APR Ch# 8

“Did someone come in by any chance?”

“No. Nothing happened. Things were noisy outside, though—what’s going on?”

“Ah… it’s nothing. Sorry to wake you.”

The maid, who had a puzzled expression, bowed and apologized. Only after the door closed again did Roksana let out a sigh of relief. She pressed her ear to the door, waited for the footsteps to fade, then moved back toward the wardrobe.

“They’re gone. You can come out now.”

“……”

“Hello?”

No response. Tilting her head in confusion, Roksana opened the wardrobe—and a small body tumbled forward. Shocked, she quickly caught the girl in her arms. The girl, now seemingly asleep, whimpered in her dreams.

“Mother… Father… Brother… save me… Brother…”

At the same moment, Roksana’s entire body froze. Jet-black hair, long slanted eyes, a sharply defined nose, full lips. She had thought the face looked familiar—and now she was sure of the girl’s identity.

> “My little sister is frail and rarely goes outside. My parents worry so much that they don’t let her meet others. I’m afraid she might grow up with a crooked personality from all the coddling.”

The beloved youngest daughter of the Russell family. The girl who looked exactly like Curtis Russell—

Frey Russell.

—

The flood in the southern territory was fortunately resolved quickly. Thanks to the lord’s skilled leadership, the soldiers and citizens responded in unison. Curtis didn’t just command from high up—he worked tirelessly, day and night. He helped rebuild farms, assess damage, and bury dead livestock. The situation was resolved so swiftly that he returned nearly half a day earlier than expected.

“You’re back quickly.”

“I couldn’t leave the castle unattended for long.”

Massaging his stiff neck, Curtis dismounted from his horse. Robert received his coat. Curtis’s sharp eyes quickly caught something off. Robert’s outfit was neat, as it had been when Curtis left, but his graying hair was disheveled. Curtis casually scanned the area.

“By the way, the castle seems a bit disorderly. Robert?”

“Well…”

At the quiet remark, Robert’s mouth went dry. There were two incidents he had to report: one involving Roksana Dalton, the other concerning Lady Frey. He wasn’t sure which to begin with. As Curtis’s eyes narrowed, Robert forced a strained smile and chose a safer topic.

“The young lady refused to take her medicine again.”

“Today too?”

Curtis clenched his teeth and walked quickly. This wasn’t uncommon. At night, Frey would scream about ghosts, and sometimes even harm herself.

She had gone blind from the shock of witnessing her family’s downfall. Overnight, she lost her cherished parents and everything she had known. Since then, Frey had closed herself off. She trusted no one—not even her own brother.

“What about injured maids?”

“Thankfully, none today. However—”

Robert, struggling to keep up, suddenly stopped.

“Frey?”

Without warning, Curtis flung open Frey’s bedroom door and stepped into the dark room. His gray eyes swept the room like a hawk in search of prey.

“Frey?”

He checked the wardrobe—empty. Crouched and looked under the bed—nothing.

“It’s me. You can come out now.”

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but no matter how hard he searched, she wasn’t there. Just as he was about to turn around, Robert, head bowed, confessed.

“Lady Frey escaped through the window.”

“And you’re telling me this now?!”

A harsh voice slammed down like thunder. Robert bowed even deeper and stammered,

“We found her quickly. But…”

“But?”

If there was even a scratch on her, someone would pay. Curtis’s black eyes burned with fury. Robert, frozen like ice, finally delivered the second piece of news.

“She’s… with Lady Roksana.”

An unexpected name. The air in the room dropped to freezing. While Robert stood paralyzed with guilt, Curtis asked flatly,

“What did you say?”

“……”

“Why is Roksana here?”

“She came personally… saying there was a plague near the village by the Angela convent. She said it was urgent…”

“Lord!”

The explanation didn’t last. Curtis had already snatched a decorative dagger from above the fireplace and barked,

“Where are they now?”

His voice was chillingly soft. With a faint smile on his face, he looked terrifying. Robert shivered just hearing him.

“I’ll take you.”

As they walked to Roksana’s room, Curtis remained completely silent. Robert, aware of the footsteps behind him, silently prayed nothing would spiral out of control. This was only the second time he’d seen Curtis like this—the first was when they attacked the Dalton estate. And now.

Whenever a certain woman was involved, the Warden of the Borderlands often lost his reason.

“This is the room.”

Robert stepped back stiffly. Curtis leaned an ear to the door. Inside, a soft voice was speaking gently:

> “Where does the baby bird sleep? Beneath its mother’s warm wing.

Where does the baby goat sleep? Beneath its mother’s soft fur.

Where will our baby sleep…”

A warm, gentle lullaby. So soft, it floated like a spring breeze. The hand holding the dagger trembled slightly.

It was a song their mother used to sing when they couldn’t sleep. The eccentric countess who, despite being a noblewoman, raised her children herself instead of relying on a nanny. Whenever Frey cried at night, she would sing this same song while holding her daughter.

A lullaby long forgotten by most.

> “If I hear this song… will Mom really sleep well?”

“Frey did. She liked it.”

A song he once taught to her.

“…My lord?”

Robert’s cautious voice broke Curtis out of his daze. As if burned, Curtis tore himself away from the door.

And in the next instant, he kicked the door open.

“Kyaaah!”

A shrill scream echoed. Frey clung to Roksana’s waist in terror.

“Save me!”

“Frey. It’s me.”

Curtis approached slowly, his voice gentle, but his eyes were anything but. They drilled into Roksana with chilling intensity.

Roksana didn’t speak. Instead, she gently patted Frey’s trembling back.

“She’s scared. I need to calm her down.”

Both had been startled when the door burst open.

“Calm her down?”

Curtis flinched slightly—he’d never heard Roksana speak in honorifics before. Trying to keep Frey from panicking further, Roksana continued calmly.

“She can’t hear anything right now. Just give me a moment.”

“……”

“Please. She’s frightened. Just wait a little… Please go outside.”

Lowering her head, Roksana saw Curtis’s clenched hand gripping the sword so tightly that his veins bulged. She felt the tension of the blade pointed at her throat, like ice against her skin.

She had come here because she believed he wouldn’t turn away his people. But she had never considered what would happen afterward—after breaking her promise.

Now, faced with a blade, her heart pounded. And as if confirming it, his voice cut down like steel:

“Frey doesn’t need a nanny.”

Roksana felt Frey’s tears soak into her shoulder. The girl was on the verge of fainting from fear. If things escalated into violence, there would be no turning back.

“I’m not treating her like a child. Just a little longer. Please.”

She couldn’t back down. Even though her voice trembled, she held her ground. She looked up—and met those black, soul-piercing eyes.

In that still room, only the two of them seemed to exist. The air froze.

Anger. Confusion. Shock. Betrayal. And a faint longing.

All tangled together in his gray eyes, those emotions pierced straight into her.

That look… she knew it well. Whenever Curtis looked at her, it was never with just one emotion—it was always a storm of conflicting feelings. Not a wave, but a spear that stabbed straight through her heart.

“My lord.”

Just then, Robert stepped in, breaking the unbearable tension.

“Lady Frey…”

The atmosphere snapped. The sword fell from Curtis’s hand.

Frey was asleep—deeply and peacefully—in Roksana’s arms, like a chick beneath its mother’s wing.

Without any medicine. For the first time.

It was a miracle.