Preparations
“That’s all I had to say.”
Ilia swallowed her lingering regret and slowly pulled herself free of Roen’s arms.
If she had her way, she would have stayed nestled against him the entire day. But his face had gone so scarlet it looked ready to burst, so she forced herself to stop.
The way Roen had finally begun to grow conscious of her was almost unbearably adorable. And knowing he was now tasting the same feelings she had suffered all this time gave her a small, wicked sense of satisfaction.
Ilia smiled faintly.
At that smile, Roen’s pupils trembled once more.
Savoring the victory, she turned on her heel and returned straight to her own room.
Click.
She leaned her back against the closed door and caught her breath.
Did Roen understand what I just said?
Ilia knew full well what it meant to take someone as a partner at the Social Gathering. She had said it precisely because she knew.
She wanted Roen to become her companion—her mate.
So this had been an indirect confession. An appetizer for the real one she planned to deliver at the Social Gathering itself.
What should she throw at him next?
Do you love me?
A question that simple and fundamental would put him in the most deliciously awkward position. Knowing Roen, he would give her a wonderfully flustered reaction.
Her brow furrowed slightly as the thought trailed off.
More importantly—Roen had slept in the same room as those two sisters.
Genuine worry settled over her. In every chivalric romance and love story she had read as a child, a man and woman sharing a bed inevitably produced a baby.
But… we’ve slept together since we were little and nothing’s ever happened. Maybe it’s fine when it’s siblings?
If that were true, she could set the concern aside. One less thing to gnaw at her heart.
Bang!
“Oh my?”
Erica’s voice sliced clean through Ilia’s thoughts.
Erica and Rize—whom Roen had just driven out into the corridor—came barging right back into his room. Their noisy voices carried perfectly through the thin door.
“N-Noona? Rize? W-Wait a second!”
“Hmm. Roen, why is your face so red? …Just what exactly were the two of you talking about alone?”
“I-It’s just… personal stuff.”
Personal, yes. An intimate conversation no one else could ever insert themselves into—belonging only to the two of them.
“Huuung… sniff sniff.”
“W-Why are you suddenly smelling me?!”
“Ha. I was wondering where that rose scent was coming from. You hugged her, didn’t you?”
“…….”
Roen couldn’t say a word. He simply could not bring himself to admit out loud that he had embraced Ilia—or that he had agreed to be her partner at the Social Gathering. He had no confidence he could weather the storm that would follow if he confessed.
“Oppa, are you okay? Your face looks like a tomato!”
“…I’m fine. I’ll help you unpack. Give me the bags, Noona.”
“…All right. I’d appreciate the help.”
Ilia felt as though Erica’s words were aimed straight through the door at her. And she was right.
Erica was glaring murderously at the door that connected Roen’s room to Ilia’s. But she soon reined it in.
Hugging? She could do that whenever she wanted. Once that thought restored her composure, Erica even found Ilia’s little show of pride rather cute. After all, she was the one who got to sleep beside Roen. She could afford to be generous about something so minor.
Of course, she still had no idea that Ilia had claimed Roen as her partner.
A few days later, in a reception room of the Grand Duke’s Castle.
“Sir Knight, if I may be so bold—would you mind removing your upper garments?”
“Of course.”
I stripped off my uniform jacket and shirt without complaint and draped them over the back of a chair. The tailor immediately stepped forward with a measuring tape and began taking my measurements.
Why was I standing here half-naked? Because even though I would only be accompanying them as a bodyguard knight, the Social Gathering was still a formal event. The head maid had issued an ironclad order: no ordinary uniform—I needed proper formal attire.
What choice did I have? Even Ilia would be wearing a dress.
“Hmm… Sir Knight, your size is rather larger than most gentlemen. Ready-made simply won’t do.”
“So it’ll have to be custom-made?”
“Yes. The cost will double, of course. Ah—but please don’t worry about the production time. On my honor, I will have it ready well before the Social Gathering.”
She was telling the wrong person. I wasn’t the one who made the decisions here.
I glanced at Ilia, who sat with her legs crossed on the sofa. Our eyes met, and she gave a small nod.
“Very well. We’ll go with custom.”
