Chapter 112: The Uninvited Guest
“Sally, Rudy, you both look adorable today!”
Aracila, used to seeing her juniors in their usual mage uniforms, couldn’t help but tease them about their polished attire with a playful grin.
“Thanks for the compliment, Senior!” Sally said, blushing slightly.
“Haha, it’s nothing,” Rudy replied, his tone calm in contrast.
Sally’s delicate, ribbon-adorned pale yellow chiffon dress—a gift from Aracila—perfectly complemented her greenish hair and eyes.
“What? You look lovely! Don’t you think so?” Aracila asked, turning to the others.
“Your Ladyship is right. You look beautiful, Miss Sally,” Isaac chimed in.
“Very pretty!” Logan added enthusiastically.
Sally’s cheeks flushed a deeper red. Rudy, stealing a glance at her, muttered under his breath, “You can draw lines on a pumpkin, but it’s still a pumpkin…” only to wince as Sally stomped on his foot.
Aracila, settling into an empty seat beside Damian, looked at the group with curiosity.
“So, what were you all talking about? From a distance, it looked like Sally and Sir Harford were chatting nonstop.”
“Oh, we were talking about you, Senior,” Sally said, fanning her flushed cheeks to cool them.
Aracila tilted her head slightly. “About me?”
“Yeah, Sally and Sir Harford were singing your praises,” Rudy said, having watched their fervent conversation from the sidelines, unable to join in.
Logan’s face lit up at the mention, his cheeks reddening. When Aracila’s gaze casually met his, he squeezed his eyes shut and blurted out, “The way you fought during the beast-slaying mission was truly inspiring!”
“Was it?”
“Yes! I was completely smitten!”
Aracila’s commanding presence—leading the charge while seamlessly handling both offense and defense—had been awe-inspiring. Logan couldn’t help but notice how similar she was to Damian, his role model in combat, as if husband and wife mirrored each other.
When he said he was “smitten,” he didn’t mean romantic feelings but rather an admiration for her skill that had captivated him entirely. His sparkling eyes conveyed pure respect as he looked at Aracila, his sincerity so clear that no one could misinterpret it.
“Honestly, I felt the same,” Isaac added with a smile. “You were so impressive, it’s no wonder everyone was captivated.”
The knights who had witnessed Aracila throw herself into danger to save Damian had come to hold her in high esteem. Her courage embodied the chivalric ideals they valued most.
“Only now realizing how amazing I am? You’ve been missing out on half your life,” Aracila quipped with a playful smirk.
“Hahaha!”
“Ahahaha!”
Her cheeky response drew laughter from the group.
The only one not smiling was Damian, whose face had subtly stiffened. He understood the intent behind his subordinates’ admiration, but hearing other men openly say they were “smitten” with Aracila in his presence stirred a petty pang of jealousy.
Still, as the commander of the Red Hawk Knights, he knew he should act magnanimously…
“Yes, you were truly remarkable,” Isaac continued. “It’s an honor to recognize it now.”
“And it’s not just us,” Logan added. “Your popularity among the other knights is through the roof—”
“Isaac, Logan,” Damian interrupted, his voice low and heavy.
Isaac, sensing the shift, immediately straightened, while Logan looked at Damian with a bewildered expression.
“Yes, Commander?”
“Both of you, run ten laps around the garden.”
“…What?”
The sudden order, delivered at a party of all places, left both knights dumbfounded. Logan forced an awkward laugh, trying to lighten the mood.
“Haha, you’re joking, right?”
“Does it sound like a joke?” Damian asked, his tone icy.
Logan’s smile vanished.
“No, sir!”
“We’ll be back!”
With booming responses, Logan and Isaac bolted from the table. The three mages left behind blinked in confusion.
Aracila, equally puzzled, turned to Damian.
“Damian, what’s gotten into you?”
“I thought their words could come across as disrespectful to you, so I reined them in,” he replied.
