The Meaning of a Northern Woman's Traditional Liquor Bottle (042)
"Kahahaha!! To chug the whole thing right there! Of course an outsider like you wouldn't know what it means!"
It was tempting to blame Sir Craderus, who had been yammering noisily beside him all day long, but Kalen vividly remembered the events of the previous night. To soothe his pounding headache, he covered his face with his arm and lay down.
The Hiatt Grand Duke Estate had more than enough unused empty rooms. There were plenty to spare for laying out a drunken reveler who had imbibed far too much.
Kalen lay in one such room, his face still covered by his arm. Of course, he wasn't there with Craderus. The knight had simply burst through the door at some point and started blathering on.
Unlike his taciturn appearance, Craderus enjoyed talking up a storm. And he couldn't just gloss over the shocking events of the night before.
"And what was that, anyway? I've lived a fair while, but that was a beauty I'd never seen before. Lady Selasier seems a bit different since then. Because of you?"
The massive bonfire of the traditional festival melted the frozen hearts of the northerners. They valued their customs, but there was a special reason they cherished that time above all.
Yet it had been something fundamentally different. The inexplicable something Selasier had shown felt like magic, but...
That ecstatic scene, tinged faintly with crimson, defied description. Everyone had simply stared, entranced. It conveyed a warmth incomparable to the bonfire.
And against that backdrop, he had gone and done something even bolder. No wonder there was shock.
"What did you say... the meaning of drinking it all was?"
His head already ached enough, but the words he'd heard only troubled his heart further. What Craderus had chattered upon entering was too much to process at once.
"A bottle of homemade traditional liquor handed over by a northern woman is a proposal of marriage. And downing it on the spot is..."
Craderus grinned as if itching to smack him, his voice laced with insinuation.
"A pretty damn bold acceptance. Heh."
"..."
"Don't pry too much, Kal. There's such a thing as an adult world."
—But don't take the liquor bottle~.
Sir Craderus's warning from when he'd first arrived in the north. Why did it come to mind now? A twinge of resentment stirred.
If he was going to explain, he should have done so properly from the start. Just telling him to be careful—what good was that?
Ignoring the knight's prattling, Kalen recalled Selasier's smile from the night before. His head still throbbed, his chest felt stuffy, but he hadn't forgotten.
He remembered every word, every action, every smile she had given him. That was the problem.
Now that Craderus had spelled out the meaning behind it all, he couldn't just ignore it.
He was an outsider who didn't know the significance of receiving liquor brewed by a northern woman—or downing it in one go.
But that didn't erase the fact that Selasier had handed it to him. Unlike him, she knew exactly what it meant. She understood that offering liquor to a man carried the weight of a proposal.
In other words, Selasier had done it of her own will.
Kalen removed the hand from his face and rose, ignoring Sir Craderus.
Magic that had broken through the 3rd Hierarchy. A mental image awakened with her at its core, following in Eliana's footsteps.
...And now the meaning behind that liquor.
Too many things gnawed at him, and with his head throbbing, he couldn't make a clear judgment. So the still-uninitiated Kalen made a firm vow.
He would never drink again.
With that, he staggered through the labyrinthine corridors of the estate.
Utterly unaware that a normal person would have collapsed after half the amount he'd downed.
—You're beautiful. Sis.
She had barely slept. That one casually tossed-out phrase kept swirling chaotically in her mind.
A soft yet weighty voice. So unlike his usual curt demeanor.
The monocle suited him, but she personally preferred him without it.
And on that face, he had shown a smile she'd never seen before. Smiling like that, saying such things.
What big sister—what woman—could resist?
Especially after she'd steeled herself to offer the traditional liquor. The sensation of being pinned beneath Kalen, pressed close against her will, still lingered vividly over her entire body.
Her heart pounded like it was broken. Her face flushed for no reason.
Embarrassed to face Kalen, yet longing to see him—the thoughts clashed.
Even sleepless, Selasier lacked the courage to leave her room.
What had he meant by "beautiful"?
Torun, that trash, had said her face was at least passable. Was it that—the most obvious choice?
Or maybe her personality. He accepted her prickly nature without complaint, understood her innermost thoughts completely.
Or if not that...
"Your eyes..."
He'd said it once. That other young lords always eyed her body first. But Kalen had replied he'd look at her eyes first.
And indeed, when they first met, he'd gazed straight into them.
That was Kalen. Good looks, good personality. But her eyes. It had to be about her eyes.
Selasier cupped her burning cheeks.
She still needed a lot of preparation before stepping out. With that thought, she glanced slyly at the door.
Click.
The door opened at that exact moment.
"Milady."
"Ka—Kalen?!"
Unable to venture out, Kalen had come to her. Selasier couldn't hide her fluster.
What a cruel twist of fate. He showed up so suddenly when she most wanted to avoid him.
