A Woman's Heart Wants to Act Like a Child Before the Man She Loves
Ania had a nightmare for the first time in a long while.
It was a dream in which the people beside her vanished one by one until she was left alone in pitch-black darkness.
“Mom…”
Wandering through the dark, Ania called out to those who had disappeared.
“Dad!”
But they were gone without a trace.
“Rictman!”
As if they had never existed from the beginning, as if no one had ever stood at her side.
“Edward!”
Ania cried out with all her strength, yet no one answered.
The darkness, so thick she could not see an inch ahead, merely lingered around her.
“Don’t leave…”
You’re alone.
No one loves you.
The booming echoes circled her, and Ania sobbed aloud.
Please come back.
I was wrong.
I won’t do it again.
Don’t leave me…
After crying for what felt like forever, she opened her eyes and realized it had only been a nightmare.
When she wiped her bleary eyes, clear tear stains came away on her hand, and her whole body was soaked in cold sweat, leaving her shivering.
Worse still, a chill wind was blowing from somewhere.
Ania lifted her head toward the source of the cold and saw that she must have fallen asleep with the window open; the early-winter wind was thrashing the white, thin curtains without mercy.
“Ugh, cold…”
It had been nothing more than a nightmare, yet its ominous aftertaste still clung to her chest.
Whether from that or from the open window, she realized her hands and lips were trembling lightly.
Ania pulled a blanket over her shaking body and closed the window.
In the cold room she slowly crossed to the full-length mirror, where an ugly woman with swollen eyes stared back at her.
Looking like this…
Anyone who saw her would find the sight hideous.
To sit down to a meal with Edward looking like this—
She hated the thought to death.
But a promise was a promise.
They had agreed to share every meal while they were at the mansion.
Ania did her hair and applied makeup as best she could to hide the swollen eyes, yet nothing really changed.
Her face looked so wretched that she crushed the lipstick in her hand against the floor.
Just then came a soft knock at the door.
“My lady. Breakfast is ready.”
It was the maid who came every morning to wake her.
Ania only sniffled, offering no reply.
“My lady?”
The maid knocked again.
Suddenly the sound grated on her nerves; frustration with her own ugly face boiled over and she shouted.
“I’m not eating!”
“Ah—my lady?”
Yet there was no sound of the maid leaving.
In a trembling voice the maid tried once more.
“My lady. The young master is waiting.”
“I said I’m not eating!”
When Ania roared the words, a startled cry came from the other side of the door.
“Don’t come in! Don’t even ask! Just leave me alone!”
“I’m sorry, my lady…”
Only after the maid’s footsteps faded did Ania catch her breath.
A light exhale eased the agitation in her chest, and only then did a faint shame settle over her.
I didn’t mean to get angry.
Why did she keep lashing out at the people around her like this?
It had been the same at the ball.
Remembering how she had snapped for no reason at Edward, who had done nothing wrong, Ania buried her face in the pillow and cried quietly, muffling the sound.
Being this kind of person… she could understand if Edward grew tired of her.
Even so, the thought made her ache, because wasn’t he the only one who had stayed?
When everyone else grew weary and left, wasn’t he the only one who remained at her side?
She had taken that Edward and shouted at him for nothing, and put him in danger.
Even if he had come to dislike her, Ania had no defense.
The truth stung so sharply that she could not stop the sobs that kept escaping.
After breakfast I headed for the training ground and found Rictman looking as if he were about to die.
“Young master….”
Even though he was essentially a man who had been sold into service, I had always treated him as a noble—he was, after all, the son of a count’s house—yet today his face was so full of resentment that a chill ran down my spine.
“We will begin today’s training.”
There was an edge to the words, and true to form Rictman showed no mercy.
The wooden sword came flying without pity, battering my whole body; even though it was only wood, every blow hurt as if it had left a bruise.
“Rictman.”
“Yes, young master.”
“Your sword seems strangely fast today.”
“It’s your imagination, young master.”
Expressionless, he swung again.
Normally he held back his skill so we could spar on even terms, but this assault was ruthless.
I twisted and turned, dodging and blocking as best I could.
“You should counterattack, young master.”
“Rictman, wait a moment—”
“Don’t you need to grow stronger if you mean to protect the young lady?”