“I didn’t take it that way. Why take it out on Sir Wind and Sir Harford?”
Damian faltered, his gaze tinged with a hint of hurt, as if—impossibly—he might pout at any moment.
“…Does it really not bother you that other men are saying they’re smitten with you?”
“Of course not. They weren’t saying it with romantic intentions,” Aracila said matter-of-factly.
She could easily distinguish between someone confessing rational admiration and someone expressing romantic feelings—she’d experienced both plenty of times. Logan and Isaac’s words carried no trace of ulterior motives.
Narrowing her eyes, she studied Damian closely.
“You didn’t actually misinterpret what they said, did you?”
“…No.”
“Then why did you do that?”
“I just didn’t want to leave any room for misunderstanding.”
Damian’s reply came with a slight pout, his sharp profile softened by a petulant edge, like a cat sulking at its owner. The sight was so endearing that the corners of Aracila’s mouth twitched upward.
Clearing her throat loudly, she spoke.
“What are you worried about? Even if they meant it rationally, you think I’d entertain it?”
“I know,” Damian said, his voice trailing off.
It’s just that I was jealous. The words nearly slipped out, teetering at the edge of his throat, but he swallowed them back. Jealousy wasn’t a permitted emotion in their contract marriage, and he couldn’t let it show.
His lips parted briefly before he managed to continue.
“I don’t want to make space for anyone else to come between us. Not even my own men.”
It was the most he could express. As he spoke, his large hand slipped under the table to gently clasp hers, making Aracila startle. A soft, unnameable warmth bloomed in her chest, tickling her palms and the soles of her feet.
A subtle tension hung between them, and Sally and Rudy, sensing it, sat quietly, giving them space.
Moments later, Logan and Isaac returned, panting heavily from their laps around the garden.
“C-Commander, we’re back,” Logan gasped.
“Finished!” Isaac added.
“Well done. Sit and rest,” Damian said with a nod.
Logan and Isaac collapsed into their chairs, sweat pouring down their faces like rain. Feeling a pang of sympathy, Sally pulled out a handkerchief.
“Here, wipe your sweat with this.”
“Thanks…” Isaac began, reaching out, but at that moment, Rudy extended his own handkerchief.
“Use mine too.”
Caught off guard, Isaac took Rudy’s, while Logan accepted Sally’s.
“Thank you. I’ll wash it and return it,” Isaac said.
“No need, just use it and give it back,” Sally replied.
“No, I’ll clean it properly first,” Logan insisted, bowing his head as he wiped the sweat from his brow.
Damian and Aracila prepared to move on, ready to visit another table.
“We’re heading out. Play nice and get along, Isaac, Logan,” Damian said.
“Yes, Commander!”
“We’re already getting along!”
Logan flashed a confident grin, giving a thumbs-up.
The party concluded peacefully.
As the last guests departed, Aracila stretched her arms high, a faint sense of emptiness settling in as the once-lively garden fell quiet. Still, the memory of mages and knights mingling warmed her heart, lifting the corners of her lips.
“Let’s head inside and rest,” Damian said, approaching from behind.
Aracila turned to him with a bright smile. “You worked hard today, Damian.”
“It was nothing.”
He offered his arm to escort her, and she placed her hand on it, now with a practiced ease. They chatted softly as they climbed the stairs, but their conversation was cut short.
“Madam! Master!”
The butler and head maid rushed toward them, their faces fraught with urgency. Aracila and Damian looked down at them, startled—this was the first time they’d seen the pair so flustered.
“What’s wrong?” Aracila asked.
“There’s… a guest,” the butler said.
“A guest? Who?”
The party was over—why would someone arrive now? The couple exchanged puzzled glances and descended the stairs.
The butler and head maid, visibly sweating and at a loss, fidgeted nervously.
“Who’s causing such a fuss? Who are they here to see?” Aracila pressed.
“It’s… a guest for the master,” the butler replied, his voice cautious.
