50.
“H-how long have you been waiting?”
“I just got here.”
Anita, who had been staring blankly at his retreating back, hurried to catch up.
“It’s not even that far from the bedroom….”
“Even if it isn’t far, it’s dark.”
“The servant would have lit the way while guiding me.”
Lancelot stopped and turned to look at her.
Only then did it occur to Anita. She had been so happy he waited that she had rambled on. Hadn’t she just made it sound like she was reprimanding him for a useless gesture?
Lancelot spoke, his expression reeking of discomfort.
“Yes, that’s perfect. There is no one in this castle more capable than a servant. Shall I head back then?”
“No! I was just—I’m sorry. And, th-thank you.”
“Anyone listening would think you owe me a massive debt.”
Lancelot resumed walking and asked, “What were you talking about so intently?”
What *were* they talking about? It was too diverse to list. Anita brought up the final topic.
“Oh. Actually, I had made various plans to meet with the noblewomen at the royal court, but after meeting Mr. George today, I pushed those schedules back. I decided to visit Lady Milena’s salon in Shavalon. I was just gathering information in advance about the people I might meet there.”
“Various plans? What cunning scheme are you going to use to deceive people this time?”
Stung by his blatant phrasing, Anita glared at Lancelot. Very, very faintly.
“Cunning? Couldn’t you just call it… a little personal?”
“Of course, that is possible, my extremely personal Duchess Edenbahir.”
“They weren’t strange plans. It’s just… there is nothing as important as a first impression. I was trying to be more mindful of that.”
“And the first impression you worked so hard on was getting sued? How logical.”
Anita pressed her lips shut. As she retreated into silence to mask her displeasure, the atmosphere between them grew as heavy and still as the midnight air in the royal castle.
But something was strange. They should have reached the bedroom by now, yet the corridor seemed to stretch on endlessly.
A chill ran down her spine.
‘Don’t tell me… am I haunted?’
Otherwise, there was no reason for the castle to feel like a labyrinth at this hour.
Suddenly, goosebumps rose on her arms. Anita stuck close to Lancelot and secretly grabbed his half-rolled-up sleeve.
If there was one thing that was reassuring, it was that Lancelot remained excessively calm. Though, to be fair, Lancelot was calm anytime and anywhere.
“It’s dark. It feels like a ghost might pop out.”
Lancelot glanced at her face and asked nonchalantly.
“Are you afraid of ghosts?”
“Would I be happy about it? If there is any existence I least want to encounter in my entire life, it would be a ghost.”
“That’s too bad. In the Duke Edenbahir Residence, after midnight, the ghosts of our ancestors are all over the mansion….”
“St-stop! I didn’t hear anything. Don’t say it. Just stay right there….”
Though goosebumps prickled her shoulders, her heartbeat steadied in direct contrast.
Days where she shared such trivial chatter with him could be counted on one hand. Because Lancelot disliked noise, she knew that if she chattered away, she would eventually be lectured.
After realizing that Lancelot’s sensitivity was due to a congenital illness, she had been more sparing with her words. Although his sensitivity had noticeably subsided after ‘that day’ when she faced his mysterious golden eyes… she never knew when it might relapse.
When she finally came to her senses, they were standing at the entrance to a vast hall, not a corridor.
‘…Ah, I wasn’t haunted. We weren’t even on the way back to the bedroom.’
Thank goodness.
While she felt relieved, Lancelot approached the window and pulled back the heavy curtains.
*Clack.*
Only a single glass window was revealed, yet a silver river of moonlight spilled across the hall floor. It was so bright. Only after the hidden panorama of the hall was revealed did Anita realize where this was.
It was a ballroom.
In a state of shock—no, in a situation where she could not help but be certain—Anita looked blankly at Lancelot.
“…Don’t tell me, are we dancing here?”
He placed the lamp he was holding on the windowsill.
