Chapter 4
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Dear, I believe you may be misunderstanding.
Episode 4
Hound uttered something entirely unexpected, and Lucas, momentarily caught off guard, regarded him with a furrowed brow.
"What kind of absurd nonsense is this, Hound? Have you finally decided to become a dog?"
"Sir, that's not nonsense—it's credible information!"
"So you're saying credible dog talk?"
"Just trust me on this!"
"If my adjutant becomes a dog, how am I supposed to conduct business with one? Actually, dividing your salary between Chloe and Dilan while promoting them wouldn't be a bad arrangement. At least those two don't make a racket."
At Lucas's words, spoken with genuine deliberation as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, Hound cried out in alarm.
"Sir, that's a salary I earned! I can't let those two have it! No, let's make a wager instead!"
Hound had always been particularly fond of wagering.
He made his bet with absolute confidence in his words.
Lucas, entertaining needless worries about whether Hound would one day gamble away his entire fortune, asked in return.
"A wager?"
"Yes! If Miss Grace rushes out to see you when you visit the Oellin Estate, or if she's secretly watching over you, then please give me a 10% raise."
"Well, I've never seen such audacity."
"What does it matter? The young lady of a prestigious noble house, and one renowned for her propriety at that—Grace Oellin. What are the odds she'd actually rush out just because you've arrived?"
"Then why are you wagering on such slim odds?"
"Because the odds are slim. I don't wager on certainties—the stakes are too small."
'...I really should assign him a gambling addiction counselor.'
Lucas, who had been regarding Hound with a serious gaze, suddenly twisted his lips into a smile that was far too seductive.
It was a smile that looked more villainous than any villain.
"Fine. I'll take the wager. But Hound."
"Yes?"
As he smiled, the small scar on Lucas's chin moved with the motion.
It was a wound he'd received years ago while guarding the Crown Prince.
One might expect such a scar on a beautiful face to be an eyesore, yet on this man, even the scar adorned him like an ornament. Rather, his already overwhelming masculinity was only further accentuated by this small imperfection.
Lucas, eyes narrowing with a wicked grin, spoke.
"If you lose, your salary gets cut by 20%."
"What?!"
"Great rewards come with great risks. There's no backing out. Hound over there in the shadows will serve as witness."
Lucas gestured with his chin toward his guard, Hound, who stood like a shadow in the corner of the room.
The moment Hound realized he was trapped with no way out, his expression of grievance transformed. His face hardened with sheer determination.
"F-fine then. Just you wait! And sir, you're not backing out either, right? This time, I'm definitely getting that raise. I've got a good feeling about this!"
* * *
'What excellent intuition!'
'What excellent intuition!'
'What excellent intuition!'
Leaving Hound's voice echoing vividly through my mind, I gazed upon the small woman who had appeared before me, dressed in a flowing white sundress.
Grace Oellin. It was her.
Cha-ching—
The sound of someone's salary increasing rang through my ears.
"I, I, I... h-how..."
She exhaled her ragged breaths in disarray, her bewildered gaze fixed upon me. The thin negligee rose and fell with each labored breath she took.
I approached her, frozen in shock, while deliberately ignoring the state of her attire.
Her cheeks flushed as crimson as they had been the last time I saw her, watching me draw near.
My long legs crossed the silent Corridor slowly. Only the heavy sound of my footsteps echoed quietly through the passage, while tiny dust particles caught in the sunlight drifted peacefully around us, as if observing the two of us.
I deliberately summoned Hound to mind, determined not to let my gaze linger on Grace's attire.
'...So Hound's nonsense wasn't nonsense after all.'
I could scarcely believe that the situation Hound had so confidently proclaimed had actually unfolded. My mood felt strangely exhilarated.
Could it truly be that this woman harbored affection for me, just as Hound had claimed?
Considering it from that angle, every word Hound had spoken seemed to ring true.
Her face flushing like a dawn rose whenever she saw me, her trembling fingertips, those beautifully wide violet eyes.
Of course, there had been rather young ladies who chased after me with admiration.
Sparrow-like young girls who would squeak and squeal whenever I merely turned my head.
Those young sparrow ladies who would sidle up beside me and prattle on about dessert varieties I had never even inquired about.
Yet Grace before me was entirely different from those girls.
No one had ever revealed their feelings for me with such quiet, intense conviction.
Or rather, they had been unable to conceal it. How many women would whisper my name even as they lost consciousness?
'Could this woman truly... care for me?'
I regarded the pallid Grace with an expression of genuine admiration.
Beneath her delicate, fragile appearance lay undoubtedly a woman of uncommon passion.
Yes, one could discern this from observing her resolute conduct.
It was fascinating.
Most fascinating of all was my own growing interest in this woman.
Grace's quiet, composed atmosphere, her subtly passionate demeanor—I found myself increasingly captivated by them.
Grace Oellin. Something about this woman was stimulating and touching something deep within me. Swiftly and unmistakably so.
'Compose yourself.'
I quieted the surging fervor within and offered a smile to the hesitant Grace before me.
