An Apology Too Late
The letter had arrived in a desperate rush.
The territory had been attacked by a swarm of gargoyles.
The damage was severe, and the Count had fallen into critical condition. Family retainers would be sent shortly—she was to wait and be ready.
Even a glance at the handwriting reeked of panic.
The moment Felice finished reading, the world spun. It was not some stranger. It was her own father who lay near death. The letter said little about the devastation itself, yet that single line was enough for her to picture the worst. There was no mention of her mother or her younger sister at all. She prayed it was simply because both were unharmed and therefore unworthy of note.
At the same time, the first image that rose in her mind was a man.
She saw him again—Louis, alone, fighting gargoyles with raw, desperate fury while the rest of the party fretted over Leo’s wounds. That effort had been for her sake.
Why?
She had treated him so coldly. She remembered the look on his face when he failed to kill the last of them—the pure despair of a man who believed he had failed to protect Ansberg Territory. And what had she said to him then?
Whether you did it for reputation or for the bounty, I cannot say—but because of you, we were all nearly killed.
“No… no…”
The words left her in a voice thick with self-loathing. If she could, she would have run back through time and clapped a hand over her own mouth.
It had never been about academy reputation, or grades, or prize money.
It had been for Felice herself.
And she had hurled those words at him.
It could not be true. If it were true, she would not be able to bear it.
She bolted from the room.
She had to find Louis. She had to find him now.
Luck was with her; she spotted him near the dining hall almost at once. Until today she had never spoken to him for personal reasons in public, terrified of the rumors that might attach themselves to her name. That caution no longer mattered.
Louis turned to her with a face cold enough to freeze blood.
“What is it?”
“G-gargoyles… a whole swarm attacked our territory.”
Even then he only started to walk away, as if the news were none of his concern. Felice seized his shoulder.
“How did you know?! How in the world did you already know?!”
It was almost a scream. Better that he had not known. Better that every word he had spoken that day had been empty excuse, that he had never fought those gargoyles for her sake. Better that she need not feel this crushing guilt.
Petty as it was, that was what she wished.
And yet, at the same time, a fragile hope flickered that he really had done it for her.
“I already explained everything last time.”
That was his answer.
He had known. He had fought that hopeless battle for her after all. Foolish Felice had listened to his warning and still refused to believe an actual invasion would come. He had known the whole time.
Her hands began to tremble.
Louis tried once more to leave. She would not let him.
“Th-then! If you were so certain, you could at least have sent a warning to the territory!”
It was a ridiculous, childish complaint. The old, kind Louis would have done exactly that—she knew it, and the knowledge made her flinch even as the words left her mouth.
This time he did not restrain himself.
His palm cracked across her cheek.
Felice could scarcely believe it. Louis’s patience had finally snapped. He began to rage at her, and she took every word in silence.
But then—
“You always did that, didn’t you? No matter what I did, I was still the traitor Wallenstein. You never tried to know me. You judged everything by the name alone!”
“Don’t be absurd! I—I never—”
That was not true. The accusation hurt too deeply, because it felt as though he were erasing every hour they had spent together. If she had truly seen only the Wallenstein name, she would never have grown close to him in the first place. She had seen Louis the person, not the surname; she had pushed him away only because her father ordered it.
Even while she shouted, another thought stabbed through her.
Even if it was Father’s command… in the end I still cast him out because of his house, didn’t I? To Louis, isn’t it exactly the same…?
Still she kept shouting. If she stopped now, she felt she would collapse on the spot. It was empty pride, an unforgivable stubbornness, and she knew it.
In the end it was her younger sister, Lucy Ansberg, who broke the fight apart.
“Stop it, Sister! What are you doing?!”
Then Lucy turned to Louis.
“I’m so sorry, Young Master.”
Felice could not understand. Why was her sister restraining her? Why was Lucy the one apologizing to him?
The answer came at once.
“You’re the one who should be ashamed for screaming at him! If it weren’t for the Young Master, Mother and I might both be dead!”
For a heartbeat Felice’s mind refused the words. They sounded exactly as if Louis had already given a warning…
“What…?”
“Thank you, Young Master. Because you warned us in advance, we were able to reduce the damage, even a little.”
Lucy bowed deeply to him.
It was real.
“What?”
She could only keep repeating the same hollow syllable. Moments ago she had raged that he had never warned the territory. She herself had cast him from the party—and still he had sent word ahead?
Her mind went blank.
Louis’s face was unbearably sad. He turned away.
“Wait—Louis!”
She called after him. She could not let him leave like this. Yet she could not bring herself to seize him either.
He walked away.
Felice sank to the ground where she stood. People were staring. She no longer cared.
“Aaaah…”
A raw, broken cry tore out of her.
“What on earth happened between you and the Young Master?!”
Lucy shouted beside her, but Felice was in no condition to answer. The family retainers assumed her vacant stare was shock over the gargoyle attack. In truth it was entirely because of Louis.
“My lady, you must depart at once.”
They pressed her. With the Count unconscious, the territory needed Felice. She knew that.
Still she managed, with difficulty:
“A moment. Just… give me a moment.”
She had never once offered Louis a true apology. She had always believed it would be fine—after all, Louis was fundamentally kind and gentle. The thought of her own arrogance now made her want to retch.
Her mind was filled with nothing but the need to apologize. When Lucy had thanked him, she should have apologized then. No—when she first realized he had fought the gargoyles for her, she should have apologized. No—when she expelled him from the party. No—when she shoved him away on her father’s orders. No—from the very day she began learning swordsmanship from him…
Only now did Felice understand. She had wronged him in so many ways, yet she had never properly said she was sorry. Even the time she snapped at him for offering to teach her the sword, she had apologized only for that single outburst. Never once had she apologized for the cold, unprovoked cruelty that came before.
She knew it was far too late.
Even so, Felice decided she would beg his forgiveness now. Whatever he ordered, whatever he demanded of her, she would do it without hesitation. For this one moment, even her father’s commands vanished from her mind.
At the same time she felt the secret emotion she had hidden so carefully—feelings for Louis—swell beyond control. It was far too late, yet she still hoped he would accept her apology. He had always spoken kindly to her even when she answered with ice.
The shame of clinging to his kindness once more twisted inside her, but she forced her unsteady feet toward the academy dormitories.
The men’s wing. She already knew which room was his.
She hammered on the door.
“Who is it?”
A drained voice answered from within.
“Louis, it’s me. Felice Ansberg. May I speak with you for a moment? Please.”
A short silence.
“…Get lost.”
The voice was still lifeless. Louis could not even see her, yet Felice sank to her knees before the door.
“Louis, I’m sorry. There is so much I must apologize for. You’ll call it an excuse, I know—but won’t you listen, just a little?”
Excuse. That was the very word she had thrown at him when he first warned her about the gargoyle invasion of Ansberg Territory.
“Please… I’m sorry. I’m truly, truly sorry…”
She kept murmuring the same broken phrases against the wood. To the very end, the door never opened.
At last Felice rose on trembling legs.
“Next time… next time, let’s talk for certain.”
Then she staggered away, each step unsteady and defeated.