Chapter 21
Chapter 3. Upheaval (1)
Celia dreamed of the distant past.
A dream from when she and Lucius were about eighteen years old.
It was a summer day when the cool breeze warmed the dew resting on the tips of the grass before scattering it into the air.
The hunting tournament was being held on the Graden Plains.
In the distance came the mingled sounds of hunting dogs barking low and horses’ hooves striking the earth. Crimson banners fluttered in the wind, while the gentle afternoon sunlight drifted lazily over the gathered crowd…
Smack!
“Lucius Windmere.”
The heavy crack split the air.
“You know why I’m doing this, don’t you?”
At her razor-sharp voice, even the rabbits darting through the meadow froze in place. The birds overhead seemed to fold their wings into silence. Yet no one could stop her fury.
Lucius, standing at the center of it all, merely turned his head slightly. The rest of his sturdy frame remained perfectly still.
“I don’t know the reason,” he said calmly. “But striking someone without a word…”
A faint red mark slowly spread across his cheek.
Though he could have avoided the slap, he hadn’t. He only tilted his head a fraction.
“That’s hardly something a lady would do.”
His voice rang as clearly as a single drop of water falling into a crystal glass.
That refined, aristocratic manner of speaking had always irritated her.
“I’ve never been a lady in front of you, Lucius Windmere.”
“That’s a relief. I don’t believe I’ve ever been a gentleman in front of you either.”
Their gazes locked in midair, neither yielding even an inch.
Then Lucius added,
“And I’m grateful you chose your hand instead of your fist.”
What an insufferable bastard.
Celia clenched her jaw so tightly she could almost hear her teeth grind together.
Despite their countless clashes, this was the first time she had ever laid a hand on him. But after hearing the news, she simply couldn’t hold herself back. Pride and dignity had all been consumed by the rage she felt toward him.
“I heard you broke Lord Chapler’s left leg yesterday.”
Her boot crunched against the dry earth.
“Don’t tell me you’ve somehow forgotten that too.”
She strode up to him, lifting her chin to meet his eyes. Her own blazed like a mountain on fire.
“Chapler…?”
Lucius frowned.
He searched through his memory before speaking as though he’d finally solved an annoying puzzle.
“Ah. The heir of House Palotin. The man who was supposedly discussing marriage with you.”
He let out a slow breath.
After a brief moment of thought, his gaze swept openly over her—from head to toe, so shamelessly that it bordered on insulting.
“If you raised your hand against me because of that man…”
His lips moved ever so slightly.
“I’m disappointed in you, Celia Brickwell.”
Celia bit her lip hard.
His calm eyes lingered on the small wound where she’d bitten herself.
“…You.”
His relentless stare scraped at her nerves, lowering her voice.
“You think I’m doing this over some marriage prospect I barely even know?”
Instead of answering, he simply remained planted where he stood.
“So how many times has this been now?”
Her slender, white-gloved fingers pressed firmly against his shoulder.
“I’ve overlooked your meddling in my affairs more times than I can count. Or is that it? I hear you’ve been spending your days mingling freely with commoners and the gentry lately. Did you find yourself a lover among them? Is that why you hate seeing me considered for marriage with another noble?”
“…Celia Brickwell.”
Unlike her childish display of emotion, Lucius merely lowered his eyes to the small hand pounding against his shoulder.
His sharp eyes narrowed.
Without showing the slightest emotion, he slowly raised his hand.
His palm covered the back of hers, wrapping around each finger before twisting her wrist in a firm grip.
“At the very least, the people I associate with possess far more dignity than the man who almost became your fiancé.”
He deliberately rolled each word off his tongue, allowing the silence between them to become a mockery.
“Oh? Then I’d love to know just how impressive the dignity is of a man who goes around breaking the legs of my prospective husbands simply because he doesn’t like them.”
Her knuckles turned white as she clenched her fist within his grip.
“…Celia. I’m beginning to wonder whether continuing this conversation has any value.”
“What a coincidence. I was thinking the same thing.”
With something like a sigh, he loosened his grip.
Celia jerked her hand away roughly, disgust written across her face. The scrape of skin against leather briefly echoed between them.
Lucius looked down at his now-empty hand.
He slowly opened and closed his fingers before lifting his eyes back to hers.
“There was a reason I did what I did to that man.”
As he chose his words, he removed the glove she had touched.
The sound of leather sliding over his fingers echoed strangely clearly.
