8.
How much time had passed?
After tucking the blanket around the sleeping Lancelot, Anita slipped out of the bedroom.
“Haa.”
Her palms and forehead were slick with cold sweat, the lingering tension finally breaking. She turned, her footsteps heavy with exhaustion.
Lancelot’s illness seemed to worsen with every passing day. Despite the steadily increasing dosage of painkillers, they offered no real relief.
Claunia had mentioned that doctors from across the continent had examined him, yet none could offer a diagnosis. Anita refused to accept it. How could an illness exist in this world that defied a doctor’s understanding?
And what of Lancelot? Was he doomed to suffer like this for the rest of his life, perpetually on the verge of death? It was too pitiful.
*I wish I could take even a tiny bit of his pain for myself. Just a little. I could handle it.*
But what of those eyes?
The flicking, golden glow that felt entirely inhuman. A chill traced her spine at the memory. If it hadn’t been Lancelot, she would have fled in terror.
*Still…*
She was simply glad he was asleep. It was a relief, truly.
***
Lancelot seemed to have completely forgotten the events of the previous night.
Regaining an unrecognizable vitality, he moved about the house as if nothing were amiss.
“What are you staring at? Mind your own business.”
It was the first time his invariably unkind tone had felt so welcome.
Anita kept the injury she’d sustained that day a secret from both Claunia and Lancelot. She decided it was best to bury such painful memories.
Instead, she sought out the Duke of Edenbahir to discuss that evening.
He didn’t dismiss her story. He listened with a gaze more earnest and solemn than she had ever seen.
“Were you by Lancelot’s side when it happened?”
“Yes.”
As she spoke, the Duke’s eyes filled with a complex, shadowed weight. His lips—so strikingly similar to Lancelot’s—parted and closed, as if he were debating whether to speak.
Finally, he remained silent, simply stroking Anita’s hair.
“Thank you, Anita.”
The unexpected compliment caught her off guard; she bowed her head in embarrassment.
“Do not let anyone know about today’s events. Especially not the Grand Duchess. You must never tell her.”
“She doesn’t even want to speak to me, Your Grace. Even if I wanted to tell her, I couldn’t.”
After a moment of silence, the Duke of Edenbahir knelt before her. Meeting her gaze from a height far lower than his own, he asked:
“Anita. Do you know this?”
His eyes were infinitely warmer than his son’s.
“When winter arrives, the servants of the ducal house grow quite lively. They are all so happy, debating which cakes to bake for you and what bedding to prepare.”
“Cakes?”
“Sweet cakes are prepared every day, aren’t they? But no one in Edenbahir has a taste for sweets. It is a sight seen only in winter. They are made solely for you.”
“I….”
*I didn’t know.*
Whether he heard her soft whisper or not, a gentle smile spread across his face.
“More people care for you than you realize.”
*So, do not waste your kindness on rude people.*
It was the first time she had received such comfort from an adult. It wasn’t a grand tale, but the Duke’s words acted like a marvelous magic on Anita. The Grand Duchess’s hateful glare no longer stung, and the barbed words used to mock her lost their bite.
*Do not waste my kindness on rude people. Well, excluding Lancelot. Lancelot is just… a little more sensitive than others, that’s all.*
*His Excellency is right.*
There wasn’t enough time to repay those who truly loved her. She couldn’t spend it moping in isolation.
*I could be having more fun with Claunia, and… now that I know Lancelot is in more pain than I imagined.*
Now that she understood he found even the rustle of sound or a scent to be an agony.
She should try harder.
“Hello, Lancelot. Good morning.”
Greeting him more diligently.
“Lancelot, what book are you reading?”
Talking to him more diligently.
“Lancelot! Look at the wild berries Claunia found. They’re so red!”
“You’re noisy. Shut your mouth and get out.”
“I’ll leave as soon as I show you this.”
Even when scolded, she tried harder.
“Nice to see you, Lancelot. Please take care of me this winter, too.”
More, even more diligently.
“Hello, Lancelot. Good morning. Did you see the snow that fell all night?”
Diligently.
“I saw it.”
Was it because he recognized her efforts?
*Did I hear that wrong?*
The icy, frigid behavior, as cold as the dead of winter, began to thaw, bit by bit.
“Hello, Lancelot. It’s been a while! How have you been? You’ve grown so tall.”
Now, a familiar reunion every late winter.
As he shot up in height with each passing month, Lancelot’s stiff voice brushed against her ears, fluttering like the first signs of spring.
“You haven’t grown at all.”
That day, she was so happy her heart sank to her feet.
*He answered my greeting!*
“Claunia, Lancelot answered me! He responded to a trivial greeting!”
She hugged her friend tightly, eyes squeezed shut in delight, while Claunia laughed and patted her back.
“It’s hilarious. Looks like he’s finally becoming a human.”
Conversations between them increased.
The habitual furrowing of his brows when he spoke became less frequent. He tried to answer even the simplest questions, however briefly, and ceased his tantrums.
Claunia’s assessment of his transformation was concise:
“It’s because you’re kind.”
Her friend whispered with a playful smile, “You’re so kind that even a devil like Lancelot no longer has the energy to be cruel.”
It must have been right around that time that the feeling of meeting his eyes and hearing his voice became something distinct from her time with Claunia.
How many seasons flowed by like that?
“Anitaaa! What do I do! I’m going to study abroad in De Roland!”
Claunia was being sent to the kingdom across the sea.
“My grandmother says it’s useless if I’m so ignorant I can’t even communicate, no matter how pretty I am!”
“If your maternal grandmother says that, it means you’re not even at a human level.”
“Shut up, Lancelot! …But where is De Roland? Is it a country name? Or a school name?”
It was a farewell for a full three years.
Clinging to Anita while sobbing and dripping with tears, Claunia left with eyes swollen shut. That year, Anita thought she would no longer be able to visit Edenbahir. With Claunia gone, what reason was there to return?
But Lancelot said,
“See you next year.”
For the first time, he stroked her hair, promising a reunion when the winter returned.
A tear pricked her eye. She was grateful he wanted to see her again. She loved, loved, loved the way he held her hand—ever so slightly—with his usual blunt expression.
Ah, right.
*I like him.*
Anita liked Lancelot so much. It wasn’t just the flush that bloomed on her cheeks whenever she saw him; it was the thumping of her heart that fluctuated at all hours.
Every sensation and emotion born from Lancelot’s existence was infinitely precious.
The next three years flew by like an arrow. Everything was peaceful. Even though she knew Lancelot had no reciprocal feelings—even though that reality made her feel a little miserable—she thought it was a perfectly glorious life.
At least, until her father went missing and her family fell into ruin.