Chapter 6
“It seems the discussion refuses to narrow. Perhaps the weather’s to blame — gloomy skies make the body ache. Let’s rest a few days before we speak again.”
The coarse laughter of Baron Lemburg, the third noble they had faced today, filled the reception hall like rancid wine.
The meeting, which had already stretched to three times the expected length, ended not by conclusion but by the baron’s lazy declaration.
“If House Coronis wishes to show me sincerity, it seems you’ll have to spend a bit more time. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“…Please allow us some time to review your terms.”
Erwin’s reply came out like iron ground between his teeth — each word deliberate, each syllable controlled to keep the rage from spilling over.
But Baron Lemburg only smiled, unbothered, and rose from his chair with a self-satisfied air.
“I hear the northern snows produce a fine liquor — perfect for this kind of weather. I shall take a few restful days to recover my kindness.”
While Ramberta managed a courteous, faintly strained smile, the baron cleared his throat with mock dignity and strode from the room.
His servants scurried after him.
The door closed.
Erwin pressed a hand to his brow and bowed his head.
“Ha…”
From where Ramberta stood, she couldn’t see his expression, but the servant nearby could — a face twisted in pure fury.
“Should I bring the wine, then…?”
“Bring it.”
The servant bowed and departed quickly.
Erwin, still standing in silence, drew a deep breath through his nose and covered his face with both hands.
“…Forgive me, my lady. To make you face such a wretched creature.”
“It’s all right. I was startled, yes — but I’m all right now.”
She smiled faintly, knowing he couldn’t see it.
Baron Lemburg was infamous for his greed.
In truth, bandits from the southeastern mountains would make more respectable partners than that man — whose lack of manners rivaled his lack of restraint.
He had demanded a sum fit to host two royal banquets, all because his seventh son had been injured during the wedding chaos.
And throughout the entire exchange, his eyes had wandered again and again toward Ramberta — not even attempting to disguise their path as they slid from her face to the line of her shoulders.
Erwin had nearly snapped his quill in half more than once.
In the end, the negotiations went nowhere.
Erwin knew, from the outrageous sum alone, what the man truly wanted.
“Did Baron Lemburg send any letter beforehand?”
“No. None. Only notice of his visit. He wasn’t one of the suitors you imagined, my lady.”
Erwin’s tone carried that deep, restrained anger that made his voice seem heavier.
The “compensation” had never been about gold — it had been an excuse to see Ramberta, to measure her, to imagine the gain she represented.
Whether he intended to push for a political marriage to his son, or claim her as a concubine for himself, Erwin couldn’t say.
But the baron’s fascination felt like obsession.
“Then that’s a relief, at least. Was he the last one for today?”
“Yes. You’ve done well, my lady. Truly. Were it not for your composure, I might have…”
He stopped himself, words catching on the edge of a curse.
For a long moment, silence.
Ramberta had attended only to show that the blood of Coronis still stood, that the house regretted the tragedy and yet endured.
“…It’s remarkable, my lady, how you endured men who treat titles like dice. You were extraordinary.”
“Hardly. Half the time I only smiled and tried to think of something else.”
“Not a bad method. But next time, you’ll need your focus — when it’s your turn to speak.”
“I understand. I’ll be careful, Erwin.”
He gave a small, weary smile and rose.
The tea in his cup had long gone cold, but he drank it anyway in one swallow.
“If I may — what did you think about to endure them? Some pleasant memory, perhaps?”
It was an idle question, a courtesy to end the day — yet it pinned her where she stood.
In truth, Ramberta could scarcely recall the conversation at all.
Her mind had been far away, wandering to darker, stranger places.
At first, she had tried to recall happy memories of her childhood — but reality always intruded, tightening her chest.
And then—
“You’re an interesting woman. Now I see why Dione accepted you so easily.”
The voice returned — that voice.
The one from the night before.
It was absurd, but it had driven away the nausea of her present encounter.
That memory — terrifying as it was — had steadied her.
Who was he?
How had he entered her chambers?
Had the guards truly seen nothing?
Should she have told Erwin?
Or… had it really all been a dream?
Each question called forth another.
And between them, fragments of sensation surfaced —
the cold of the winter air wrapped around his scent, the thick tang of leather, the warmth of his hand at her throat.
“No… it was nothing,” she murmured finally. “I just thought of the pumpkin soup I had last night.”
“I see. Then I’ll have them prepare it again tonight. After all this trouble, you mustn’t neglect your strength.”
“Thank you, Erwin. I’ll rest a while before moving again. You should go ahead — you’ve done enough.”
He bowed. Perhaps too tired to notice the faint tremor in her voice — or perhaps choosing not to — and left the room quietly.
I should have told him.
The thought echoed like a whisper.
Guilt pressed against her ribs — the kind she had felt as a child when she’d lied for the first time.
Even unspoken, it felt as though someone might see right through her.
Yet the memory refused to fade.
In her mind, that shadowed night replayed again and again until even the baron’s greedy stare seemed dull beside it.
Relief.
That was the word she finally gave it.
“Relief?” she almost laughed at herself.
To name the feeling she had in that stranger’s arms as relief felt sinful.
But once she admitted it, even to herself, it was easier to accept what had happened.
It must have been a dream. I was frightened… I wanted someone to protect me, even if only in my sleep.
Surely, the god of dreams — gentle Laphros — had taken pity on her and shaped that illusion.
A figure without face, without form, because in truth no one remained in her world who could give her peace.
Her stomach growled softly.
Now that her thoughts had settled, her body seemed lighter, the fatigue lifting.
She rose, touched the doorknob of the reception room, and smiled faintly.
Perhaps at last, her day would end in peace.
—Creak.—
The door moved before she could pull it open.
It swung inward toward her, and the sounds of the corridor — muffled till now — poured into the room.
“I told you, you can’t go in there!”
A servant’s strained voice cracked through the air.
Ramberta stepped back in surprise — and then she saw him.
The servant, grimacing, half-blocking the doorway, and beyond him—
“…Well. You’re right, she doesn’t seem particularly busy.”
The voice that answered was low, even, and chillingly familiar.
Cold. Dry. Unmistakable.
The same voice that had whispered to her in the dark the night before.
