Chapter 7
It was her first time being trapped between a wall and a person. Because of their height difference, a broad, firm chest filled Marien’s field of vision. Unless she tilted her head up, the young chancellor’s large chest was entirely hers to behold.
‘So this is what they mean by a front-row view.’
It wasn’t that she meant to stare—her eyes were simply drawn there. They were standing so close that she could almost feel the texture of his neatly tailored dark-green coat.
Beneath the spotless coat peeked a vest of the same shade. The bronze buttons sewn in a line had begun to strain, especially the ones across his chest. Baileon had worn this vest once last week, too. Were the buttons this tight back then?
‘Or did he get even more built since then?’
What on earth does the Chancellor do every night after work? Does he ease the sorrow of his unrequited love by exercising? Good heavens, what a noble way to cope. If the vest looks like this, imagine the state of his shirt underneath. And beneath the shirt, his body… Marien almost pitied herself for caring.
‘Odette, Odette… I can’t be the only one to witness this.’
Only Odette Rosemann would get to peel away the layers and press against that bare chest. The sensation would surely be incredible. Up close, Baileon’s skin looked smooth, too. He didn’t seem to use perfume, yet a clean scent lingered around him.
Of course she couldn’t bury her face in his chest and sniff. Instead, Marien drew in a deep breath. A gentle trace of crushed mint soap reached her nose.
“You haven’t changed,” came Baileon’s voice from above her head.
“Even this close, you still won’t look at me.”
His subdued tone carried a hint of resignation. How surprising—Baileon was better at improvising lines than she had expected.
“How far do I have to go before you finally look at me?”
“Uh, hm. You’re saying strange things today.”
That was enough of a matching reply, Marien decided. Reluctantly setting aside the pleasant scent, she moved on to the next step. When she shifted right, Baileon’s arm blocked her. Turning left, she found his other arm closing off that side too.
She was completely trapped. His face lowered toward hers, as if to kiss her.
‘Perfect. Absolutely perfect expression!’
Now all he had to do was stop short of her lips and whisper in her ear. That was how it went: the northern brute “growled,” but Baileon “whispered.”
“…What should I say now—”
“Gasp!”
“Sorry. I was too close, wasn’t I?”
Baileon instantly pulled away, retreating three steps. He looked ready to back all the way to the opposite wall, but forced himself to stop there. Like a criminal surrendering, the young chancellor raised both hands to shoulder height.
“Even for practice, that was inappropriate.”
“N-no, that’s not what I meant—”
“I apologize.”
Marien barely registered his sincere apology, because she was startled for a different reason.
‘That whisper in my ear—he’s a total Lorelei! My knees went weak.’
It was nothing like a normal conversation. Maybe it was the way his breath mingled with his voice, but hearing it sent shivers down her back.
“Sir Beers, have you ever whispered in Her Highness’s ear before?”
Still grave, Baileon shook his head. No need to think—he had never done such a thing, not even once.
Of course not. With his personality, there was no way he could whisper like that, even in situations most people would call “opportunities.” He would always have kept a respectful distance.
“A single whisper like that could send you straight to the wedding hall tomorrow.”
“What do you—”
“It was perfect!”
Marien covered her mouth with her hand.
“Do you realize how good your voice is? Just now—right then, when you whispered in my ear. The tiny hairs in my ear stood on end, my eardrums tingled and sweetened, my legs went weak—”
She squeezed her eyes shut and shivered, just remembering it made her body react again.
“I almost fell in love on the spot.”
“…”
“You really nailed it. Absolutely perfect.”
“Thank you for the compliment, but… I’m still not convinced.”
“What are you talking about? It was flawless! We should push forward now. Since we’ve come this far, let’s try grabbing the wrist and pulling into an embrace!”
In the original, Cain Blackwood never held back. He left red marks on Odette’s pale, delicate wrists. Seeing the imprints of his own hand drove him into a frenzy of possessiveness and excitement—utter madness in every detail.
But Baileon had to be different. Even while imitating the northern brute’s actions, he must never hurt Odette. Baileon would surely refuse, but Marien herself couldn’t allow it anyway.
‘Just pretend to be a bad guy for a moment. But don’t actually become one.’
Overpowering a woman with brute force was barbaric. Clicking her tongue inwardly, Marien laid out the scenario and the line he should deliver—naturally echoing the northern brute’s words from the original.
