Chapter 20

Whether it was true that he had arranged it beforehand or not, Celia was shown to a room the moment she entered the inn.

Soaked from the rain, Lucius went to wash first, while Celia leisurely soaked in the bathtub.

Unused to bathing without attendants, she got out rather quickly and wrapped herself in the robe provided by the inn.

She frowned at the rough fabric for a moment when the sound of a door opening echoed across the floor.

“Lucius?”

After confirming who it was, Celia narrowed her eyes.

Checking her appearance in the reflection of the cracked window, she instinctively snapped at him.

“What kind of nobleman enters a lady’s room without knocking? Is that how Wind—”

Is that how they teach people in Windmere?

The sharp words slid back down her throat.

She didn’t want to learn this way that abandoning old habits was as difficult as cutting off a part of herself.

“I think I was careless. I’ll be more careful next time.”

Holding the front of her robe, Celia gradually relaxed her grip at his gentle response.

Celia was someone whose words were always sharpened like blades, ready to cut at any moment.

Yet recently, every knife she threw simply fell to the ground instead of coming back at her.

Unfamiliar with such situations, she shuffled backward in her worn-out slippers.

Lucius didn’t approach any closer.

Instead, he glanced toward the bed and tilted his head awkwardly.

“What should we do? It’s a little small for two people.”

The eyes that had been warily tracking him widened.

“Two people? We… we’re sleeping together?”

“…There was only one room left.”

“If all the rooms are occupied, then make someone leave!”

She didn’t care about Windmere’s finances.

If they offered enough money, surely someone would gladly give up their room.

“I couldn’t throw someone out with money on a cold, rainy night.”

What did other people’s circumstances matter?

The only thing that mattered to Celia was the fact that she’d have to share both a room and a bed with Lucius.

A cramped, old, musty room.

And Lucius on top of that.

“It’s embarrassing, that’s why I hate it!”

She shouted, clenching her fists so tightly her nails trembled.

The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them.

Why did I come up with an excuse like that?

She quickly looked elsewhere.

At the wrinkles in the bedsheets.

At the curtains.

Anywhere except his face.

“We’re married.”

His low voice immediately caught her.

Warm.

Yet somehow oddly distant.

“There’s no reason to be embarrassed, Celia.”

There was still enough distance between them, but all Lucius had to do was lean forward and stretch out an arm to reach her.

“I’ll dry your hair.”

The cold strands of her wet hair swayed as she moved, wrapping themselves around his finger.

Celia glared at her own traitorous hair sticking obediently to him.

“I can… do it myself.”

In the end, she turned her back to him.

Not that there was anywhere to go in the cramped room.

Still, she spoke firmly.

Then suddenly, the air against her cheek changed.

Before she realized it, he had moved behind her.

“If you catch a cold, I’ll be upset.”

He wrapped his arms around her.

Not too lightly.

Not too tightly.

As if reminding himself whose body he was holding.

Her breath faltered.

Celia looked up at the man gazing down at her.

Was it her imagination, or was Lucius’s face getting closer?

His warm breath brushed against her skin.

As his breathing neared her nose, she tried to speak.

There was something she needed to say.

No…

Something she absolutely had to say.

“Don’t—”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“…”

The words that had died unfinished on her lips were completed by him.

Damn it.

Celia lifted her eyes.

“I won’t.”

“So stop biting your lips like that.”

“Is it a habit?”

She wanted to tell him to mind his own business.

But the words only circled around her lips.

Every sentence dissolved before she could finish it.

“Biting them is my business.”

If he was going to go crazy, couldn’t he have done it normally?

Why had he gone insane in such a strange direction that he kept saying things like this?

The hand she’d placed on his arm to push him away tightened.

Her restless eyes wandered everywhere.

This is annoying.

The Lucius who wasn’t unpleasant.

The Lucius who wasn’t cold.

The Lucius who didn’t hate her.

As much as she hated to admit it, she had no idea how to deal with him.

Because he wasn’t treating her badly.

All she had left were her own anger and hatred.

Emotions he knew nothing about.

They kept leaking out and scattering into nothing.

I hate this.

Her fingers turned white from how tightly she clenched them.

“Let go.”

Every moment was unbearable.

As she pushed him away and moved, her heel struck something solid.

“Ah?”

The weak old table wobbled just from the light impact.

Beyond her elbow, a long bottle tipped over.

Its slender neck twisted through the air.

For a split second, it seemed as though she heard glass about to shatter.

Then—

Thud!

“Ah.”

A hand shot out.

It brushed past her and perfectly caught the falling wine bottle.

“I got it.”

“That’s a relief.”

Celia couldn’t move.

His chest was suddenly right in front of her.