“Thank you for placing your trust in me, Your Highness the Grand Duchess.”
The tailor placed a hand over her heart and bowed deeply.
“Then I shall finish taking the remaining measurements.”
“Ah—yes.”
She moved the tape busily along my shoulders, chest, and waist. In the process, her hands inevitably brushed against my body here and there.
“…….”
Ilia clearly did not approve. The blank face watching us was far more murderous than usual. I almost expected the tea in her cup to freeze solid from the chill.
At last she set the teacup down on the table and spoke.
“Tailor.”
“Yes, Your Highness?”
Yet the tailor’s voice remained perfectly calm. As expected of the finest tailor in the South—a true professional. Not a hint of desire colored her tone. Ilia seemed to sense it as well; the steel in her gaze softened just a fraction.
“…What design do you have in mind for the formal attire?”
“Hmm… Sir Knight’s physique is truly exceptional. I believe a tight cut that follows every line of his body would show him to the greatest advantage. But I would also like to hear both of your opinions. Sir Knight, what sort of design do you prefer?”
“M-Me? Uh… anything is fine.”
Fashion and I lived on opposite ends of the continent. Asked suddenly about formalwear design, the only answer I could give was “anything.”
“‘Anything.’ Hmm. From a tailor’s perspective, that is an extremely difficult answer.”
“Ah… I’m sorry.”
“Not at all. I was only joking. Most clients don’t know exactly what they want either. ‘Anything’ is by far the most common reply I receive.”
“I-Is that so.”
“Then, Your Highness, what design would you prefer?”
Ilia folded her arms and looked me up and down. She nodded.
“I would prefer that Roen’s body not be so… prominently displayed. I have no desire for my bodyguard knight to catch anyone else’s eye.”
“Understood. Then something understated would be best.”
“Yes. Please.”
Ilia lifted her teacup again, took a leisurely sip of black tea, and regarded me with perfect composure. She had just demanded that my body be covered up—yet she herself was examining my bare torso in meticulous detail. Feeling the weight of that gaze, my ears began to burn, and I had no choice but to look away.
After what felt like an eternity, the tailor finally put the measuring tape away.
“Are you finished?”
“Pardon? Ah—yes, I’ve finished the upper body.”
“The upper body…?”
“I still need the lower half, of course.”
“…Do I have to take my trousers off as well?”
I clutched my belt in pure alarm. For the first time the tailor looked flustered.
“What?! Ah—no, no. You may keep the trousers on… haha.”
“Whew…”
Thank the heavens. Measurements or not, there was no way I was dropping my pants in front of Ilia.
“Tch.”
I could have sworn someone just clicked their tongue. When I turned, Ilia was sipping her tea and staring out the window at the distant mountains.
“My lady?”
“What is it, Roen?”
“Look at me when you speak.”
“…….”
Just admit you wanted to see me without the trousers. Being that blatant would at least be less embarrassing for both of us.
“Er… may I continue measuring?”
“Ah—yes! Please go ahead.”
“Then.”
The tailor, barely suppressing a smile, ran the tape along my hips and thighs. Then she casually dropped a remark.
“You two must hear it often—that you get along so well.”
“Pardon?”
“We hear it all the time.”
“My lady?!”
“What? It’s true.”
True or not, casually confirming it in front of a stranger was an entirely different matter. At this rate she might as well announce to the whole empire that she liked me.
“Hmm. In that case, Your Highness?”
“Yes?”
“Have you already prepared a dress of your own for the occasion?”
“I have one, yes.”
“Ah… what a pity.”
“Hmm? What’s so pitiful about it?”
“I was thinking of crafting a matching dress designed to complement Sir Knight’s formal attire. The two of you would have looked absolutely splendid together.”
“Excellent. Begin work on that dress as well, immediately. I’ll add whatever extra fee is required to the original sum.”
Ilia’s eyes lit up as she seized the tailor’s suggestion without a second’s hesitation.
But the atmosphere here felt…
“An outstanding eye, as expected of Your Highness the Grand Duchess. Thank you.”
The tailor wore a perfectly polished business smile.
Ah. Of course. Even in the middle of all this she had figured out how to extract more money. Professionals truly were professionals.