Yvonne dressed in haste. In truth, there wasn’t much to prepare. The moment she heard that Angela had returned to the Florence estate, she had stormed out of her room, demanding that a carriage be readied.
The wait for the carriage felt like an eternity. Her fingertips, trembling with anxiety, had been chewed raw — her nails already ruined.
She had been in the midst of preparing a large sum to offer the kidnappers, having declared her willingness to pay them. Today was the day they were supposed to make contact. But in the meantime, Kalian had returned, having found Angela.
If that was the case, he should have come directly to the Bilton estate. Why had he gone to the Florence estate instead? He should have at least shown her—who had agonized over the strands of Angela’s severed hair—that Angela was safe and unharmed.
Unaware that her thoughts were selfish, Yvonne rushed to the Florence estate. What awaited her there was Angela, unconscious and collapsed, lying still with no awareness of her surroundings.
“What happened to her?”
“She was injured while escaping from the kidnappers’ hideout. Her leg was torn and required surgery. She’s only asleep now, under the influence of medicine. She’ll regain consciousness soon.”
Kalian responded calmly as Yvonne looked down intently at the unconscious Angela. Yet his words brought her little comfort. Her heart continued to flutter with unease.
“Was the surgery successful…?”
“Yes. I stayed by her side the entire time.”
“And… when is she expected to wake?”
“She should awaken by tonight.”
Kalian remained composed in the face of Yvonne’s trembling questions. But then, his next words—
“When Angela wakes…”
—struck Yvonne like a sharpened blade.
“It would be best if you weren’t here.”
It was raw, unfiltered condemnation.
“…What did you say?”
Yvonne stared at him in disbelief, as if struggling to accept that these words had come from Kalian, who had always been unfailingly kind. As though trying to uncover proof that this man was not, in fact, Kalian.
“You, more than anyone, know how Angela ended up like this.”
But Kalian did not avert his gaze, using it instead to assert his sincerity as he continued.
“You lied. I made it clear I had no intention of marrying Beatrice, and that I wasn’t planning to break off the engagement with Angela.”
“…”
“Before I left the estate, I sent a proposal directly addressed to Angela. I believe it was you who intercepted it.”
Kalian pressed on, even as Yvonne stood in silence, her lips tightly sealed.
“Am I simply mistaken?”
“…”
“Lady Yvonne.”
“…”
“I grew up in the Bilton estate as well. So I understand why you harbor resentment toward her—why you might wish to hurt her. I understand all of it. But please don’t involve me in that. Don’t use your feelings for me to cause her harm.”
Kalian had expected Yvonne to lash out. To demand how he could say such things, especially knowing all that Angela had done.
But she didn’t. Pale-faced, she stood quietly before silently turning away.
“Angela is still a daughter of the Bilton family. When she wakes, send her back to the Bilton estate.”
And with that, it was over. Yvonne left empty-handed, like a soldier returning in defeat without even a single trophy.
In the end, whether Angela returned to the Bilton estate or not was not Kalian’s decision to make. Once she awakened, she would make her own judgment.
And Kalian was in no position to object. He had resolved never to oppose her again. As long as he didn’t lose her, he would accept anything.
—
“They say Lady Bilton has returned.”
At this news from the Marchioness of Chartier, Anette sprang from her seat on the terrace, where she had once again been tearing up another letter from her family.
“She’s back?”
“Yes. She’s currently at the Count of Florence’s estate.”
“Hah.”
Anette let out a dry laugh and slumped back into her seat. It had only been a few days since news had spread that Lady Bilton had gone missing, throwing both the Florence and Bilton households into turmoil. It had been nothing short of chaos.
Especially the knights of House Florence—so desperate to find Angela that it seemed they might storm the imperial palace itself. In that sense, it was fortunate they had found her at all.
“This damned Bilton girl can’t go a single day without causing a stir,” Anette muttered, pressing a hand to her forehead.
“Well then, have her summoned to the palace.”
At this command, the Marchioness of Chartier showed a flicker of hesitation. What now? Anette glanced at her expectantly. The Marchioness, carefully gauging the atmosphere, finally spoke with caution.
“They say… she may be slightly injured. It’s uncertain whether she can come immediately…”
Her voice was soft, secretive.
“Injured?”
And somehow, a small child from inside the room—who had overheard—came running out to ask the question.
Curly brown hair, deep brown eyes, a face full of freckles.
It was Mary, currently Anette’s greatest headache. In truth, Angela’s return had been of interest largely because of this child.
Not long ago, an urgent letter from Angela Bilton had arrived. Though it was a discourteous hour, Anette had opened it—and inside was a request.
A plea for her to send this little maid outside of Faillon.
—
Though it was presumptuous to say that someone who owed a debt should do a favor in return, the letter was overall filled with sincere earnestness. Words like “please,” “absolutely,” and “I beg you” were scattered throughout.
The request to send her outside of Phaelon meant the child was in some kind of danger. Believing it safer to keep her close, Anette had decided the safest place would be the Empress’s Palace. Yet the child… was an inconsolable crybaby beyond imagination.
She had cried endlessly, throat trembling and on the verge of tears, begging to be returned to Miss Angela’s side—insisting that she belonged there. Anette had nearly gone deaf from all the wailing.
“Do you not know that I am the Empress?”
Anette had asked. To which Mary tearfully replied:
“Her Majesty the Empress can do anything, right? That means you can send me back to Miss Angela too. Please send me to the Bilton estate.”
And she cried again. For one so young, her stubbornness was astounding. One might think she had been born to repay a debt to Angela from a past life.
