Is That a Confession?
A confession?
I couldn't grasp the true meaning of the words His Grace had just spoken.
If tears ever fell from Illia's eyes, he wouldn't let it slide?
Wasn't that the kind of line a man who meant to spend his life at her side would say—not her bodyguard knight?
Surely he was joking.
It had to be a joke.
There was no way the great Grand Duke Friedrich would marry his precious daughter off to the heir of a mere barony rather than the imperial family or another grand ducal house.
…Still, the feeling it left me with was strangely off.
The thought of some random guy standing at Illia's side, playing the part of her husband, twisted something in my gut.
Why am I reacting like this?
Whether he knew about my turmoil or not, the Grand Duke clapped a hand on my shoulder and laughed it off.
"In any case, you're a proper knight now. I look forward to seeing what you do. Hahaha!"
"…Yes, Your Grace."
"Right! Everyone, dismissed!"
At the Grand Duke's order, the ranks of soldiers filed out of the training grounds in perfect order.
"I still have work left, so I'll be heading off first. See you later, Illia."
"Yes, Father."
He gave my shoulder a cheerful thump, then strode out of the training grounds with his great cloak billowing behind him.
Somehow it felt as if a massive storm had just swept through and gone.
I was still staring blankly after him when—
"Roen."
Illia quietly took my hand again and held on tight.
Did she have a magnet in that hand of hers or something?
Somehow this small hand never seemed willing to let me go.
"Roen?"
"Ah—yes. That… um."
Out of habit I almost called her "Miss Illia" the way I always had.
But our positions were different now. That wouldn't do.
At least in front of others, I had to draw a clear line.
"Hm? What's wrong?"
"No, it's just… I don't think I can casually call you Miss Illia anymore. We're not on equal footing the way we used to be, are we?"
"Then what will you call me?"
"Well… shall I address you as 'my lady,' the way the Head Maid does?"
"…!"
Illia's eyes widened a fraction.
"…Try saying it once."
"Yes. My lady."
"……."
The corner of her mouth twitched faintly.
Did she actually like hearing me call her that?
"Good. I like it. Call me that from now on."
Unable to fully hide the smile that kept trying to slip free, Illia stroked the back of my hand with her thumb.
Somehow her expressions seemed more open and honest than they used to be.
On the surface she still didn't show much, but still.
"Hehehe."
From a step behind us, the Head Maid, who had been watching the whole time, let out a meaningful little laugh.
"What are you laughing about this time, Head Maid?"
"Oh, nothing. I was merely wondering how long a certain rumor can keep calling itself a rumor."
"Pardon?"
"Never mind~. Just thinking to myself. Well then, the investiture is over—shall we go have a meal, my lady? And our newly appointed 'Sir Knight' as well."
The Head Maid gracefully extended a hand toward the dining hall.
Sir Knight.
Not Young Master—Sir Knight.
Somehow the change in the way the Head Maid addressed me drove home the fact that I was a fully recognized Regular Knight more sharply than the weight of the sword that had rested on my shoulder earlier.
A quiet swell of emotion rose in my chest. Smiling faintly, I let Illia lead me by the hand toward the dining hall.
After the meal came personal training time, as always.
That routine hadn't changed since I was a child.
Of course, yesterday had been too hectic in every way and I'd skipped training entirely.
So to make up for yesterday as well, I headed straight back to the training grounds the moment we finished eating.
The wide training grounds held only me—
"What are you doing here?"
—or rather, Illia had already arrived and was waiting for me.
"What? Am I not allowed to be here?"
"Normally the second this hour rolls around you lock yourself in the study, don't you? So why are you here?"
"…There's no need for the study anymore."
"What? All of a sudden?"
"There's something you don't know. Stop with the useless talk and let's start training."
Illia took a wooden practice sword from the weapon rack at the side of the grounds.
"Training? Don't you mean sparring?"
"Isn't real combat better than swinging at empty air? Besides, I want to see just how much my bodyguard knight's skill has improved. So hurry up and grab a sword."
"Give me a second."
I undid the top buttons that had been fastened all the way to my throat and tossed the uniform jacket onto the ground.
"…Hm?"
Judging that still wouldn't be enough to deal with the heat, I went ahead and stripped off the shirt underneath as well, tossed it down, and took a wooden sword from the rack.
"All right. Now then—"
I turned and leveled the tip of the practice sword at Illia.
