MLHRGD 66

#66. Process (3)

‘So, it was no idle rumor after all.’

Madam Troyban was inwardly impressed.

In truth, whispers about Sasha had already spread quietly throughout the North—not only concerning recent events, but reaching further back into her past.

Before coming here, countless tales had circulated about how Sasha had lived in the southern Arban territory.

“Was it true they said she had been possessed by spirits? That she was not in her right mind as a child?”

Her son, Count Troyban, had been greatly startled when he first heard such rumors.

“When I met her, she seemed not merely sound, but possessed of remarkable wit. Quite strange, indeed.”

Madam Troyban recalled her son’s words about Sasha.

“I was surprised to see she carried herself with such elegance and dignity for her age, but what struck me more was that, beneath her delicate appearance, she seemed to possess a steel-like core.”

“Truly?”

“Even when faced with people’s sneers and ridicule, she distributed Karto without hesitation—that alone told me much.”

An ordinary person might not have even known of Karto, and even if they had, they likely would not have been certain of its value. Still less would they have persisted in such a decision against strong opposition.

“We all benefited from her actions. Without the Karto she brought us, this year would have been a disaster—famine would have devastated the land.”

The more she heard her son’s assessments, so different from the rumors, the more Madam Troyban’s curiosity about Sasha grew. She trusted her son’s eyes far more than idle gossip, and so she had already felt a fondness for Sasha before meeting her.

That was why she had replied without hesitation to the sudden invitation Sasha sent.

Besides, Sasha was the future mistress of the great Volkoff family, the de facto head of the house under the current Duke’s confidence. At her young age, she was already a central figure—someone Madam Troyban would inevitably have to deal with. Meeting her in person now, while the opportunity presented itself, was a wise choice.

And upon finally meeting her…

‘It was worth coming.’

The more they spoke, the more pleased Madam Troyban felt.

‘Excellent. Even her manner of speech and bearing exude refinement.’

She was fully satisfied with her son’s discernment.

When the last sip of tea revealed the porcelain bottom of the cup, Sasha at last broached the reason for her invitation.

“I’m thinking of hosting a ball.”

“A ball?”

“Yes. I’ve been so busy that I haven’t properly greeted the northern nobility.”

“I see. Indeed, it is time you made yourself known among them.”

Madam Troyban spoke slowly.

“Then I suppose the reason you’ve summoned this old woman is to serve as a bridge to the nobles at your ball?”

“…That’s right.”

Sasha replied, concealing her tension. The conversation had gone well, but behind that constant smile she could not guess the lady’s true opinion.

Especially a noblewoman of such renown in the North—she might well dislike an outsider like Sasha.

‘And perhaps she’s already heard the vicious rumors from Arban about my past self.’

Sasha even considered that Madam Troyban might politely refuse, so she was thinking how best to persuade her.

But her worries proved needless.

Already charmed, Madam Troyban answered without a moment’s hesitation,

“I shall use everything at my disposal to ensure you gain exactly what you wish from this ball.”

Sasha was not the only one thrown into a flurry of preparations.

For Pavel, who had been secluded and avoiding social contact, this would be his official debut in society.

When he was about seven, he had attended a social gathering hosted by Count Tula, but he had always disliked crowds—more so before he understood his abilities. The first time he had accidentally brushed against bare skin and heard the foul thoughts beneath, he had convulsed and cried in distress.

From then on, he had avoided even ordinary social occasions.

Though Sasha had taught him the basics of etiquette, that was the extent of it.

Now, he would have to relearn how to dance. He knew only the most basic steps, so the goal was to manage the latest dances to fashionable tunes.

They did not hire a teacher.

“You can teach me yourself.”

At Pavel’s insistent request, Sasha made time to instruct him.

They practiced in a small hall.

When she operated the phonograph-like relic, a familiar melody filled the air.

‘How can this song have survived a thousand years?’