Damian’s brow furrowed slightly. “I didn’t schedule any meetings today. Who’s come to see me?”
“Well…”
The butler hesitated, unable to speak easily. Growing impatient, Aracila placed a hand on the head maid’s shoulder.
“Come on, what’s going on? Who’s here for Damian? Just tell us.”
“It’s…”
For a fleeting moment, Aracila wondered if someone from the Vandemir Duchy had stormed in.
Then, the head maid, eyes squeezed shut, blurted out, “A woman claiming to be pregnant with the master’s child has arrived.”
The woman who entered, her hand resting on a still-flat stomach, had large eyes and an strikingly gentle demeanor. Her common brown hair hung neatly, and she wore a modest dress that exuded a quiet, refined air.
Aracila watched as the woman, Claire, glanced awkwardly around the opulent drawing room before stepping inside.
Damian stood leaning against the window, hands in his pockets. The sudden appearance of a woman claiming to carry his child made it impossible for him to sit still.
As Claire reached the sofa, she bowed politely to the couple.
“Hello, my name is Claire.”
“Hello, Claire. Have a seat there,” Aracila said, gesturing to the spot across from her.
Claire sat cautiously on the sofa’s edge.
“So, you’re saying you’re pregnant with Damian’s child?” Aracila asked bluntly, skipping any preamble.
Claire’s shoulders hunched as she nodded. “Yes, I’m carrying Sir Vandemir’s child…”
“Don’t lie. I’ve never seen you before today,” Damian growled, his golden eyes flashing with intensity.
He had scrutinized Claire from head to toe as she entered, but she was a complete stranger. How could someone he’d never even passed on the street claim to be pregnant with his child?
Given the trauma of his childhood, Damian had always shunned physical intimacy, maintaining a private life so pristine it could be called a model of restraint. The idea of an illegitimate child—a term tied to painful memories of his father—being linked to him pushed him to the edge of his composure.
“Who put you up to spreading such filthy lies?”
“I-I…”
“Speak! Who sent you?”
Damian’s voice rose with agitation, and Claire shrank back like a startled turtle, her large eyes trembling with fear.
But Damian, blind to her distress, advanced step by step, pressing her further. “Tell me now!”
“Damian, calm down…” Aracila interjected, stepping in to mediate.
Before she could say more, Claire, who had been fidgeting nervously, suddenly erupted in a dramatic, almost theatrical wail, tears streaming down her face. “It’s too much…! I know I was just a fling to you, but to pretend you don’t know me when I’m carrying your child!”
Her sobs were so heartfelt that even Damian was momentarily at a loss for words.
Stunned, he stared at the crying woman before quickly turning to Aracila, gauging her reaction.
Aracila, rubbing her forehead, let out a sigh. Amid Claire’s echoing sobs, Damian spoke up.
“My lady, I swear I’ve never done anything dishonorable. This woman is lying.”
“No, I’m not! I’m truly pregnant with Sir Vandemir’s child! You can check for yourself!” Claire retorted, wiping tears with the back of her hand, refusing to back down.
She explained that she had met him by chance at a tavern, and on the day they parted, he had revealed himself as Damian Vandemir. Drawn to his handsome looks and kind demeanor, Claire had developed feelings for him, only to realize their connection was nothing more than a fleeting dalliance.
She had intended to let go without regrets, but later discovered she was pregnant.
Tears welled in Claire’s eyes again as she lowered her head, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m sorry. You told me it was over, that we shouldn’t see each other again, but when I found out I was pregnant, I couldn’t bear it alone.”
Her sniffling, downcast demeanor would have seemed pitiful to anyone unaware of the truth.
Damian, now cast as a cad who toyed with a woman, got her pregnant, and abandoned her, felt his blood boil.
In the midst of this maddening situation, Aracila remained composed and called for the Vandemir estate’s physician to verify Claire’s pregnancy.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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