In the end I threw up both hands and feet in surrender, and the session was over.
As always I was drenched in sweat; Rictman, too, looked a little flushed, a single bead of sweat sliding down his forehead.
I sat down and wiped myself with a towel.
Ordinarily Rictman would have sheathed his sword with a calm “That will be all for today’s sparring,” yet today he came and sat beside me.
He spoke quietly.
“Young master Edward.”
“Don’t make me talk. I’m dying here.”
“Then simply listen. There’s something I’ve been wanting to say.”
Having wiped away the last of the sweat, Rictman opened his mouth with perfect composure.
“It may be presumptuous of me, but may I ask whether you know why Lady Ania is angry?”
He was asking, yet it was no simple question.
He already knew.
He knew the reason Ania was angry was me.
“You said I could just listen, so I won’t answer.”
“Is that so…”
Rictman accepted it at once and looked up at the sky.
Cold snowflakes were beginning to scatter from above.
As the snow fell the world grew quiet, and it was Rictman who broke the silence.
“The young lady is more fragile than you think.”
He smiled faintly as he spoke.
“She looks strong on the outside, and at times even mature, but she is still young.”
“She doesn’t look mature to me.”
“Haha. That’s because you are her husband, young master.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“A woman’s heart wants to act like a child in front of the man she loves.”
I had no idea what he was talking about.
Ania Brontë was a villainess.
A villainess who knew her own charms and used them.
Fragile? Please.
Rictman had simply been taken in by the act she put on.
“Say what you actually mean, Rictman.”
“Simply a request that you look after the young lady well.”
The retired knight rose, dusted off the seat of his trousers, and smiled.
“I may serve as her escort, but even I cannot protect her heart.”
The next day Ania still did not set foot outside her room and skipped every meal.
I was worried about her, yet unfortunately I had a schedule of my own.
The timing felt delicate, but it was an engagement I could not refuse.
It was a firearms demonstration held under the crown prince’s direction.
You might wonder what guns were doing in a medieval setting, yet this era was advancing at a startling pace.
We stood in the turbulent transition from the age of sword and bow into the age of gunpowder.
And so, as a knight representing House Radner, I had to travel to the imperial capital to demonstrate the new matchlock muskets.
“The carriage is ready.”
“I’ll be out shortly.”
I smoothed my hair, put on the crisply pressed uniform of the knight order, and left my room.
Yet something strange happened.
As I walked the corridor, Ania’s door kept catching my eye.
Before I knew it my feet had stopped dead in front of her room.
The young lady is more fragile than you think.
Rictman’s words from the day before echoed in my ears, and the wounded expression I had seen on Ania’s face at the ball rose faintly before me again.
What does that have to do with me?
I had no need to concern myself with Ania’s feelings.
I only had to match her moods well enough to keep the marriage going.
After all, I intended to survive and return to my original world.
I forced myself to turn away from her door and took a few steps—yet my heart began to throb more and more insistently.
“Huu…”
My feet simply would not move.
As if someone were holding me back.
In the end I turned around and stood once more before Ania’s door.
Knock knock.
After a light rap I steadied my breath and spoke.
“Wife.”
“......”
No answer.
I knocked again.
“Yesterday… I’m sorry.”
I had thought there were many things I wanted to say, yet standing there my mind went completely blank.
I no longer even knew clearly what I was supposed to be apologizing for.
“I’m heading out.”
With those final words I turned and left through the front entrance.
The moment I climbed into the carriage the coachman urged the horses forward.
As we passed through the gates I looked up and saw Ania’s window.
She was leaning against the glass, staring blankly into the distance.
Her ears and nose were flushed red from the cold wind.
A woman so frail she caught colds at the drop of a hat—what was she thinking, standing there like that…
“Wife.”
When I called her softly she lowered her gaze to me.
I meant to tell her to be careful not to catch a chill, yet the moment our eyes met my mouth refused to open.
Because, like a boy tasting love for the first time, my heart would not stop racing.
“......”
In that brief silence the carriage drew farther and farther from the mansion.
Ania’s face shrank until it was no larger than a distant speck.
I kept watching that tiny face, my lips moving soundlessly around words that would not come.