You Don't Have to Endure the Pain
Count Orlande's ball began just as the sun was beginning to sink.
By the clock, it was roughly six in the evening—the hour when most people sat down to dinner. Throwing a ball at such an awkward time, straddling the dinner hour, would ordinarily have been a breach of manners; among the nobility, however, it was a kind of etiquette in its own right. Offering one's distinguished guests both a lively social gathering and a proper meal at once was considered the height of good breeding.
Moreover, Count Orlande's western estate was a land where wheat grew in rich abundance. Nowhere else in the Empire did grain ripen so fragrant and full. Western bread was a delicacy unmatched anywhere, and the Count had clearly been eager to show it off.
The guests of honor, however, did not attend the banquet before the ball.
"…Surely they aren't simply not coming."
"What a shame. So many people were waiting for the Brontë couple."
Honey-soaked loaves and breads crowned with cheese to draw out their rich savor—the pride of House Orlande—stood in lavish array across the tables. Even so, the atmosphere at the banquet had grown a little subdued on their account.
Watching the scene, the Countess of Orlande clicked her tongue.
"I never imagined they simply wouldn't show."
"Indeed."
Count Orlande rubbed his belly and sighed.
"To think a duke's daughter would break her word without so much as a message."
"Just as the rumors said, it seems."
"The ones about her being willful, you mean."
The Countess slipped her arm lightly through her husband's, pleased with his words.
"What good is a beautiful face alone? A noble needs dignity. Don't you agree?"
"But you have both beauty and dignity… which makes you far finer than the Brontë girl."
"Heehee…"
The Countess smiled, thoroughly satisfied. The faint jealousy she had felt when Count Orlande first proposed inviting Ania Brontë had turned, deliciously, into pleasure.
Her husband was a man whose reputation for endless womanizing was so well known that people said he lived for nothing else. He had almost certainly issued the invitation in hopes of making a play for Ania Brontë.
That was one thing. What truly worried her were the rumors surrounding the Brontë girl herself.
A beauty second to none in the Empire—and a woman with the strange reputation of luring men with that face and driving them to their deaths.
— She might be a witch, you know.
— Right. They say she uses some foul sorcery.
Even the maids' whispers were enough to mark Lady Ania as someone far from ordinary. The Countess did not particularly love her husband, but she had no desire to let a woman like that anywhere near a man who at least possessed a great deal of money. One never knew. He might squander every last coin trying to win the lady's heart.
That cannot be allowed…
Count Orlande's fortune was something she had been eyeing for a very long time. Under Imperial law, when the head of a house died, his personal estate was divided evenly between wife and son—and since the Count had no children, everything would pass to the Countess alone. For years now she had been slipping small doses of poison into his food. According to the alchemist, more than five years of continuous dosing would one day bring about a sudden death. Only a year remained. She could not allow some little chit to ruin a plan so long and carefully laid.
"In any case, the ball goes on as planned. Even if Lady Brontë doesn't come, we have plenty of notable guests. Knight Commander Wilhelm is here, and so is Yumiella, the finest dancer in the Empire."
"True enough…"
Yet something about Count Orlande's face remained oddly downcast. That fact left the Countess privately uneasy. She chewed at her nails and stared toward the mansion's front doors.
And then—
Creeeak—
The great doors of the mansion began slowly to open.
"…It can't be."
A thread of dread uncoiled inside her. She had hired ruffians from the underworld specifically to keep them from arriving. Surely not…
Every gaze in the banquet hall turned as one.
And as if to mock the Countess's anxiety, the figures who appeared beyond the front doors were a man and a woman.
"We're a little late."
Entering first was Edward—eldest son of House Radner, the man of the hour who had married the so-called witch Ania Brontë. Just as the rumors claimed, he was tall and splendidly built.
"My apologies. Something came up along the way, and we couldn't make it on time."
And following behind him…
Ania Brontë.
The woman called the greatest beauty in the Empire. The woman called a witch who lured men to their deaths.
That woman.
And the moment the Countess of Orlande saw Ania Brontë's face, she understood. The rumors she had assumed must be exaggerated were not exaggerated in the slightest.
"Lord Edward! Lady Brontë! Do come in!"
