13.
Marriage.
At the sound of that word, Anita’s mind went blank.
Her eyes remained fixed on Lancelot’s face, searching for any flicker of emotion in the man staring back at her. But Lancelot was still.
There wasn’t a trace of the flutter or the awkwardness that should have colored a proposal. He was serious, yet that was all. It was as if the mention of marriage had never even crossed his tightly sealed lips.
*‘…What on earth is he thinking? There is no way Lancelot would ever see me as a woman.’*
With that realization, Anita’s heart, which had been on the verge of leaping out of her chest, came to an abrupt, jarring halt.
“I’ll ask you one thing. This isn’t a joke, is it?”
“Are there any scumbags who joke about marriage?”
“Then I’ll have to decline. I’m sorry.”
Lancelot didn’t look hurt or shocked by her rejection. Instead, he asked with the nonchalance of someone inquiring about the weather.
“And the reason for your refusal?”
“Well, you didn’t have an engagement ring.”
Initially, she had intended to parry with a bit of playfulness. But in the next breath, the crushing reality took hold: Lancelot truly had no feelings for her. If he had even a glimmer of affection, wouldn’t he have at least brought out a ring?
*‘Haa.’*
Get a grip, Anita. Why are you feeling bitter? Why do you keep trying to extract something more from him?
Lancelot’s indifference was not a sin. The fault lay entirely with her for failing to stay in her place, constantly wishing for his attention. If anything, Lancelot was quite attentive to her. Everyone said the same thing—*you seem special to him, he’s only gentle with you, you’re always the exception.*
*‘They say that because they don’t know anything.’*
It was a boundary. A line that said: *You are my closest friend, and I will treat you accordingly.* A line that said: *As long as you do not betray me, mock me, or hold me in contempt, I will be a powerful ally.*
Lancelot did not love Anita. He had no intention of loving her, and he never would. Having heard those sentiments directly from his own mouth in the past, she knew they would never change.
*‘So, I must maintain my own boundary.’*
If only to remain his friend.
Perhaps because she had steadied her heart, the shame and misery that had been bubbling up melted away like snow. Afraid her bitterness might show, she mustered her depleted energy and said,
“Forget what I just said; it was a joke. I’m the one who should be asking—don’t tell me you’re trying to take responsibility for me because of Edenbahir’s reputation?”
The problem was, she had mustered a bit too much energy. Anita gave a small cough to steady her voice, which had become more vibrant than necessary.
“Well. Of course, I know very well that you aren’t that kind of person.”
“You certainly have a way of euphemistically calling someone cold-blooded.”
Anita laughed awkwardly. She didn’t deny it; even the Dowager knew that Lancelot lacked sympathy. After a moment of silence, Lancelot leaned back into the sofa.
“If you worked as a maid, what was your plan after that? You couldn’t have intended to stay in that line of work for your whole life.”
The question shifted directions without warning, but Anita answered without panic.
“I was going to find my father once I saved up some money.”
“When?”
“Let’s see. Once this winter passes…”
She paused, and half in desperation, she asked in return,
“Did you hear nothing at all?”
“Hear what? About your father’s disappearance? Or the downfall of the Boellony family?”
His directness was no longer a surprise. That was how she knew.
“You know something.”
At the very least, Lancelot knew more truth regarding her father’s disappearance than she did. Her fingertips began to tremble. Anita steadied her breath and spoke calmly.
“What on earth happened… no, since not telling me first might be troublesome for you, I’ll ask later. But my father… could you at least tell me if he is alright…”
“Calm down, Anita Boellony. Do you think I would pretend not to know about your personal affairs?”
A cold, firm reprimand. A voice devoid of warmth. Yet, strangely, she felt she could breathe again. Lancelot was not a man to tell lies.
“Continue. You said you were looking for your father? I’m curious what you planned to do if you couldn’t find him.”
“I’ll look until the end.”
“Even if it’s just his remains?”
“Please, can’t you phrase such questions a little more gently?”
“I’ll phrase it gently, so marry me, Anita.”
It was the same tone as the first proposal—dreadfully indifferent. Yet this time, it landed differently.
*‘…Right. Lancelot wouldn’t speak of marriage for some trivial reason.’*
Marriage to secure her status? Would the heir to a ducal house take a woman of meager standing as his wife for that alone? This was a proposal that went far beyond the boundaries of the friendship he had maintained.
“Marry me and take your revenge.”
Revenge.
To Anita, that word sounded like a funeral knell.
“Your father was the most meticulous man I have ever known. It makes no sense for the Boellony family to collapse overnight. It was likely manipulated to look like bankruptcy for the time being…”
Knock, knock.
At the sudden sound, their gazes turned toward the door.
“Lancelot-nim.”
It was Jill.
Lancelot’s expression soured. His face twisted as if he were biting back his annoyance at the interruption, but he eventually turned to address his aide.
“Anita. We will continue this conversation next time.”
At his cold dismissal, Anita asked urgently,
“Lancelot, what about my father?”
“On that part, even I cannot be certain yet. Just know that Edenbahir has sent people out to investigate.”
*Ah, thank goodness.* The fact that Lancelot was not certain of her father’s death washed away more than half the anxiety she had felt over the last few days.
“Thank you so much, Lancelot. I… I will return to my room. You look busy, so don’t overexert yourself.”
*There is still hope.*
For Anita, that fact alone was enough.
***
In the office, only Lancelot and Jill remained.
Jill, having checked the hallway to confirm that Anita’s silhouette had vanished, approached Lancelot urgently.
“I apologize. I know you were in the middle of an important conversation, but I judged that I had to inform you quickly.”
He didn’t need to offer it as an excuse. It had been two years since Jill, who had served her father, began working alongside Lancelot. His exceptional intuition had allowed him to survive even in the seat next to a superior as difficult as Lancelot.
Lancelot was a man of intense temperament, meticulousness, and a debilitating germaphobia that had caused three previous aides to quit. He was an heir with a nasty disposition who cultivated his own enemies. But there were advantages; he had gained a degree of freedom from the elders who were exhausted by him.
That freedom was exactly what Lancelot had intended.
“Speak.”
“It is said that Prince Reinhardt of Hespain will visit the royal castle within this month.”
Prince Reinhardt.
Lancelot showed no reaction.
*‘He’s lost in thought.’*
Jill could tell by the silence that Lancelot’s mind was spinning. The heir to the Duchy of Edenbahir was a genius at hiding his emotions, a trait likely sharpened by his upbringing.
“The Queen’s Birthday Banquet, held in a week, is the most likely occasion. Even if there is little contact, the Queen and Prince Reinhardt are second cousins.”
In the Kingdom of Montebio, the consort chosen by the Emperor was titled ‘Queen’ (Yeowang), following the conventions of the Empire of Atlante.
“It can’t be helped. Send a letter to the Queen immediately. Tell her that the wedding to Anita Boellony is confirmed as of today and that we are only waiting for the date.”
*Confirmed?*
Jill, who had been reflecting on Anita’s fragile state, nodded slowly. It would not be easy to force her into this, but given her nature, the plan would likely come to fruition.
Anita Boellony was weak against Lancelot Edenbahir.