The soft golden waves of the flickering candlelight merged with the silver river of the moon, creating a galaxy that stained the ballroom.
Lancelot turned back to her slowly.
“Because you didn’t get to dance at your debutante.”
Ah.
“But….”
“There is no rule that says you cannot dance in the royal castle.”
As if he could see right through her concerns, Lancelot gently coaxed her.
“Do you want to refuse?”
To be honest, she was scared.
This was the royal castle, not the Duke Edenbahir Residence. Even if there was no explicit rule against secret midnight dances, there was no telling if someone might be spying.
What Anita feared was his name being dragged through people’s mocking tongues. She didn’t want to become a blemish on Lancelot. Even if he didn’t mind, she….
“You always have such pensive eyes at times like this. Do as you please. As for me, even if you refuse, I intend to stick to you like a leech and keep asking until my wife permits it.”
However, Anita could not possibly refuse Lancelot’s request.
She reached out and grasped the gentleman’s hand.
The couple’s attire was hardly suited for dancing in such a magnificent place. Her makeup and hair were half-disheveled from the exhaustion of the day, and his clothes were densely wrinkled from his own restless activities.
Even so, the two danced.
Anita felt as if every step she took with him was a dream floating on clouds. The warmth of his hand around her waist fit far too perfectly with the wild, rhythmic thrumming of her heart.
The etiquette of dance dictates that one never take their eyes off their partner. It was the first time she had the opportunity to observe Lancelot’s face in such detail for so long.
Dark, well-groomed eyebrows and eyes as delicate as if they were traced with ink. The contours of his face were solid and sharp, casting deep shadows, yet the lines harmonized into elegant curves.
His green eyes, drenched in moonlight, were so fine and beautiful that it was hard to believe they belonged to a man. Yet, the straight bridge of his nose and his firm lips neutralized that delicate impression, lending him a more masculine charm.
That was Lancelot’s face. A visage that was ecstatic the more she scrutinized it and breathtaking the more she explored it. It didn’t matter if this appreciation was a product of the rose-colored glasses born of her own love.
Even if Lancelot had no face at all, Anita would have ended up loving him.
‘If it weren’t for him, I would have….’
She would have grown up a coward, Anita Boellony, without the resolve to even dare to track down her father’s whereabouts.
“I think it’s a good thing I married you, Lancelot.”
“…….”
“Of course… my father’s disappearance is a truly terrible reality. But if it weren’t for you, it would have been hard to even meet Mr. George Pager, and I wouldn’t have been able to hold my debutante in such a splendid place.”
Lancelot’s silence was affirmation.
She was glad he didn’t answer. Even if it wasn’t a confession of love, it was embarrassing enough as it was.
At some point, their dance ended.
Even if she had danced the first dance in front of all those nobles, could she have felt this much overflowing happiness? She didn’t know.
“…Thank you.”
Leaving behind a small thanks, she walked toward the window as if fleeing. She took the lamp on Lancelot’s behalf. However, he remained standing in the center of the ballroom.
“Why are you standing there?”
He didn’t move even after she waited a while, so she carried the light and approached him.
She asked jokingly, “Don’t tell me we were having a staring contest without me knowing?”
Lancelot’s lips, which had been closed for a long time, slowly opened.
“I just find your face good to look at right now.”
“What is my face like right now?”
“A face that has fallen for me.”
In an instant, it felt as if all the blood in her body drained away.
*Thump-thump.* Her heart raced. With a beat that wasn’t pleasant at all.
[Don’t expect anything, Anita Boellony.]
[I don’t feel anything like love for you. That has been the case until now, and it will be the same in the future.]
I know.
I know, too. I know all too well. That you don’t love me….
“I am.”
Anita swallowed the dry lump in her throat.
And she smiled as if nothing was wrong.
“I am not Anita Boellony right now, but Anita Edenbahir. Since I am your wife, surely I can be allowed to wear a face that has fallen for my own husband.”