Despite the late hour, Count Orlande rushed out barefoot, as it were, to welcome us.
"Sorry we're late."
"Oh, not at all, not at all. I was just beginning to worry that something might have happened…"
Mid-welcome, the Count caught sight of my appearance and sucked in a sharp breath. Even to my own eyes I looked a wreck; it was a wonder he hadn't noticed sooner. My hands were scraped raw and bleeding, my hair was a tangled mess, and my clothes were torn in places. I had done my best to put myself in order before arriving, and this was still the best I could manage.
"Did something… truly happen?"
The Count asked with genuine concern, but Ania stepped forward.
"We'll save the story for later, Count Orlande. For now, please prepare some medicine and an empty room."
"Y-yes! At once, my lady!"
While Count Orlande quietly summoned a maid, I looked around the mansion. The interior was so lavish it was hard to tell whether one was standing in a private residence or a ballroom proper, and it was packed wall to wall with notable figures. Some I couldn't name by face, yet their dress and bearing alone were enough to identify them.
"They're all looking at us."
Ania pressed herself snugly against my back. Just as she said, every gaze in the room had gathered on us—whether for Ania's beauty or for the state we were in, I couldn't say.
A moment later Count Orlande came hurrying back.
"Please follow this girl! And whenever you're ready, just say the word—I'll come fetch you myself!"
"Thank you."
We followed the maid deeper into the mansion and were shown into a splendid guest chamber.
"Please call for me whenever you need anything."
Thud…
The door closed. The instant the maid finished her bow and withdrew, I caught the hem of Ania's skirt.
Ania let out a startled cry.
"Seobang-nim…!"
"Hold still."
"Even if we are married… at someone else's ball…"
"That little act won't work on me."
I flipped up the full skirt, and Ania's feet and ankles came into view.
Just as I had expected…
"Look at this."
Her ankle was swollen an angry red.
"You were going to pretend nothing was wrong even looking like this?"
"……"
Watching Ania flush with embarrassment, I sighed without meaning to. I had thought her nothing but a willful woman—and here she was, putting on a calm face even with her body in this state.
"I'll have you know I was trying very hard to bear it."
Ania puffed out her cheeks and jerked her head away.
"You don't have to endure it when it hurts. You can just say it hurts."
"How could I?"
"And why couldn't you?"
"Well…"
A soft hand came fluttering down near my face. When I looked up, Ania was smiling gently down at me.
"Because I promised to dance with you, Seobang-nim."
"Honestly…"
So that was why she had been holding it in.
"I practiced so hard. How disappointing would it be if I couldn't dance?"
"It isn't as though tonight is the only ball there will ever be."
"But… it's our first social event since the wedding."
"What does that matter? Compared to some social gathering, my wife…"
I froze mid-sentence, realizing I had been a breath away from saying, Compared to some social gathering, my wife is more important.
"Your wife… what?"
Ania leaned in with a mischievous smile. A sweet fragrance drifted over me.
"Nothing."
"Come on, say it. Compared to some social gathering, your wife… what?"
"I said it was nothing."
Doing my best to avoid her eyes, I dabbed on disinfectant and wrapped the bandage. With a firm brace set underneath, walking shouldn't hurt the way it had before.
"More importantly… can you dance on an ankle like this?"
"With you, Seobang-nim, I'd dance a hundred times over."
"Stop playing word games…"
"Heehee…"
Ania rose from her seat and walked a few careful steps.
"It hurts a little, but I still want to dance."
"All right. But the moment it hurts, we stop. Agreed?"
"Deal."
Ania flashed a bright smile and circled slowly behind me. She took hold of my jacket collar and began easing the garment off my shoulders.
"Besides, you're hurt quite a bit yourself, Seobang-nim."
"This is nothing. A day's rest and I'll be fine."
"You take such careful care of my body, yet neglect your own… is that because you love me?"
That left me speechless. I simply let her hands move as they would, slowly shedding my outer coat. Beneath it, my shirt was stained dark with blood.
"Hold still."
Ania squeezed a little disinfectant onto her fingertips and began gently applying it. Her touch was impossibly soft.
"A little gentler…"
"Such a baby."
I was profoundly grateful she was standing behind me.