Chapter 12: First Meeting (1)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 12: First Meeting (1)
I climbed the stairs to the third floor and walked slowly toward the room at the end of the west wing.
The hallway was silent. My footsteps echoed heavily along the pitch-black corridor, where not a single light was lit.
Perhaps it was because the air felt colder here than on the second floor, or perhaps it was the fear of how the Grand Duke would react to an uninvited guest, but a shiver ran down my spine.
What is this uncomfortable sense of déjà vu?
Suddenly, a memory from my early days in the workforce flickered through my mind.
There was a time when a model had hidden in the dressing room, refusing to come out, claiming she couldn't film anymore. I remembered pretending to be a stylist just to get through the door because she wouldn't open it for anyone else.
I practically got down on my knees and begged...
— "Please! Just one more shot of you eating the pizza! I’m begging you!"
— "My, you certainly work hard. Since you’re going that far, how can I say no? Let’s do it. Hey, bring me the clothes."
The model had returned to the set as if she were doing me a great favor.
And did it end well? Of course not.
The next day, her agency filed a formal complaint with my company. The reason was something like "unreasonable filming demands that disregarded the model's privacy." Thanks to that, I had to write a disciplinary report and suffered a three-month pay cut.
Should I turn back now?
While I was worrying about whether I’d be signing divorce papers instead of a disciplinary report this time, I arrived at the door.
I felt like I should knock, but I didn't have a free hand. I tried to nudge the door with my shoulder while holding the tea tray, but the door wasn't fully latched, and it swung inward under my weight.
I stumbled into the room before I could stop myself.
"Grand Duke?"
The drawing room was empty. Only a faint lamp, powered by a magic stone, sat glowing on the table.
Was no one here?
Just as I was about to leave, feeling a lingering sense of regret, I heard the faint sound of splashing water coming from the bathroom, not the bedroom.
Is he... in the middle of a bath?
Holding the tea tray carefully, I crept toward the bathroom. I intended to just confirm someone was there and then leave. But as I pressed my ear to the door, the soft sound of water abruptly stopped.
Wait. What happens if the Grand Duke comes out right now?
In that instant, it was as if a needle had pricked me; my reason suddenly grabbed me by the scruff of the neck.
The daughter of his enemy, sneaking into his room late at night with a suspicious tea tray. I wouldn't be able to say a word even if I were immediately accused of attempted poisoning.
Even if he were incredibly generous, I’d still look like a pervert who came to peep at him while he was washing.
I have to get out of here right now!
My instincts were screaming at me to flee. However, my feet wouldn't move as I willed them to.
Swish. I heard the sound of a robe being pulled on inside.
The teapot and teacups were rattling pathetically on the tray. In this situation, it was impossible to retreat without making a sound.
My mind went blank.
Whoosh.
The bathroom door swung open, and I froze in place, still clutching the tea tray.
Through the white steam billowing out like clouds, a man of extraordinary stature stepped out. He wore a thin bathrobe over his damp body.
The loose opening of the robe revealed broad, solid shoulders and a firm chest. Above his deep-set collarbones, a smooth, elegant neckline extended upward.
Gulp. My throat hitched visibly.
As I slowly tilted my head back to finally meet his face, a silent gasp escaped me.
Is this what they mean by a masterpiece of the gods?
With sharp eyes, a high bridge of the nose, and thin, red lips—his face was far too captivating to be dismissed as merely "handsome."
Water dripped from his black bangs, which brushed against his forehead. The droplets formed small streams that traced the contours of his defined chest.
This... this is insane...
This was the face of a mere supporting character?
In my past life, I had seen more than enough handsome men to be sick of them. But this was the first time I had ever been so utterly dazed by a man's countenance.
At the same time, the Grand Duke, spotting me through the hazy mist, faltered.
His brow furrowed as if he thought he was seeing things.
We stared at each other in a daze for God knows how long. Then, his eyes widened, and he hurriedly pulled his robe shut.
"H-how are you here...!"
Right. I had trespassed into this room.
Only then did I snap back to my senses and blurt out an excuse.
"I-I'm sorry! I didn't know you were undressed... No, I just wanted to see you once...!"
As I scrambled backward in a panic, one of my stumbling feet slipped on a patch of water.
"Aah!"
