CIBYSYH | Ch 05

[What the—?! I can’t breathe!]

Where was she?

Isadora wriggled inside a cramped, hot space.

Finally, after much struggling, she managed to stick her head out.

[Gasp!]

She gulped down the crisp, cold air.

When her eyes focused, she froze.

‘Wait… am I… inside the Duke’s coat?!’

She looked like a baby wrapped up in a bundle.

His chest was blazing hot, enough to make her trembling body tingle with heat.

“This should be better.”

‘Better?! I’m an adult with intelligence, you know. Okay, fine—I’m a crow right now, but still…’

Her dignity didn’t last long. A blast of icy wind howled over her head, and she immediately gave up resisting.

Embarrassing or not, this was far better than freezing to death.

So she rode on his chest like cargo while he walked.

The castle walls stretched out around them, bare of trees or gardens.

Not even evergreen shrubs dotted the grounds.

There was a story behind this bleakness.

The Duke’s father, King Enoch Caribou, had once taken a mistress.

The same year Queen Cordelia bore the Duke.

Furious, the Queen tore out every plant she had lovingly grown in the castle grounds.

And ever since, no one had replanted them.

So the castle had stayed cold and barren, like a ruin.

‘Does he think of his dead mother every time he walks through this wasteland?’

The endless grey walls were so dull that Isadora almost nodded off.

Until—

‘Wait… what’s that?!’

Her eyes widened.

The Duke had stopped walking.

He bent down over a single white flower growing through the frozen ground.

The maids following at a distance went pale.

“M-my lord, forgive us! We cleaned the grounds thoroughly, but… maybe a seed blew in on the wind!”

The Duke didn’t answer. His sharp gaze was locked only on the flower.

Two delicate blooms swayed in the harsh wind, somehow blooming despite the cold.

The Duke’s face hardened, brows drawn in anger.

His huge hand reached down—

Snap.

One flower fell, rolling away.

“….”

Only one lonely bloom remained, trembling against the wind.

The Duke straightened and walked back to the castle, passing his terrified servants without a word.

Meanwhile, Isadora’s head was already spinning with headlines:

<The Duke’s castle, stripped of all greenery, resembled a wasteland.

Yet with hawk-like eyes, he spotted a lone flower in the desolation.

Overcome with fury, he tore one out!

But why did he grow so angry—and what fate awaits his servants?>

‘Mm, not bad.’

She could already picture Edgar sighing when he read her draft.

Thinking of her brother made her chest ache a little.

‘How is he doing right now? I really should send word soon, or he’ll worry.’

But she had no time to dwell.

As soon as they returned, the crow wriggled free from his chest and hopped to the ground.

Thud!

She smacked her beak on the stone floor, shook her head, then darted out through the still-open door.

“Wait!”

The Duke’s sharp voice followed, but Isadora ignored him.

She rushed back down the castle wall path.

There, two maids stood nervously by the flower.

“I told you to double-check!”

“How was I supposed to know it would sprout? Don’t you remember we dug up all the soil last time?”

“After all that work, and this still happens? Never mind—let’s just dig it up now.”

“Right. …Did you see the Duke’s face? He looked like he was deciding whether to pluck the flower… or our heads.”

They sighed heavily and thrust their spade into the ground by the flower.

“Caw!”

A shrill cry split the air.

The maids jumped, startled.

Behind them, wings flared—a black crow charging at full speed.

The maids’ eyes went wide at the sight of those eerie white eyes.

“Caw! Caw!”

“Aaah!”

The crow planted herself between the flower and the servants, shaking her head menacingly as if daring them to try.

When one maid lifted her foot, the crow stabbed its beak down.

Thunk!

The frozen ground cracked from the force.

The maids screamed.

“She’s rabid! Run!”

They dropped the spade and bolted.

‘A bird with rabies? Please.’

Isadora smirked and shouted after them in her head:

[Don’t touch it. In my article, only the Duke is allowed to pick that flower.]

Still…

‘He didn’t seem like he destroyed it on purpose, did he?’

Others hadn’t seen clearly, blocked by his broad back.

But she had, up close.

His fingers had brushed the petals carefully, almost tenderly, like stroking down.

And the one bloom left behind still stood, giving off a faint, sweet fragrance.

Though with the wind tossing it, it probably wouldn’t survive long.

— Whooosh.

A fierce gust swept over her, making her feathers bristle.

She shivered violently.

[Ugh… now how do I get back?]

Left alone on the barren path, she gazed at the distant castle.

Running out here, she hadn’t even felt the cold.

But now, the return path felt endless.

[If only my wings worked, this distance would be nothing…]

She curled up small against the freezing wind.

Then, through the fog, a tall, looming figure appeared.

‘Huh?’

Her cry turned bright with relief.

The Duke emerged from the mist like a great tree.

“Caw!”

Isadora ran to him eagerly.

[It’s too cold! Way too cold! This is torture!]

She complained as he scooped her up.

Without asking, she shoved her head straight into his chest.

Thankfully, he loosened his coat and let her burrow in.

‘Ahh, warm…’

The soft shirt carried a faint scent, and she rubbed her head against it without realizing.

Then she felt his hand pressing against the little bulge she made under his coat.

‘What’s he doing?’

Annoying, yes—but how could she get mad at the man literally keeping her alive?

Maybe the coat was too tight?

She squirmed lower to make space.

‘There. That should be more comfortable for him.’

His hand froze.

Then, without a word, he started walking back to the castle.

That evening, after dinner, drowsiness washed over her.

‘Stay awake… gotta stay awake…’

She tried to keep her eyes on his paperwork, but eventually…

Doze… doze…

His blue eyes lifted from the documents, finally landing on her.

Her eyes were shut, curved as if smiling.

He set down his pen.

Leaning his chin in his hand, he studied her.

Her fluffy head bobbed gently with each breath.

He couldn’t resist—he reached out and touched the soft down at the back of her head.

The rough calluses of his fingers only made the softness stand out more.

Earlier today, she’d chased his servants away from the flower.

Then, she herself had hovered near it, bringing her beak close as if to smell it.

The bloom was called Flineare, his mother’s favorite flower.

“Caw, caw!”

He remembered how the crow had run to him, complaining, shoving into his coat to keep warm.

The feeling of her curling up there was still vivid.

At over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, a former war hero—

People had once called him a legend.

But the day he drew his sword not on the battlefield but here, at the castle…

That was when they began calling him the Reaper.

Since then, even bugs seemed to avoid his presence.

Servants fainted until he realized he had forgotten how to suppress his killing aura.

So he resigned himself.

‘Even animals won’t stay near me.’

How many times had cats run at the sight of him, even when he offered food?

How many birds had flown off when he approached a fountain?

“…Are you not afraid of me?”

But this crow… was fast asleep.

Impossible.

And yet he found himself wishing—

for an answer.

Why aren’t you afraid, when everyone else is?

Of course, Isadora herself didn’t know.

Only her twin brother Edgar could’ve explained it.

‘Forgive me, Duke… but my sister doesn’t know the meaning of fear.’

That’s what he would’ve said if he’d been there.