Sasha mused as the music, so easy on the ear, played. In the fickle world of high society, where fashions shifted daily, this song had endured for a millennium. Perhaps true masterpieces never lost their charm.

She was lost in thought when Pavel approached.

“Sasha.”

She turned at last.

“Shall we begin?”

“Yes.”

She placed her hand on his shoulder—only to murmur in surprise at how much higher it was than before.

“Pavel, you’ve grown so much.”

She gauged their height difference with her eyes, impressed. Pavel frowned at being treated like a child.

“Of course I have.”

“I used to be able to do this without trouble, but now my arm is starting to ache.”

Her hand slid from his shoulder down to his forearm, finding the muscle firm and well-defined.

“Wow… solid.”

When she squeezed lightly, Pavel stiffened in alarm.

No matter how composed he tried to be, Sasha’s touch still unsettled him.

“Pavel, you need to be ready.”

At her words, he slowly placed one large hand at her slender waist, the other taking her hand.

They began to move.

Swaying gently to the slow rhythm, they might have seemed the picture of tranquility to an onlooker. But Pavel could not focus on the dance at all.

He wanted to concentrate, yet was constantly distracted—by the soft warmth of Sasha’s body brushing against him, by her fragrance that deepened and faded, by her smile that tickled his heart, by her sweet voice lingering at his ear.

All of it provoked him.

“Pavel, focus.”

Her mild scolding came as his steps tangled again.

…It’s because of you.

He swallowed the words before they escaped, his throat moving.

Thump, thump, thump—his heart pounded so hard he feared she might hear it.

“Pavel?”

“Yes.”

“Shall we stop here?”

“No, just a little longer.”

Though he worried she might notice the frantic beating of his heart, he could not bear for this closeness to end.

But it ended sooner than he wished. Pavel learned quickly and soon mastered the dance.

Even after they stopped, he stared absently at his palm, the sensation still vivid there.

It had brought him many dizzying moments—no, far more than a few—but somehow he had endured.

“Mustered all my will to hold back,” he muttered under his breath, thinking that dancing was dangerous indeed.

And he resolved: on the night of the ball, he would not allow Sasha to dance with any other man. Whatever it took, he would not let anyone else share the intoxicating experience he had just had.

Once word spread that a ball would be held at Bellicordo Castle, northern society grew abuzz.

They hoped it would revive the social scene, which had languished since the Count Tula affair.

From salons to street corners, whenever people gathered, they gossiped about Pavel and Sasha.

“I can’t wait to see how the new lady will arrange it.”

“And to tour the newly famous Bellicordo Castle—what a delight.”

“Have you received an invitation? I found that curious as well.”

The invitations, enchanted by Sasha, were the talk of the town.

“The paper is fine quality, as we use ourselves, but I’ve never seen one hold its scent so long.”

“Perfume fades in two days at most—how does this fragrance linger on the paper for over a week?”

It was thanks to magic, though they did not know it.

“If the invitation alone excites me this much, how will the real event be? I can hardly stand the wait.”

One curious voice mused aloud, though there was a hint of malice beneath. Some were eager to laugh at whatever a supposedly inexperienced hostess produced.

“I hear the young lord has changed a great deal—but is it true?”

“They once called him ‘the Devil,’ he was so formidable. Even if a man’s temperament softens with age, can his very nature change?”

Old rumors and ill repute about Pavel resurfaced.

“And the Duke’s lady—I hear she’s from the central or southern regions?”

“I’ve never even heard of the place she’s from.”

They gossiped too about Sasha’s lowly count-family origins.

Whatever their private thoughts and feelings, all shared one thing: anticipation for the ball.

On a day when fine snow was falling, the Duke returned.

Perhaps because they had exchanged letters, Dmitri did not feel like a stranger even after a year apart.

“I’m glad you’ve returned safely.”

At Sasha’s warm greeting, Dmitri gave a curt nod, then turned to his son standing silently by her side.

“You’re here.”