Chapter 14
And that young lady, having barely recovered from her fever, was already strolling through the shopping streets of the city.
“Oh my! My lady, are you fully recovered now?”
“Mm, yes, I’m all better. I’m fine.”
She smiled brightly and gave a lighthearted answer to the familiar shopkeeper’s concern, but the truth was—it had been truly dangerous. During those days when she lay unconscious, those around her thought this time they really might lose her, and they had spent sleepless nights in fear.
“But you’ve lost so much weight. You were slender before, but now you’re even thinner. You must have been very ill. Why, even my daughter caught that fever this winter—it was dreadfully strong. I think the colds have been unusually harsh this year.”
How could a mere cold that her daughter had caught possibly compare to the Lady’s illness? The thought flashed across Azen’s mind, but he said nothing, simply remaining silent at her side.
“Yes, it did seem harsher than usual.”
She laughed it off as if it were nothing. But it hadn’t been nothing. His heart had nearly stopped from fear. He had always thought, If she dies, I will simply follow her. Yet when he actually saw her lying frail and suffering, he felt as if his own heart were being torn apart.
He wished it had been him lying sick instead.
She should always be laughing happily, tumbling through flower fields, stepping lightly in graceful dances, cherished by her family, and living in peace.
For the past ten years, Azen had lived by her side, breathing in her radiant smile as though it were refreshing, gentle air that sustained him. When she wasn’t smiling, he didn’t know how to breathe.
The more time he spent with her, the more addicted he became. He had thought he could not possibly fall deeper, yet his dependence only grew. She had always been his world, but in these ten years she had become the very air he breathed, the water that quenched his thirst.
Then suddenly, memories of the sins he had committed in his past life rose up, and his heart throbbed painfully. He deliberately shook them away.
He did not want to remember such vile memories. Not the sight of her drowning in despair, not the agony that had driven him to stab a sword into his own chest, not her corpse rotting away. All of that should no longer exist—not in reality, not even in his memory.
Yet those horrific recollections still came to him in nightmares.
In fact, lately they came even more often…
Perhaps it was because she had now grown to about the same age as she had been then. Even though this was a different body in this new life, somehow her appearance now resembled too closely the dying girl from his past.
“Sir Azen?”
He must have been frowning, for Arlen turned and called him with a puzzled look. Ever since his knighting, while she still spoke to him familiarly in private, in the presence of others she always used a formal address.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, my lady.”
Just looking at her face made the tension melt from his own.
“Have we been out too long? Should we return?”
She spoke hesitantly, watching him. She must have misunderstood the reason for his troubled look, recalling how he had firmly insisted she must not overexert herself before they left.
“If that is your wish.”
Smiling, Azen held out his hand as she stepped into the carriage. She smiled sweetly as she took his familiar hand and climbed aboard, and Azen followed quickly behind, closing the door.
“But I really didn’t overdo it today…”
She muttered in a half-whining tone, her shy defiance so endearing that Azen let out a quiet chuckle.
“Sir Azen, can’t we stay out and play just a little longer?”
She begged in a playful voice, eyes sparkling like a puppy’s. She knew perfectly well that when she looked at him like that, he could never refuse.
“Where would you like to go? The hilltop winds are still too cold for you.”
“Just for a short while… please? Sir Azen~”
“Excuse me for a moment.”
Azen placed his hand on her forehead to check for fever, and Arlen closed her eyes.
…This moment was bliss. Though it happened nearly every day, though it was routine, that only made him cherish it more.
Inside the carriage, just the two of them, sunlight streaming warmly through the window, only her soft breathing filling his ears, her warmth pressing gently against his palm—it felt as though they were connected.
He could feel her chest rise and fall with each breath, her heartbeat beneath his hand. He looked down at her trembling lashes fluttering against her closed eyelids.
If only he could frame this moment and keep it forever…
Without realizing it, his face drifted closer to hers, until they were nearly touching.
Then she opened her eyes.
Her clear green eyes filled his vision. He felt her breath against his face.
Her pale cheeks slowly flushed red, the warmth beneath his palm growing hotter.
Her breath brushed against his lips—just one small movement and they would touch.
Yet she did not pull back, nor push him away. She only looked at him with wide eyes.