In an instant, my center of gravity shifted backward, and the tea tray soared into the air.
I'm doomed.
Watching the tray fly through the air, I was certain of one thing: a concussion was inevitable. My day flashed before my eyes like a revolving lantern.
If I’d known it would end like this, I would have eaten another bowl of tomato stew.
Just as I resigned myself to fate, I saw the Grand Duke reach out toward me. A large hand snatched me by the waist while the other cradled my head.
A dull thud echoed through the drawing room, followed by the sequential crashing of the teapot and teacups shattering.
"Ouch!"
What just happened?
I was enveloped in a damp, warm embrace. I couldn't move, pinned down by a soft pressure. Contrary to my expectation of meeting my end, my head didn't hurt much at all.
He's heavy.
A drop of water fell onto my face.
When I slowly opened my eyes, I saw black bangs hanging down in front of me. Through them, obsidian eyes that seemed to hold the moonlight were staring down at me.
Absurdly, beneath his long eyelashes, his dark pupils were trembling unsteadily, as if he were terrified.
How should I put it... he has the eyes of a wounded wolf.
Through our touching bodies, a warm energy seeped into me. Was it just my imagination? The heat, which I initially thought was just body temperature, began to stir gently deep inside me.
It felt cozy.
I was drifting into a daze when another drop of water fell on my face, snapping me back to reality.
I was lying there, completely gathered in the Grand Duke's arms. Or more accurately, I was pinned beneath him.
Thanks to him shielding me with his hand, it seemed my head hadn't cracked open.
"...A-are you alright?"
The Grand Duke's voice was trembling slightly.
The low vibration of his voice echoing in my ear made me feel as if I were trapped in a cave.
"I'm fine. Are you alright, Grand Duke?"
The Grand Duke, who had been staring at me with a raw, disbelieving gaze, suddenly clamped his mouth shut.
Is he angry?
He bolted upright, quickly pulling away from me.
I mean, it was my fault, but still. Isn't it common courtesy to offer a hand when a lady is sprawled on the floor?
I wanted to shoot him a glare, but since my "crime" was so great, I quietly picked myself up.
"Ow!"
As I braced my hand against the floor, I let out a small cry of sharp pain. When I looked down, I saw beads of blood forming where I had cut my palm.
"Aaah!"
But when I looked back at the Grand Duke, I let out an even louder scream. In the moonlight, his right arm was stained crimson. What was dripping from beneath his torn, thin robe wasn't water.
"G-Grand Duke! You're bleeding!"
When I stepped toward him in shock, he recoiled, startled.
"D-do not move. It is dangerous."
He used safety as an excuse, but it was obvious to anyone that he was uncomfortable with me approaching him.
"Your Grace?"
Just then, Whitley rushed through the open door. His eyes went wide when he saw the state the Grand Duke and I were in.
"...Escort the Lady to her room. She has a laceration on her hand, so call the personal physician immediately."
The Grand Duke covered his forehead with his uninjured hand. His fingertips were shaking violently.
"Let us go, Your Highness."
"Wait! The Grand Duke is hurt much worse, hurry and—"
"Whitley."
The Grand Duke cut me off sharply.
"Your Highness, I will attend to His Grace myself. Please, go downstairs for now."
It was a complete mess.
The cold room flooded with moonlight, the floor littered with shattered porcelain, the Grand Duke standing there bleeding in his robe without even having dried himself, and me—the cause of it all.
How can I just leave like this!
I hovered there, unable to follow Whitley immediately, when my eyes met his—shadowed beneath the hand covering his brow.
His sharp eyes were distorted with guilt and fear, as if he were the one who had harmed me.
Why was he making a face like that?
After looking at me with trembling eyes, he eventually turned away. Struck by his reaction, I couldn't bring myself to say anything more and quietly followed Whitley out.
I couldn't utter a single word while the physician bandaged my hand and the maid prepared my bed.
Whitley, who had maintained his composure as if nothing had happened, asked me several times if I was alright once the maids had left, and then he disappeared.
He probably went to check on the Grand Duke.
The intoxication had long since vanished.
I had no idea what had possessed me to barge into his room like that.
I remembered the way the Grand Duke had hurriedly pulled away from me. And those pupils, shaking with such instability.
I wasn't hurt by his rejection. Because I thought I understood why he had reacted that way.