“I have no reason to explain myself to you. That’s all I have to say.”
When he finished speaking, he casually tossed the glove aside.
“I let you slap me. Be satisfied with that.”
Having said his piece, he turned away without hesitation. The tails of his black coat sliced through the air behind him.
Celia stared silently in the direction he’d disappeared.
“…Ha!”
That very afternoon…
One of Celia’s knights aimed an arrow at Lucius’s squire.
Officially, they claimed it had been a hunting accident.
They had mistaken him for game.
But there was no way Lucius would fail to understand the meaning behind the deep wound carved into his squire’s left leg.
Then, as evening fell…
Lucius came to see her.
More precisely, after every lamp had been extinguished, and Celia stumbled in the darkness, losing her footing…
He appeared before her, cutting through the shadows.
“Celia Brickwell.”
Still bracing herself against the ground, she looked up.
Bathed in moonlight, Lucius approached slowly.
The tip of his polished shoe came down on the hem of her dress.
The fabric strained as though about to tear before crumpling beneath his weight.
“You…!”
He shifted his weight ever so slightly, preventing her from standing.
“Stay still.”
Lucius leaned down.
Moonlight flowed over his shoulders, casting a long, dark shadow across her body.
It spread over her neck and chest as though it possessed a life of its own.
“Stop doing pointless things.”
The leg pinning her down…
It was his left.
Of all things.
“You were the one who broke my fiancé’s leg first. That’s a rather underhanded thing for a gentleman to do.”
“Just as you’ve never been a lady to me, I’ve no need to be a gentleman to you.”
The delicate fabric let out a faint cry as it stretched beneath his shoe.
Even the air between them seemed to tremble.
Celia glared up at him, trembling with fury.
“Know your place, Celia Brickwell.”
A crushing sense of humiliation consumed her whole body.
***
Celia slowly opened her eyes, waking from the unpleasant dream.
The first light of dawn filtered through the window, filling the room with soft radiance.
She instinctively squinted against the brightness.
…Where am I?
Her thoughts were a muddy mess.
Her mind sank like a swamp, sluggish and heavy, while a dull ache throbbed behind her forehead.
The pillow felt unusually hard.
Perhaps she’d slept awkwardly all night, because her neck had grown stiff.
No matter how cheap this inn is, surely they don’t use rocks for pillows.
Frowning, Celia reached out and felt the pillow beneath her.
It was firm.
And strangely…
Warm.
“…!”
A dreadful premonition struck her.
She instinctively turned her head.
Her eyelashes fluttered upward, her eyes flying open.
Before her unfolded a sight she could scarcely have believed even in a dream.
Morning sunlight poured through the curtains.
A narrow beam traced down a forehead before settling across the bridge of his nose.
“Wha—!”
Impossible!
How had they ended up sharing this tiny bed?
Where had all of last night’s memories gone?
Every question crumbled away faster than sand slipping through her fingers.
In their place came pure horror and panic.
As she twisted her body, the arm draped across her waist stirred.
His muscles tightened, pressing her firmly back down.
“Mmm…”
Disturbed from his sleep, he let out a soft murmur.
Celia froze as though the breath of a wild beast had brushed against her ear.
To make matters worse, his unconscious movements pulled her even closer around the waist.
“L-Lucius…”
Their bodies pressed flush together.
And then…
Something that absolutely should not have been touching her abdomen…
Was.
She couldn’t even begin to comprehend its size.
It was trapped squarely between their bodies…
“W-Wait…!”
The silence was so fragile it felt as though even a sigh would shatter it.
She barely managed to lift her head.
His eyes remained peacefully closed.
…
Would pinching his nose wake him?
Just as she reached out, desperately trying to deal with this completely disastrous situation—
The world flipped upside down.
Both of her slender wrists were captured effortlessly in one of his hands.
The soft mattress sank heavily beneath her back.
A solid weight settled over her hips, stealing the breath from her lungs.
Like the morning sun itself, his shadow enveloped her body.
“You’re tickling me when you keep moving.”
One of her knees caught against his leg, causing the thin fabric of her nightclothes to ride all the way up her thigh.
Her face instantly turned scarlet with shock.
“Good morning, Celia.”
Lucius leaned over her, his full weight tilted slightly toward her.
The bedsheets wrinkled beneath him.
And beneath that weight…
Her body was completely pinned to the mattress
