’s a lot to ask, but… can you help me once more?”
—
Roxana secretly hitched a ride in a wagon driven by Mary’s husband. It was the last cart of a trade caravan.
“This is a first. I’ve never had a nun in my cart before.”
“Thank you. I’ll stay quiet.”
“Of course I’ll help, since you’re Mary’s old friend. I heard you paid for her brother’s surgery when he was badly injured?”
“It wasn’t much. I’m embarrassed.”
“Not much? Thanks to you, my brother-in-law is now apprenticing as a leatherworker and doing great.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Stay silent inside the crate. We’ll reach the estate soon. When we get there, I’ll cough twice loudly.”
“Got it.”
Roxana curled up inside the crate. It was just big enough for her to fit in with her knees tucked in.
“If we get caught, it won’t just be a scolding, so not a word, alright?”
Roxana nodded. Just as John closed the crate, someone approached—the caravan supervisor.
“Hey! Everyone’s in their saddles—what are you fiddling with?”
“Oh, sorry. I was checking the crates for damage, in case something broke.”
“Right. Be careful. You could lose your head.”
“Yes, sir.”
John scratched his head and mounted his horse. The horses began to move. One of the other drivers glanced after the departing supervisor and grumbled.
“What’s his problem? He’s been a pain since day one.”
“Seriously.”
Then another driver chimed in:
“Hey. Watch your mouth.”
“What?”
“That wagon you’re pulling—do you know whose it is? It’s covered in white cloth, so I don’t know what’s inside, but I bet it’s luxury goods we commoners couldn’t even dream of.”
“…So whose is it?”
“Lean in.”
The driver cupped his hand over his mouth and whispered:
“His Grace, the Duke. Everything’s a tribute to His Majesty.”
“What?!”
Normally, giving someone a lift in a wagon was a minor offense. As long as no one saw, and the ride was short, it was a harmless side hustle. Even if caught, a scolding was the worst of it.
But if the owner of this caravan was the Iron-Blooded Duke—the famously strict and merciless noble—then it was a different matter. Even at the young age of thirty, he was known for his ruthless adherence to principle. He once executed an official on the spot for raising taxes improperly. And if this was a tribute to the king…
John turned pale. The driver looked at him oddly.
“Are you feeling sick?”
“N-No.”
John barely kept his voice steady and tightened his grip on the reins.
If they got caught, it was over.
