11.
Frozen green eyes, devoid of a single trace of warmth, swept over her with a heavy, suffocating weight.
Lancelot was impeccably dressed, as he always was. His shirt showed no sign of a wrinkle, his shoes were free of even a speck of dust, and his tie remained knotted tight, not a single button out of place.
The only thing that had changed was his silhouette. The features that had once been as delicate as if carved from silver thread had sharpened into something far more dangerous. His neck, which had once been as slender as Anita’s, now possessed a sturdy, unyielding line.
Conversely, the fingers resting neatly on his lap had grown long enough to snap her neck in an instant.
His appearance—at once deeply familiar and infinitely alien—made Anita hesitate.
*Don’t be surprised. It would be stranger if he hadn’t changed at all in two years.*
She took a deep breath and approached him. Only when she stood directly before Lancelot did she realize she had forgotten to even greet him.
“The bed.”
…The bed?
Lancelot, his gaze scrutinizing every corner of her face, spoke again.
“I don’t see a bed. Where did you spend last night? Lady Alexandra’s house? That is a distance of more than half a day’s travel.”
Lady Alexandra was Anita’s youngest aunt, but they were not close.
Conscious of her throat, which had tightened painfully, Anita cleared it and replied.
“I… I didn’t sleep. My mind was too crowded.”
Lancelot, who had been watching her in silence, rose without a sound.
As his height loomed over her, Anita stepped back instinctively. Lancelot had grown taller—he now looked to be even taller than her father—and this visible growth only widened the sense of distance between them.
“Your last meal?”
“I think it was yesterday evening.”
“What was it?”
“Just… some leftover food.”
“How much?”
He circled the bedroom in a slow stride before returning to her side.
For a long time, there was only silence. Lancelot did not rush her, waiting with a calm, predatory patience. His eyes, fixed on her without a single blink, were dark and vivid. With his pale, sculpted face, he looked less like a man and more like a high-born wax doll.
Lancelot, cold and hard as always.
Lancelot, indifferent and heartless as he had been every day of their lives.
Anita’s head slowly bowed. Lancelot’s lips, which had been set in a firm line, parted quietly.
“I didn’t mean to interrogate you.”
Anita’s eyes widened. She was startled. She had wondered what the small, dark spots appearing on the floor were, only to realize they were her own tears.
“Anita.”
She wiped her cheeks by reflex.
It was no mistake. They were her tears. She hadn’t shed them in so long that she hadn’t even recognized the sensation.
*So, this is how they fall. Without any warning.*
A slightly raspy voice dropped from above her.
“If I caused you discomfort, I apologize. I spoke my mind without considering your situation.”
“No, it’s not that.”
She wasn’t trying to receive an apology. Anita quickly wiped her eyes and lifted her head. Then, with all her heart, she thanked him.
“I’m not crying because you interrogated me. It’s because you came. I think I shed tears because I’m so happy to see you. Thank you, Lancelot.”
Lancelot’s well-defined lips slowly closed.
Seeing that, Anita lowered her head again. Trying to express her gratitude had made her emotions surge once more.
“Thank you, truly, for coming to find me.”
Why wouldn’t the tears stop?
They hadn’t seen each other for two whole years. Lancelot alone had not changed; he remained a true friend. His long shadow, cast over her, seemed to silently cradle her anxiety.
He hadn’t held her hand or brushed her shoulder, but to Anita, it was the most precious comfort.
Once the tears stopped, embarrassment took precedence over joy. It was the first time she had cried in front of Lancelot since she was a child. Ever since she had grown older, she had never shed a tear in front of an outsider, him included.
Perhaps it was the influence of her father’s oldest lesson: *Never show weakness in front of others.*
Just as she was unnecessarily dabbing at her dry, smooth cheeks, he asked,
“Is this all of your luggage?”
She tilted her head at the question, which broke the long silence. His gaze was fixed on the suitcases piled in the corner of the room.
“Yes.”
“That’s very little.”
“The workers—I don’t even know who they were—took everything they could carry. I didn’t have time to pack.”
“Where will you stay?”
