Chapter 52
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Dear, I believe you may be misunderstanding.
Episode 52
"Would you mind waiting here for a moment? I need to meet with the owner and will be right back."
After spending some time at the Tea House, where the pound cake was exquisite, Selena led Grace to the oldest Antique Shop in the vicinity.
"Look around. If anything catches your eye, set it aside. I'll give it to you as a token of my gratitude for the cake."
Selena flashed a playful smile before ascending to the third floor of the shop.
The Shop Owner's health had deteriorated considerably, so she had to go up personally to see him—or so his daughter had informed her.
Selena, a long-time patron of the establishment, had already apologized in advance, mentioning that their conversation might take some time.
Grace didn't mind at all.
The Antique Shop held so many fascinating items that she felt she could easily spend hours browsing.
"Miss, I'm terribly sorry, but would it be alright if I stepped away for a moment? I believe I left my wallet at the Tea House."
Julie, who had come inside after arranging the items Selena had purchased on the carriage roof, asked for permission with an apologetic expression.
"I'll stay here, so hurry back. Didn't you say your brother gave you that wallet? You need to find it before it's gone."
"Yes! Thank you so much. I'll be back in no time!"
Julie dashed out in a flurry.
Grace was peering out the window, slightly worried that Julie might trip while running like that, when—
"Cough! Cough!"
A violent, rasping cough echoed through the shop as if someone were tearing at their own lungs.
Thinking the shop was empty, Grace startled and turned toward the sound.
The coughing came from beyond a display cabinet.
"Hack! Hack...!"
The coughing grew increasingly severe.
Grace cautiously made her way around the display cabinet.
"Hah... hah... hah..."
Before her stood a man as pale as snow, as if he had stepped straight out of a classical painting.
His hair gleamed white in the sunlight, and even the loosened edges of his shirt were white.
Beneath the oversized garment, his flushed skin—fevered and rosy—possessed the lustrous smoothness of a pearl.
His appearance was so ethereal and mysterious that Grace found herself rooted to the spot, unable to look away.
She could scarcely tear her gaze from him—he resembled some otherworldly sprite from ancient mythology.
"Ugh... hah..."
Beneath the man's loose shirt, the lean muscles of his neck rose and fell harshly with each breath.
Though the coughing seemed to have subsided momentarily, his breathing remained labored and unnatural.
Grace quickly surveyed her surroundings.
Judging by his clothing and accessories, he was no commoner.
A sickly nobleman would never wander about alone.
'But why is no one else here?'
As she peered about in confusion, another cough reached her ears.
"Hack! Hack! Cough...!"
This time, the coughing sounded as though he were on death's door.
And the way he suddenly collapsed to the ground was deeply alarming.
Grace did not hesitate further and approached the man quickly.
"Are you alright?"
"H-hah, hah—"
His labored breathing sounded anything but normal.
The man dropped to one knee, struggling to steady his breath, and extended his hand toward her.
It looked as though he was asking her to hold his hand, so Grace grasped it firmly.
'His hand is incredibly cold.'
The man's hand was excessively frigid, as though it had been submerged in icy water for some time.
Even through his gloves, the chill of his touch was unmistakable.
"Huh—, hah—"
The man's breathing, supported by my hand, gradually steadied.
Several more seconds elapsed.
Finally, the man lifted his bowed head and looked at Grace.
"Forgive me... I have been most discourteous."
The man raised his head.
'...Dazzling.'
In that moment, Grace felt her mind momentarily go blank at the sight of the man's beauty.
It was all the more striking because of the white shirt and white hair that caught the cascading sunlight, coupled with his pale, luminous complexion.
Though utterly devoid of femininity, there was something strangely beautiful about this man.
Could such a beautiful person truly exist in this world?
"Huh..."
The man exhaled his labored breath and offered Grace a faint smile.
Though subtle, it carried an unmistakable air of confidence.
In that instant, a certain animal flashed through Grace's mind.
'He's like a rabbit... No, what am I thinking, standing before someone who is suffering?'
Grace suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for the man, who was gripping her hand with such desperation.
Her voice became noticeably gentler.
"No, please don't apologize. Do you have no attendants with you? If you're truly unwell, shall I fetch you some water?"
Strangely, the shop owner's daughter, who was supposed to be managing the first floor, was nowhere to be seen.
The peculiar silence of the empty shop enveloped them both.
The man smiled faintly and shook his head.