"Good day, Lady Grace. It has been approximately a week since that day. I trust you are feeling well?"
Her expression startled by my composed greeting no longer appeared merely puzzled, as it had before.
I could begin to discern the emotions concealed beneath that flustered countenance.
"Y-Your Excellency... how did you come to be here...?"
"The Marquis Oellin mentioned he had something urgent to discuss, so I stopped by while passing through."
Lucas's tone was leisurely and gentle.
Despite his dark brows, piercing blue eyes, and sharp features, his voice was as sweet as melted chocolate.
"And I also wanted to check if you were alright—the day you collapsed."
Lucas attempted the customary greeting, bringing her hand to his lips.
Had Grace not startled and hastily retreated, that is.
"Oh, no—greetings aren't necessary."
Grace murmured in a trembling voice, drawing her thin garment closer around herself.
Only then did Lucas realize that Grace was embarrassed by her appearance.
'Oh no.'
Looking again, her delicate white dress was translucent in the sunlight streaming through the corridor's many windows.
Unintentionally, Lucas had glimpsed the soft contours of her slender form through the white fabric.
"Ah, forgive me for my rudeness."
He quickly averted his gaze, but only after catching sight of her graceful silhouette.
Grace's pale face flushed deeper crimson with each passing moment.
'Why did I rush out without even putting on a robe?'
Grace retreated, wishing she could simply disappear.
Lucas Black.
No matter how sweetly he spoke with that honeyed voice, the fear would not fade.
Her trembling legs urged her to flee this place immediately, yet she summoned her patience and held firm. No matter how overwhelming the fear, it would be terribly impolite to turn and run from a guest she had just encountered face to face.
'...And I'm hardly dressed to maintain proper decorum.'
If there were a pond nearby, she would have jumped as high as the retriever that the gardener Roham kept, diving straight in headfirst.
"I'm truly sorry. I've shown you such an unfavorable sight. I should take my leave now...."
Lucas caught Grace as she hurriedly tried to escape.
"Wait a moment."
His hand touched the waist belt of the coat he wore.
In that instant, for reasons she couldn't explain, Grace's mind conjured the image of Lucas drawing his sword from his waist in the Royal Palace Garden.
The blade gleaming so cleanly beneath the moonlight.
That cold, sharp sensation.
And even those crimson droplets of blood that had scattered into the air....
Her fingertips trembled again, rapid and uncontrollable. No amount of effort could calm her.
The sharp blade felt as though it might pierce her eyes at any moment. She screamed internally for composure, commanding herself to breathe, but her body had already slipped beyond her control.
Her faltering steps unconsciously moved backward.
Completely forgetting that stairs lay just behind her.
Lucas, alarmed, reached out to catch her.
"Grace, there's a step behind you...!"
But his outstretched hand only caused her to retreat further.
"Ah...?"
Her foot finally found only empty air.
She felt her body tilting as it began to fall.
'No, this can't happen.'
Grace reached forward instinctively.
Her billowing nightgown fluttered against her thighs, and the landscape surrounding her blurred past in slow, crystalline clarity.
Before her eyes snapped shut, she glimpsed a man's face.
For a fleeting moment, his blue eyes widened with shock—more startled than I was—gazing directly at me with an almost virtuous intensity. Even with my eyes clenched shut, those vivid blue irises lingered like an afterimage.
In that instant, a firm hand seized her wrist.
"...!"
With effortless strength, as though her weight were nothing more than tissue paper, he pulled her close. She was hoisted upward in one fluid motion, incomparably swifter than the backward tumble she'd experienced moments before.
And so she found herself cradled within that vast embrace in the blink of an eye.
The first thing to pierce her consciousness was a sweetly pleasant soap fragrance—a scent so crystalline and luminous, so utterly at odds with the man she believed him to be, that it assailed her senses.
"Are you unharmed, Grace?"
Next came his voice—impossibly gentle and tender.
A voice so warm and affectionate that it seemed impossible it could belong to a butcher who carved flesh beneath moonlight without hesitation—a voice that contradicted everything she believed about him.
She slowly lifted her stiffened head to regard the man holding her. His eyes were an immaculate blue—like a sun-drenched sea, like a crystalline May sky—fixed upon her with unwavering clarity.
"...Grace?"
Lucas Black's piercing blue eyes.
"...!"
Reality crashed over her like ice water. The moment her eyes flew wide and she placed her hands upon his shoulders to push him away—
"I apologize, I've made another foolish mistake...!"
The Study door burst open without warning.
"What in blazes is causing such a commotion outside...!"
A voice, sharp despite its owner's age, rang out through the quiet Corridor. Grace's breath caught, her entire body going rigid with shock.
Though hidden behind Lucas Black's shoulder, that voice unmistakably belonged to her father, Capren Oellin.
"Duke Black...?"
Capren Oellin's eyes, regarding Lucas with confusion, caught sight of different clothing within his embrace.
"Grace?"
Brought to you by Valir Scans! To support our team and enjoy the latest releases, please read directly on our official site: valirscans.org