There was no way she could answer. To appear as composed as possible, she cleared her throat.
“I plan to find a place soon.”
“Plan?”
His fair brow crinkled as he turned toward her.
“Exactly when?”
“Probably… today.”
Thanks to Lancelot and Jill, she felt she could land a decent job. Anita planned to return to the employment agency after exchanging brief pleasantries.
“Come with me.”
Given Lancelot’s personality, it was no surprise he would want to take her to Edenbahir immediately. The thought of him suggesting it without a moment’s hesitation made her nose feel stuffy with gratitude again.
But she couldn’t make an ugly scene by crying twice. Anita firmly shook her head.
“No. Just you coming to see me in person is enough. It gives me strength.”
“Explain to me how that is ‘enough’.”
His brow furrowed into a shallow groove. It was a look of pure dissatisfaction.
However, if there was anyone whose help she should decline, it was Lancelot’s. He was a man who had lived quietly, avoiding any major scandal even during his prime marriageable years. If word got out that Anita was staying at his mansion, it would lead to a disaster. She did not want to watch Lancelot become the protagonist of filthy rumors.
“I don’t feel like the last twenty years were lived in vain. I’ve gained a friend who genuinely worries about me. That is enough for me to keep going.”
“You have something in mind, then?”
“Mr. Vlad introduced me to a job.”
Lancelot’s eyes narrowed. He reached out with an elegant gesture that lacked even a hint of coercion.
“May I verify what kind of job it is?”
After a moment of hesitation, she handed him the employment agency’s business card, crumpled from being touched so much. Lancelot disliked Vlad—to be fair, he only liked a handful of people to begin with, but he particularly detested Vlad.
He scanned the card and let out a small, dry laugh.
“A maid.”
The card vanished into the inner pocket of his jacket.
“Not even a governess, if it came to that. A maid.”
In reality, she would be lucky to even land a position as a servant, but she didn’t bother to tell him that.
“If I can work, I don’t intend to be picky.”
“Anita Boellony. What do you think you would have done if you were me?”
Wondering what he meant, she looked at him quietly. As if the empty room felt somewhat stifling, Lancelot began to undo his perfectly fastened cuffs.
“You said I was the best friend in your life. Aside from Claunia House.”
“…Did I say something like that?”
“It was the equivalent. Don’t change the subject.”
Coming from his lips, it couldn’t be a lie. Her face burned with embarrassment; she must have been out of her mind without realizing it.
“It’s no different for me. If you weren’t important, I wouldn’t have rushed all the way here at this hour.”
That was a startling statement. Lancelot was a man who showed things through actions, not words. Verbal expression had all but evaporated from him; for him, a tongue was merely a tool for reprimand, criticism, or the exchange of information.
For such a man to utter the word ‘important’ to a living soul? She felt moved, yet couldn’t believe it, so she found herself asking back with a foolish expression.
“Am I one of your most important friends?”
“Are you intending to say that cannot be?”
His cold gaze reprimanded her for saying something absurd.
“That wasn’t empty talk.”
Three steps away, Lancelot’s green eyes held her gaze.
“If you feel otherwise, then don’t try to make me out to be an incompetent and heartless friend.”
Lancelot’s stride brushed past Anita and stopped at the doorway. Then, with a firm tone that allowed for no further objection, he declared,
“I will help you, Anita Boellony. That way, the time I’ve known you won’t have been in vain.”
“Lancelot.”
“Is it difficult? If so, I’ll help you think in an easier way. Don’t think of your own reputation. Think only of my reputation and that of Claunia House.”
The cold face turned back to look at her.
“The Duke of Edenbahir and the head of the Boellony family are renowned business partners. If you, the only child of a family whose head is missing and whose assets have been seized, are seen wandering about outside, what would people think of Edenbahir?”
The fall of the Boellony family and the disappearance of its head. For Edenbahir, as an investor and partner, to feign ignorance of their only child—Lancelot’s point was clear.
Ignoring her would be the perfect way to invite unpleasant rumors to their door.
“I’ll wait downstairs.”
Without a trace of lingering attachment, he turned his back and left the room.