18.

 

Klaus glanced down at Azniel. Her face was half-hidden beneath the bonnet, making it hard to read, but the subtle tremble of her coral-tinted lips was unmistakable. The slender hand resting on his arm kept losing strength, and the nape of her neck—barely visible between strands of hair—looked paler than usual.

For some reason, it irritated him.

‘I’m fine. I’m just glad I can give something back to the Holy Kingdom—even like this.’

Ah. She was that kind of person—the young Saint.

If so, then this tight ache in his chest must be guilt. Guilt that he was no better than the church he resented. What he had intended to offer Azniel in the first place was freedom.

‘…I can’t let this go on.’

Klaus told himself he had to be someone who could recognize the needs of someone as tirelessly earnest as her—even the needs she never voiced—and repay them in kind. No, he had to be that person.

The moment he came to that conclusion, he scooped Azniel into his arms without hesitation.

“…B-Baron?”

“Klaus.”

“Lord Klaus…”

“Drop the ‘lord,’ too.”

Gasp—oh my goodness!

The onlookers gasped as Baron Gestern made his sudden move.

“P-please don’t…”

“Hold on properly.”

“Put me down. This is uncomfortable…”

“If you collapse right here, people will say I couldn’t even notice my fiancée’s condition. That’ll make me look like an idiot, won’t it?”

“T-that’s not…”

“Hold on properly. Wrap your arms around my neck—it’ll look more affectionate that way.”

He smiled up at her, full of charm for the crowd’s benefit, but his voice, low enough for only her to hear, was cold. There was no room to argue with that unyielding smile.

Blushing furiously, Azniel lowered her head and obediently looped her arms around his neck.

“Tighter.”

“……”

“And lean on my head.”

“……”

Only then did Klaus, now satisfied, start walking with light steps.

* * *

The following morning, in the Ashfeld estate office.

Tap, tap, tap.
Klaus’s long fingers tapped against a photo showing his and Azniel’s backs.

The front page of today’s newspaper. A large photo from their outing yesterday filled the headline spread.

In it, Klaus was seen lifting Azniel with one arm in front of the mana car bearing the Gestern crest. Below that were images of the two of them entering Atelier de Cindy, glimpses of their supposed displays of affection inside, and Ian trailing behind them carrying gift boxes.

[Who is the woman who stole the heart of the continent’s most desired gentleman?]

Every line of that headline—and the article that followed—had been carefully reviewed by Antagon’s executive office.

The news confirmed that Klaus Gestern had recently gotten engaged, but revealed nothing except that his fiancée was not a native of Laffen.

This was the daily paper read by every noble and merchant in the capital. The shop owners they had visited and the curious onlookers from yesterday would fill in the blanks, chattering and spreading the rumors far and wide.

That the two had seemed very affectionate. That even the infamous Baron Gestern turned into a bashful boy when in love. That judging by how freely he spent, it was obvious he was completely smitten.

“How is it?”

“Sorry?”

“The picture turned out quite nicely, don’t you think?”

He was pointing at the largest image on the page.

Klaus, holding Azniel in his arms in front of the mana car, and Azniel shyly lowering her head while her arms wrapped around his neck.

Anyone who knew the truth would find it awkward, but to a casual observer, it looked like a woman overwhelmed by attention, hiding her flustered face in the arms of her reliable fiancé.

“Well, I mean… Roland is a professional photojournalist.”

How could he be this pleased with a staged photo?
This was the same man who, even before taking the name Gestern, had media across all of Gileos dancing in his palm.

Ian—his longtime friend and aide of nearly ten years, going back to their academy days—tilted his head inwardly at this unfamiliar side of Klaus.

“In any case…”

Ian set a letter down on Klaus’s desk. The gold wax seal and embossed royal crest made it unmistakably clear who had sent it.

“The effects are showing already.”

“I should probably thank them for being so prompt.”