Except.
"What? Why are you doing that?"
Illia had both hands covering her eyes.
Well, not completely covering them.
I could still see her pupils peeking through the gaps between her fingers.
Even so, she was doing something she never did, and she wouldn't even answer when I called, so I started toward her out of concern.
"D-Don't come any closer!"
In that instant she shouted in a voice so agitated and trembling I could hardly believe it belonged to Illia.
What?
Did I do something wrong?
I tilted my head and stopped where I was.
"What's wrong?"
"Y-Your… shirt…"
"Huh?"
"Why did you suddenly take your shirt off…?!"
"Oh, come on. You're making a fuss over that?"
I didn't get it.
Wasn't stripping down to the waist before training completely ordinary?
Yet here Illia was, face flushed and flustered over nothing more than that.
"You saw me like this all the time when we were kids."
"…It's not the same as back then! Why take your clothes off in the first place?!"
"Because if I work up a sweat sparring, it's gross if I'm still wearing them. More importantly—"
"More importantly what…!"
It felt unfamiliar.
Illia, cheeks pink, grumbling at me like this.
I hadn't known her for all that many years, but of one thing I was certain.
This prim, flustered version of Illia was a rare sight I was seeing for the first time in my life—and one I probably wouldn't see again anytime soon.
And when she reacted like this, it made me want to tease her a little.
It was a bad habit, and I knew I was being mean.
But if not now, when else would I get the chance?
Call it a light bit of payback for yesterday.
I rested the wooden sword on my shoulder, smiled, and started walking toward her again.
Illia had never once faced a true crisis in her life.
Sad things had happened from time to time.
But those had been tragedies, not crises.
And right now—
Illia was facing the greatest crisis of her life.
Roen, bare from the waist up, walking toward her.
He was the problem.
Illia felt as if the last thread of her reason might snap at any moment.
All because of the muscles that had settled so unmistakably onto Roen's body since they were children.
Northerners worshipped muscle.
They were captivated by that strength, no doubt.
Illia had never understood it.
She had always thought, Muscle? Is that really such a big deal?
But now she understood.
Muscle forged just enough that it never ruined the body's natural beauty—
and yet still solid enough that no one could call it lacking.
If I were held in those arms… how wonderful would that feel?
I want to run my hands over every one of those muscles, one by one.
That the body of the man she loved could hold such terrifying destructive power—even enough to make Illia herself think thoughts like these.
There was a reason she had covered her eyes.
As a noble young lady she still had enough shame left that she couldn't simply act on every thought that rose in her head.
And yet she couldn't bring herself to cover her eyes completely; she kept watching Roen through the gaps between her fingers because she didn't want to miss even a single second of him.
Sparring was already the last thing on her mind.
He was grinning as he came closer.
"I t-told you not to come any closer…!"
If he kept coming she wouldn't be able to hold back her instincts.
But Roen made no attempt to hide the broad smile on his face.
And he walked straight up to her without the slightest hesitation.
Illia retreated step by step.
Roen herded her back.
Before long Illia had nowhere left to run.
There was a wall behind her—
and then—
Thud!
Roen planted a hand against the wall and boxed her in completely.
And then came his next words.
"More importantly… you've got a surprisingly cute side to you, don't you?"
"……!!!"
Illia's pale face flushed as red as a perfectly ripe tomato.
Even she had never known her face could turn that scarlet.
Or that hearing the man she loved call her cute could be so mortifying—and so joyful—all at once.
Her thoughts spun into utter chaos.
What Roen just said… isn't that basically a confession?
Even if it isn't a full confession, he at least has feelings for me. That much is certain!
How could this man deliver such an embarrassing line as if it were nothing?
And yet—
And yet she loved it so much.
Illia suddenly wanted to throw her arms around him.
The words she hadn't been able to say yesterday in the study.
If she could finally speak the love she had carefully folded and tucked away in a corner of her heart—
how wonderful would that be?
Clatter!
"Hm?"
The wooden sword slipped from Illia's nerveless fingers and hit the floor.
Yes.
There was no reason to hesitate.
If she was going to do it, it had to be right now.
She would finally quench nine years of thirst this very moment!
With that resolve, Illia began to lift both hands to pull Roen into her arms—
when
Dong—! Dong—!
Two peals of the bell, carried on a cool breeze, cut through the heat between them and dragged her back to reality.