Though still breathing heavily, his demeanor had grown considerably more composed.
"My attendant has... hah... gone to the Carriage to retrieve my medicine. I am truly sorry, but would you be so kind as to lend me your hand until my attendant returns?"
He was asking for permission even as he already held her hand firmly.
The corners of the man's eyes, looking up at Grace apologetically, were flushed red.
With his already crimson eyes and the fever causing them to glisten with moisture, his gaze upon her felt strangely unsettling.
'And why did His Excellency cross my mind just now? I haven't done anything wrong.'
Grace, hesitating, reluctantly extended her hand.
Physical contact with a stranger felt decidedly awkward.
No matter how dazzlingly beautiful that stranger might be.
"Then just my hand...."
"...Yes?"
"Just my hand. I'll lend it to you."
With those words, Grace pressed her hand firmly against his grip and took a step backward.
The man appeared momentarily flustered, but soon thanked her with a slight smile.
His burning forehead made contact with the back of Grace's hand, which he held tightly.
"My apologies. Whenever I fell ill, my mother would cool my forehead like this. It seems to help the fever subside."
Though his body was ice-cold, his forehead burned with an almost feverish intensity.
He seemed to be a man of naturally frail constitution.
Since Grace herself had suffered from poor health in her youth, she found herself sympathizing with him.
Resolving not to be too callous, she shifted her awkwardly positioned feet slightly forward.
How many awkward seconds had passed?
Where on earth was his attendant, who was supposed to be fetching medicine?
"Your attendant is taking quite a while."
"...Indeed. I wonder why he's so late."
The man who had been gasping as though on death's door mere moments ago now stared intently at Grace, breathing heavily.
'Why is he looking at me like that?'
Finally, feeling anxious and uncomfortable, Grace withdrew her hand and spoke.
"Perhaps I should go look for the medicine myself."
"Oh...! No, no. I couldn't possibly impose such a burden."
He shook his head with difficulty and slowly rose from his seat, swaying.
His movements were as pitiful as a young calf struggling to its feet.
'What if he falls over?'
Each time he wavered, Grace's feet twitched involuntarily.
"Are you... certain you're alright?"
"No need to concern yourself, Lady. Of course, when such a beautiful man is coughing like this, one can't help but notice, *cough cough*, but truly, don't worry."
He smiled, wrinkling his nose as though he understood everything.
It was a charming and capable smile, but it had no effect on the overly serious Grace.
She regarded him with a grave expression.
"You didn't hit your head when you fell earlier, did you?"
"...."
The man looked at Grace with an ambiguous expression—somewhere between crying and laughing—before slowly turning and walking away.
His gait was deliberately slow and exaggerated, as though performed for effect.
Just as Grace thought he would surely collapse from all that swaying, the pale man's body crumpled to the ground.
"...!"
Grace, who had been watching, gasped in alarm and rushed toward him.
"Hey! Are you alright? You haven't lost consciousness, have you? Where on earth is your attendant?"
"Right... over there ahead... *cough! cough cough! wheeze!*"
As the man coughed, blood suddenly appeared in his palm.
Alarmed, Grace quickly produced a handkerchief and held it beneath his hand.
The blood-soaked towel had stained Grace's delicate lace gloves.
'Why on earth is there no one around?'
It was decidedly peculiar.
The guards who should have been stationed outside the shop were nowhere to be seen.
Not a single soul passed through the alley.
She would have called for help if anyone appeared, but the emptiness left her at a loss.
"This won't do. I must fetch someone—anyone."
"Wait! Please, I'm begging you. Just stay as you are!"
The man seized Grace's arm urgently as she turned to leave.
With a pitifully desperate expression, he implored her.
"Please! I don't want to cause a commotion. A few moments of rest and I'll be fine!"
The raw anguish in his eyes was such that Grace found herself unable to refuse.
Sensing her hesitation, the man offered a quiet smile and whispered his gratitude.
"But I've ruined your gloves because of me. Allow me to compensate you."
"It's no trouble."
Grace gazed at her blood-stained gloves.
Continuing to wear them, saturated as they were, felt unbearably uncomfortable.
Though they bore an inscription on the wrist, she had no choice but to remove the blood-soaked gloves.
Casting a furtive glance at the man, Grace slowly peeled them off.
Brought to you by Valir Scans! To support our team and enjoy the latest releases, please read directly on our official site: valirscans.org