“Our… our lady is hurt, isn’t she?”
There, just like that. At the mere mention of Angela, her eyes brimmed with tears once more.
Anette regretted not even managing a single word with Angela at the last tea party. Had she known she’d be saddled with such a burden, she would have at least said something to support Lady Matterson’s words.
“Don’t cry. Don’t cry. She’s only slightly—very slightly—hurt.”
The Marchioness of Chartier hurried to soothe her, but Mary was already sniffling, tears streaming as she pouted her lips. In the end, Anette waved her hand desperately, asking for the child to be taken out to the terrace. The Marchioness of Chartier led the sobbing Mary away, gently comforting her as she asked where exactly Angela was hurt.
Ah, Angela Bilton. Nothing ever went right when she was involved. It wasn’t even like Anette had asked for help in the first place. But then Angela offered it anyway and turned it into a debt? That was outrageous.
But soon Anette realized—what was truly outrageous was herself.
Angela had clearly asked her to send Mary outside the empire. But it was Anette who, moved by Angela’s request and the tearful Mary in front of her, had reached out to help. This, truly, was the definition of digging one’s own grave. After enduring Mary’s crying for so long, she had no right to complain.
“Angela, you wretched girl. Get better quickly and come take your noisy, stubborn maid away.”
Anette muttered a curse under her breath. At that moment, Mary, who had been led out to the terrace by the Marchioness, ran back in with her eyes wide and swollen red from tears.
“Did… did Miss Angela say she was coming to see me, Your Majesty?”
Ah, she was going mad.
Anette clutched her own head in place of the letter from her family.
—
The first thing Angela saw upon waking was Kalian Florence.
His face showed no signs of drowsiness as he greeted her. From that day on, he remained at her side as though the world would fall apart if he dared look away.
Under Kalian’s excessive protection, Angela led a life that was, depending on the day, either terribly comfortable or unbearably stifling.
She had injured her leg and couldn’t walk properly. Of course, that made sense. What didn’t make sense was Kalian insisting on carrying her everywhere.
Angela couldn’t even remember the last time her feet had touched the ground. Even when it was only from the bed to the sofa, he would still carry her. It made her wonder if Kalian had eaten something strange.
“What’s with you?”
She’d finally asked one day, unable to take it any longer.
“With what?”
Kalian didn’t seem to think anything was wrong. He just continued to carry her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The staff of the Florence estate had also gotten used to the sight. If Angela were to start walking again, they might be surprised she had legs at all.
Even now, as she lowered her legs from the bed to reach the breakfast laid out on the table before the sofa, Kalian was already there, lifting her up.
“You don’t have to do this anymore.”
Angela repeated the line for what felt like the hundredth time. But she already knew it would be useless today too.
“Only until you’re completely better.”
There it was.
“I am better. I can walk just fine.”
Angela’s rebuttal was also a familiar refrain. And she already knew what his response would be.
“Until you’re even better.” “Until I’m even better.”
Angela echoed him in unison, shooting him a sideways glare. But Kalian didn’t seem fazed and simply handed her a fork—his way of telling her to eat.
Angela stabbed the nearest salad leaf, imagining it was Kalian.
Then he spoke unexpectedly.
“Her Majesty the Empress has sent a letter. Please read it after breakfast.”
Angela’s eyes widened. She set the fork down.
“Now.”
At her curt demand, Kalian fetched the letter he had set aside next to the plates and placed it in her hand.
Angela quickly tore the envelope open. She had asked Anette for a favor, so her hands were almost trembling with urgency. Inside was a note, written in a script that had shed all traces of its Taran Kingdom origin.
Angela read swiftly.
> “I need to consult with you regarding your request. I heard your leg is injured? I hope you’ll come to the Empress’s Palace once you’re better. I wish you a speedy recovery. Truly.”
Those final two words—truly—seemed written slightly darker than the rest. But Angela pretended not to notice and folded the letter.
“What is it?”
“Her Majesty wants to see me.”
“For what reason?”
Angela answered Kalian’s question casually at first, but when he asked again, she hesitated for a moment.
She could have brushed it off. Angela wasn’t the type to confide her troubles in others. There had never been anyone truly interested in listening, anyway. But Kalian was different…
“I asked Her Majesty to keep something a little important… somewhere no one could ever find it.”
“So that’s where Mary went. You sent her to the Empress.”
Angela, just about to take another bite of her salad, choked and began coughing violently.
“Cough, cough—wha—cough, cough—how did you know?”
Still coughing, she managed to get the question out. Kalian handed her a glass of water and calmly replied.
“I lived at the Bilton estate for years. Don’t you think I’d have at least one person of my own there? I tried to get Mary out that day as well.”
Ah…
Only now did Angela begin to understand how Beatrice had managed to retrieve Mary from the prison so easily. The guard had been one of Kalian’s people.
Of course. No matter how dearly Beatrice was loved by Yvonne, a guard wouldn’t have simply handed over a prisoner without proper authorization. Angela had been wrong to assume otherwise.
“you said you’d break down the prison to get her out. Seems you was actually considering more rational means.”
Angela, having finally stopped coughing, muttered wryly.
“If brute force was the only way, then I would’ve used it.”
Kalian’s answer was solemn. There was no trace of jest in his voice—it was impossible to believe he didn’t mean it.
And that, more than anything, was the problem. Breaking someone else’s prison? And not just any prison, but the one in the Bilton estate. Even Kalian wouldn’t have been forgiven for that.
And yet… the fact that he had been willing to consider it—for her—made her heart swell with affection.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