His hand remained close enough to brush against her waist.

She barely managed to speak.

“What is this?”

He calmly set the bottle back on the table.

It was far too expensive-looking to belong in a shabby inn like this.

“It’s wine.”

“Wine?”

“I was planning to give it to you in the carriage on the way home.”

“But things turned out like this.”

Only then did Celia look at the bottle carefully.

It was a bottle of Rubiel Wine.

A wine that had become difficult to obtain recently.

A white wine made from grapes grown only on the eastern highlands of the continent of Isbrilla.

It was famous for its sweetness and delicate floral fragrance, created by fermenting dried flower petals with grape juice.

Running his fingers along the neck of the bottle, Lucius tilted it slightly.

Pale violet bubbles rose through the crystal-clear glass.

“If you’d like, shall we drink it?”

He gestured toward the glasses prepared beside the wine.

“It might feel a little out of place in a place like this.”

“But it tastes quite good.”

Drink together?

Her and him?

Celia stared at him in disbelief.

She wasn’t much of a drinker.

She could handle a glass or two of wine when necessary, but still…

Then an idea crossed her mind.

A very good idea.

“Fine.”

The short answer came out heavily.

His shadow shifted slightly.

“I’ll drink it.”

She repeated herself clearly.

At her answer, she heard him take a deep breath.

Lucius’s chest expanded slightly.

The first thing she noticed at her eye level was the movement of his broad ribcage.

Celia deliberately didn’t look up.

***

Her plan was simple.

Get Lucius drunk.

Then leave him outside the room.

It was a scheme conceived by Celia, someone who hated alcohol.

But what was she supposed to do?

This tiny room was old, cramped, smelled strange, and had only one bed.

Fortunately, while she didn’t enjoy alcohol, she had a strong tolerance for it.

So there shouldn’t have been any problems.

Her plan was perfect.

At least, it was supposed to be.

“Are you okay?”

Clatter.

Celia covered her mouth and leaned toward the table.

“Celia, does your stomach hurt?”

“Do you feel sick?”

His tone sounded as though he were soothing a child.

Annoyed, she vigorously shook her head.

The room spun around her.

This is strange.

The one whose brain is broken is him. Why am I the one like this?

She groaned.

The sound came out almost like a whine.

The one who gently steadied her wobbling head was Lucius.

“Do you want to lie down?”

“No.”

“I don’t like the bed.”

As though he already knew that, he chuckled softly.

That annoyed her.

“Why…”

“Why did you want to watch an opera?”

“I hate inns.”

“The floor has been making weird noises this whole time.”

“It’s okay.”

“The boards are old, but they won’t collapse.”

“I don’t like old boards either…”

Somehow, he still understood her mumbling.

“I’m sorry.”

“I should’ve found a better place.”

He didn’t make excuses.

And even when she drunkenly blamed him for things that weren’t his fault, he didn’t criticize her.

The first part fit his personality.

The second absolutely didn’t.

The old Lucius would’ve—

“Why aren’t you angry…?”

Blinking her heavy eyelids, Celia voiced her confusion.

By now he should have snapped at her.

Lucius’s hand, which had been brushing hair away from her forehead, paused.

“…Should I be angry at you?”

“This is…”

“The kind of situation where someone would be.”

He rolled the words around in his mouth.

“No matter what kind of situation it is…”

“I don’t think it’s right for me to be angry at you.”

With her foggy mind, Celia laughed.

“That’s a lie.”

“…”

“You were always angry at me.”

“That’s why it’s weird.”

A heavy sound came from him, as if he were drawing in a deep breath.

She swatted away the hand reaching toward her and leaned against the creaking armrest of her chair.

They sat across from each other with only a tiny table between them.

The table was so small their knees nearly touched.

And that wasn’t her only complaint.

There was the fact that Lucius’s glass was almost empty despite them drinking at the same pace.

Meanwhile, hers was still half full.

There was the crooked shelf in the corner.

On the table sat a plate of cheese.

Beside it lay a small cheese knife.

…A knife.

“Was I angry often?”

His stiff voice barely registered to her anymore.

Celia lifted her gaze from the knife and looked toward his shoulder.

“Celia.”

“…”

“Celia.”

She slowly reached out.

Toward his blurry outline.

When her hand finally touched him, she smirked and lifted her chin proudly.

His figure appeared hazily through her blurred vision, as though she were underwater.

But even that didn’t last.

The alcohol swirled through her head and soaked into her eyelids.

Even that old bed looks fine now.

She just wanted to close her eyes.

Anywhere would do.

“I’m sleepy…”

Her final memory was a hand brushing her cheek and a distant voice murmuring nearby.

Then every sensation melted into a warm, blurry darkness.

And her memory ended there.