“You’re good at delivering lines. Think of this as strength control practice. You’ll learn how much force pulls a wrist without hurting it.”
She was already standing in position. With such a capable student, her enthusiasm overflowed.
“But don’t be too gentle either. If you miss and have to grab again, it’ll look silly, okay?”
“Hold on.”
Baileon stopped his overzealous coach.
“You’re telling me to yank your wrist until I find the right pressure?”
“Yes.”
“I refuse.”
He rejected it outright. As expected, Marien desperately argued that she’d be fine.
“Alright, I explained badly. You’ll naturally be gentle. Instead of lessening strength until it doesn’t hurt, gradually increase until I can’t shake free.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not! How is that the same?”
Marien rolled up her sleeves and clenched her fist, making her wrist bone jut out to look as sturdy as possible.
“I’ll be fine. I know you’d never hurt me. Let’s just practice before the real thing.”
Baileon started to say something, then shut his mouth. His gaze on her looked conflicted—just like earlier, when she’d overreacted to his whisper.
‘He’s just a thoughtful man, that’s all.’
Marien, on the other hand, didn’t think twice.
‘If I want to train him, I’ll have to push relentlessly.’
Otherwise, progress would stall forever. She clapped her hands right in front of his face, shook her fists energetically, and reassured him: You can do it, I’ll say something if I’m even slightly uncomfortable, everything will be fine.
“Okay, here I go!”
Cheerfully declaring so, Marien walked off. One step, two, three… by now she should feel him following, but her back remained quiet. At five steps she turned—Baileon was still standing frozen.
“Sir Beers.”
She sighed and scurried back.
“I told you, I’ll be fine.”
“…But I won’t.”
“That can’t be helped.”
She replied without changing expression.
“You’re only uneasy because this isn’t natural to you. Think of it this way: you’re working hard for the Fourth Princess.”
Baileon’s lips twisted. Less a bitter smile than self-mockery—something Marien had never seen before.
They say handsome men look good even just breathing, but did he have to look devastatingly attractive even while ridiculing himself? She felt herself falling for not only his bright side but also his shadows.
Strange, really. She had liked him for his warmth and uprightness. Self-mockery suited Cain Blackwood, not Baileon. Or maybe… did the same action feel different simply because it was Baileon?
“Secretary Didi, I can’t be that shameless,” Baileon said.
“It’s not for Her Highness, but for myself. To make my love succeed.”
“In the long run, it’ll be good for Her Highness too.”
“Even if that’s true, wrong is wrong.”
What! Not even invoking Odette worked? Marien panicked. What if he quit practice altogether? Or worse—abandoned winning Odette’s heart entirely?
Anxious, she pressed her hands together as if praying, pleading up at him.
“Then… do it for me. For the one cheering you on.”
“…”
“I won’t ask for much. Just three times. Please?”
In the original, after Odette was pulled into an embrace, she couldn’t sleep that night. She fumed at her fiancé’s rudeness but kept recalling the feeling of being enveloped in his arms. Eventually she dreamt of Cain—naked, tenderer than reality—and woke unsettled.
That embrace was the starting point of a deeper, more intimate relationship. Which was why Baileon had to seize it first. Marien begged him all the more earnestly.
“Please. Just three times.”
“…For you, Secretary Didi?”
“Yes. It’s pathetic, but I don’t have anything else to offer.”
Perhaps from rubbing her palms together until they nearly wore out, Baileon gave her another of those unreadable looks before finally nodding.
‘Yes!’
So, pity really was the best tactic with kind people. Before he could change his mind, Marien quickly got into position again. This time, after four steps, she felt him follow. His longer stride closed the distance at once.
As expected, he barely gripped her wrist, so Marien easily shook him off as she turned.
“You’ll need more force than that. Alright, second attempt!”
“Didn’t it hurt?” he asked worriedly.
Did he think everyone was as fragile as Odette? Clearly, too much time spent at her side.
“Not at all! Now hurry, the second!”
But even on the second try, he still hesitated, afraid to injure her.
If this kept up, she’d waste the precious practice chance she’d won. Marien pleaded again—just once, let her feel what it was like to be pulled into his arms. Forget yanking hard, just focus on making her lose balance.
At last, on the third try, Baileon succeeded in pulling her into his embrace. Her wrist didn’t hurt. Her face, nearly slammed into his chest, was also perfectly fine.
‘What an incredible cushion!’