Azen’s gaze slipped from her eyes, to her smooth nose, to her moist lips—lips that looked as if they would burst with sweetness if only he touched them. An almost unbearable urge surged through him.
If he only moved slightly, as if by accident…
Her gaze flickered down to his lips, then back up. Then, quietly, she closed her eyes. Through his palm he felt her delicate trembling.
Her lashes quivered.
Was she… waiting? Was this tremor fear, or anticipation?
Seconds stretched like eternity.
But he could not move. As always, he could not lay a profane hand upon her—not merely because of the restraint imposed on his mind, but because… he simply could not.
Holding his breath, he stared dazedly at her sunlit face until he finally snapped back to himself and drew away.
“You seem to have a fever… I think we should return.”
“Ah—n-no, I—yes, okay.”
Flustered, she opened her eyes and answered hastily, her face red as a beet.
“Then, if you need anything, please knock for me.”
“Y-yes, I’ll see you soon.”
After bowing and stepping out, Azen closed the carriage door and ran a hand over his own face, knowing it too must be burning red.
Back at the ducal estate, Azen escorted Arlen down from the carriage, then handed the horse and carriage over to the stablehands and, after finishing up, went inside.
Just as he was about to head upstairs to her chambers, the butler stopped him.
“Sir Azen, are you going to the young lady’s room?”
“Yes, that’s right…”
“Then might I trouble you to deliver these letters to her?”
The butler shifted his gaze to the silver tray in his hands. Several letters addressed to Arlen lay upon it.
“His Grace has summoned me.”
“Of course.”
Azen agreed, and the butler’s face lit up as he handed him the tray.
As Azen carried it upstairs, his eyes flicked over the names on the envelopes.
The first he noticed was from Jexion, who had gone to the capital. Most of the others were from her friends in the capital, as well as letters from orphanages or schools she sponsored. And then…
“Duke Requies, Kashien Huesrod.”
The most talked-about name of late, but one he had never before seen among the Duke’s correspondence. Azen’s brow furrowed.
They weren’t in contact, as far as I know…
He remembered. Back when his lady was just a little girl and that boy not yet even a knight, every time she stayed in the capital she had crossed paths with him. Mostly it was because Arlen could not walk past when he was injured and would treat him.
That was simply her nature—she helped anyone in need. Azen himself had been reunited with her through her compassion.
And yet, of all the people she had helped, that name alone had always unnervingly stuck out to him.
Why, he did not know. But whenever she recounted her experiences in the capital, among all the names she mentioned, that was the one that snagged in his ears.
Perhaps it was jealousy. But it felt like more than that…
When that boy had been all but exiled to the northern front of Urik, she had been furious and deeply saddened.
The northern front was notorious for its brutality—a place for the disgraced, the unwanted, or criminals forced into conscription.
The boy himself had been innocent. Though his mother was guilty, he was only fifteen—a minor. Even in war, a boy of that age would normally be sent to the rearguard. Sending him straight to the deadly front without cause was undeniably unjust.
But it had been by the king’s command. He was not granted royal favor, yet as one of royal blood he was ordered to defend the border. And by then, contempt for him had already spread among the capital’s nobility. No one objected.
No one… except his little lady.
Azen remembered how heartsick she had been for a time after that.
That incident had awakened her concern for the harsh supply conditions at the northern front, and for the unjustly conscripted and drafted soldiers sent there. She even began sending relief supplies on a regular basis.
He had nearly forgotten the name since then—until suddenly, it began to resurface, and before long the boy was sending back victory after victory, returning triumphant and acclaimed.
He remembered the look of relief on Arlen’s face when she heard the news.
Thankfully, that had been the extent of it. She had not tried to contact him, nor sought him out.
It was only the compassion of one who mourned another’s misfortune, who raged against injustice, who gave aid to those in need. That was all.
But now, here that name was, lying atop the tray in his hand.
Was he seeking to reconnect with her? The thought alone unsettled Azen. More than jealousy as a man—it felt like something…
Sinister.
As though some unseen monster, hidden in a swamp, were creeping toward them, sticky and suffocating…
“Oh—Azen?”
He raised his head at the sound of her voice.