When Klaus extended his hand, Ian passed him a letter opener. He had broken royal seals more times than he could count. Without emotion, Klaus slit it open and scanned the contents.

“Just as expected.”

“An invitation to the palace?”

“…I suppose waiting two weeks was the limit.”

Klaus let out a faint smirk as he unfolded the letter and turned it for Ian to read.

Flowery language aside, the message boiled down to one thing.

“They want you today, even?”

“Thankfully, it’s for dinner, not breakfast or lunch.”

“Well, even His Majesty can’t interfere with the Antagon chairman’s work hours. Still… I’m a bit concerned.”

Klaus arched an eyebrow at him, asking silently, About what?

“Princess Helena. I’m sure she’s read the paper. I just worry she might try to harm the young lady…”

“She’s my fiancée. Even a princess won’t touch her lightly.”

“True… But still, Her Highness is… unpredictable.”

“Even if it’s not the princess, the vultures below her are bound to come crawling. Invitations will start rolling in.”

“Should I continue turning them all down?”

“Until the wedding, she’s staying out of society altogether. Decline everything addressed to Gestern.”

“…Even the ones addressed to you personally?”

Klaus didn’t answer. His silence was answer enough.

“Understood.”

With that short reply from his secretary, Klaus left the room to begin his workday.

* * *

“Miss Azniel, are you alright?”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for your concern.”

“I saw the paper this morning and thought you might cancel today’s lesson.”

“Oh, no. I made a promise to you, Madam—I couldn’t possibly.”

Azniel gave a small smile, but it was noticeably lacking in energy.

So kind—and so hopelessly earnest. Seeing that faint, weary smile, Countess Rumien’s brows drew together in concern. She wasn’t sure how this young woman would adapt to high society as Baron Gestern’s wife, but as a person, she was clearly sincere and decent.

‘She must be absolutely exhausted…’

Azniel hadn’t gotten out of bed until nearly noon that day. Even she had been surprised by how late she woke up. And it wasn’t just sleepiness—the weight in her limbs was like soaked cotton, heavy and sluggish.

Come to think of it, she had never walked for that long in a single day before. Let alone in unfamiliar dresses, and though the shoes weren’t high-heeled, they were still formal.

Her body felt as though gravity had doubled, every part aching from unfamiliar fatigue—but Azniel forced herself to rise. If she was to be useful at the Baron’s estate, she had to keep learning.

“But… the newspaper?” she asked hesitantly.

“Oh, you haven’t seen it? There’s a big article and photo on the front page of today’s morning paper. It’s about the two of you out in town yesterday.”

Ah…? Azniel’s lips parted slightly in surprise.

That had only been yesterday—and it was already everywhere?

‘He said he had a reporter arranged, but this fast…?’

It must have all been part of Klaus’s plan from the start. His influence hit her anew, with startling clarity.

“Even just looking at the picture—you could practically see honey dripping from his eyes. I had no idea Baron Gestern could be so affectionate with a lover. If I’d seen the two of you together before, I wouldn’t have been quite so shocked.”

Countess Rumien’s smile glimmered with gentle teasing. Tasked with introducing Baron Gestern’s fiancée into society, the Countess was clearly itching to uncover every little detail about them.

‘…Affectionate, huh.’

Maybe the frail young boy she used to meet under the Holy Kingdom’s patronage had been capable of that kind of warmth. But Klaus Gestern as he was now—the man who seemed like you could prick him and not draw a single drop of blood—that word felt distant.

And yet…

‘If you collapse right here, people will say I couldn’t even notice my fiancée’s condition. That’ll make me look like an idiot, won’t it?’

Those coldly spoken words, laced with a faint note of concern. That firm yet careful embrace, as though he was doing his best not to hold her too tightly, worried she might be uncomfortable. The warmth she’d felt from his neck where she had rested her arms…

Without realizing it, Azniel’s face turned red.

‘…I guess he did seem kind of affectionate yesterday.’