Her heart, which had been steadying, went haywire again. Her cheeks were already aflame.
The image of Kalen's bare face from last night overlapped, leaving her frozen. Staring at the approaching boy, her body faithfully recalled his embrace.
Thump, thump, thump.
Would he hear her heartbeat? She scooted back toward the bed's edge, but Kalen advanced undeterred.
"Eek..."
Her ruby eyes trembled aimlessly. Soon, Kalen loomed at the bedside, looking down at her.
Like prey before a predator. Selasier clutched a hand to her chest, trembling.
It wasn't fear. Far from it. It was a fluffy, oddly ticklish sensation.
"I heard, milady."
"..."
"About the meaning behind a northern woman offering liquor she made herself."
"Ah..."
Kalen's words anchored her fraying mind. She'd assumed he wouldn't know—that was why she'd done it.
The moment he learned it meant "proposal," he would surely refuse.
But now he said he knew. Her secret, selfish shackle—born of her own heart—he had discovered it.
"..."
Her lips quivered as if broken. A scenario she'd never imagined.
That shackle she'd imposed on her own terms was her final line for self-delusion. A world of only Kalen. If he left her side—when she could trust no one else—it made her dizzy.
She'd only meant to bind him with a marriage he never knew about, known only to her.
But Kalen knew everything now.
Time crawled. As if urging him not to speak.
Her wandering ruby eyes fixed on his lips, denying the words to come. She knew exactly what he'd say—and lacked the strength to hear it.
Yet time marched on, no matter how slowly. Selasier squeezed her eyes shut.
At the same instant, she gripped Kalen's arm tightly. Back to that moment when he'd protected her.
She didn't want to be abandoned again. That was the impulse.
Kalen's words tumbled out, a touch flustered.
"Can you... make the liquor again?"
It took a form slightly different from her expectations.
Eyes still squeezed shut, clutching Kalen's arm, Selasier slowly opened them.
"What...?"
"Can you make the liquor again?"
She'd heard clearly, but fearing her heart had twisted it, she asked once more. Same answer.
Something like "I'm sorry, what have you done?"—negative words flooding her darkened mind went unheard.
Kalen's face was as impassive as ever. Just asking, plainly.
"Why...?"
The question slipped out. Fitting response to his query, and a doubt about this Kalen who defied her assumptions.
"Well, yesterday I wasn't quite in my right mind."
Her nails must have dug in painfully, but Kalen ignored his gripped arm and continued.
"It's a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Waste it like that, and it's a shame, isn't it? There'll be a better time."
Hard times had befallen her, so in her haste, Selasier had rushed, he thought. That's why she'd offered the bottle.
Her gratitude had swelled, confusing her heart momentarily—that was Kalen's take.
Craderus had said it too: Northern women didn't see men from elsewhere as marriage prospects.
Selasier's liquor, born of misunderstanding, wouldn't vanish so emptily. That's what Kalen thought as he spoke.
But hearing him, Selasier wept.
Out of gratitude. For considering her selfish heart. For giving her a chance to brew it properly and offer it again.
For blaming it on his lack of senses, on himself. For promising a "better time"—leeway to wrap up unfinished business.
Those words were far more beautiful than her selfish shackle.
They sounded like he'd wait until she offered it again. Like his heart wouldn't leave her.
"...Yeah."
Selasier wiped her tears and smiled radiantly.
"I'll make it again."
Kalen exhaled faintly, as if that settled it, and turned to leave.
"Sorry for intruding this morning."
"Kalen."
Selasier's question halted his departing foot.
"What was pretty? What about me?"
Even Kalen had to catch his breath at that.
To tell an unmarried woman "your body is beautiful"—only a madman would. Good thing his deranged state had skipped the details.
His mind raced, seeking the most plausible answer. Kalen, who never lost composure in dire straits, mercifully found the best one.
"...Your eyes."
Leaving that single word, he fled the room. A fine improvisation for something thought up in haste, he figured.
"But hey, Kal. Was that liquor tasty?"
"The one from milady?"
"Yeah, that."
The room he'd rushed back to. Why hadn't he left? Craderus was still lounging there.
It might soothe his jumbled heart, so Kalen gladly took the chatty company.
Then came the taste of Selasier's liquor.
Made with pure water and sweet snow grapes, it was why northern brews were always among the best.
Such liquor was, indeed, sweetly delicious.
"Sweeter than other liquors."
"Is that so? Kahaha!"
Craderus's reaction baffled him. The boisterous laugh made sense with his follow-up.
"Do you know how northern women make their personal brew?"
"No."
"Keh, figures. You're still young, but I'll tell you this once. That liquor is..."
Young, young—always harping on it. Tense from the drawn-out tease, Kalen froze.
"Fermented from snow grapes chewed by the woman herself, mixed with her saliva."
That was the moment he understood why Craderus had laughed at his comment about it being sweeter than other drinks.