The Prepared Bedroom
“Yes, sir.”
“You kicked him straight in the groin and smashed your fist into his jaw.”
“And I haven't forgotten how you choked the bastard's throat with your jacket until he begged never to do it again.”
Victor had chanced upon the scene and punished the offending officer according to military law. It had been Victor, too, who calmed Ibel when she raged like a wounded beast.
“I can protect myself. I was just startled by the sudden advance...”
Even that had resolved quickly, thanks to Victor rushing in at the sound of her voice.
With the head of the household looking out for her first, what was there to fear?
“...I have something to show you. I left you here alone to rest while I confirmed a few things.”
“Sounds intriguing. It had better be impressive.”
Her lighthearted threat drew a faint chuckle from Victor.
“Then allow me to show you, if only to lighten the mood.”
“Perfect. I'll hold you to it.”
Ibel sprang to her feet with enthusiasm, and Victor watched her carefully before offering his arm in escort.
She appeared unharmed on the surface. But he could gauge how shaken she must have been.
Not just because of their contract... Ibel was the only one who shared his memories. No one else held recollections of the future.
Thus, she remained his subordinate—one he was duty-bound to protect and care for.
“This is the marital bedroom.”
“...!”
Ibel fell silent for a moment upon entering the couple's bedroom.
It was a blue room, papered in the color she'd once said she liked.
The elegant carpet was a shade lighter than the curtains, while the bedding flowed in whites, sky blues, and deeper navy—like waves rolling in.
Everything looked brand new at a glance.
And scattered throughout were pots of orange jasmine, their star-shaped white blooms fresh and vibrant, filling the air with their scent from every corner.
“When did you...”
“I hope this becomes a place you can feel attached to. Stay here while the glass in your original room is repaired. I'll take the sofa.”
Victor spoke matter-of-factly as he led her further in. Ibel stared at a pot tied with a ribbon the deep blue of his eyes, then leaned down to inhale its fragrance.
She'd only mentioned it in passing, like a fleeting memory of a treasured plant. She never imagined he'd fill the entire room with them.
I never even dreamed...
Something stirred oddly in her chest—queasy, breathless.
No physical ailment; this was emotional.
Just a little—a very little—tears welled up.
She'd never expected anyone to do something like this for her.
“Truth be told, I wanted to fill the garden view from here with orange jasmine saplings. But the mature trees are hard to come by. Still, time will make it possible.”
Victor spoke softly from behind her. Ibel started to reply, held her breath, then slowly turned to face him.
“This is more than enough for me. Thank you.”
“No need for thanks. I'm sorry you faced that ordeal right after arriving— this at least saves some face.”
The initiation had been rough, but surrounded by things she loved, her mood lifted considerably. Not just in words, but genuinely.
“The sofa will be too uncomfortable for you. I'll sleep there instead.”
“How could I let a lady sleep in such a place?”
“Still. It feels wrong, like I'm displacing the master of the house.”
Victor paused at her words, then found a solution.
“Then we'll rephrase it. I'll merely rest lightly on the sofa.”
“That's the same thing!”
That stubborn man wouldn't share a bed before marriage, so he'd just worded his intention to sleep on the sofa differently.
Ibel burst out laughing, then ran her fingers over a spotless pot. In that moment, a simple question occurred to her: Why?
Anselm knew he'd be punished—why do it?
The Victor she knew was fair, unyielding as a blade. Long years in the military had... ah, not yet at this point.
Regardless, whether he understood the situation or not, he meted out punishment fitting the crime.
Stoic, perhaps, but perfect as a family head. And utterly incorruptible.
Anselm, as family, couldn't be ignorant of that.
So that act had been a protest of sorts...
“Was the room I was assigned originally Seranna's?”
The question slipped out with near certainty. Victor betrayed a flicker of surprise.
“How did you know?”
“It's the sunniest room on the second floor. But not the ducal couple's bedroom.”
So that's it.
“Maybe Anselm thought I stole his mother's place. That's where the resentment comes from.”
“That... I explained thoroughly two weeks ago.”
“Not thoroughly enough for a clever boy like Anselm.”
Ibel shook her head, rethinking it from a nine-year-old boy's perspective.
“If I were him... yeah, I'd be angry too. A stranger suddenly taking something precious.”
She glanced at Victor's puzzled expression and sighed, realizing he truly didn't grasp it.
Yes, the Duke of Bayern was sensitive in odd ways, oblivious where others saw clearly.
“Did you clear out all of Seranna's things? Bedding, clothes, that sort of thing?”
“Willen would have moved them to storage.”
Storage, no less.
Ibel could easily imagine what Anselm felt, seeing his mother's belongings shoved into a dim room.
“Victor, we're not married yet, but as lady of the house, may I give orders to the butler?”
“By all means.”
“Then summon Willen and Banya.”
A long road ahead.
Ibel clicked her tongue inwardly. Soon after, with the butler and Banya before her, she issued her first command.
Restore Seranna's bedroom to its original state by tomorrow.
Down to the smallest trinket and its exact position.
“Exhausted.”
That night, as soon as the sun set, Ibel emerged from her bath with Eloi's help and collapsed onto the couch, damp hair trailing loose.
She was here now. Things would work out somehow.
A gentle breeze wafted through the wide-open terrace doors, carrying the delightful scent of orange jasmine. It made her crave...
a cold beer.
Or maybe she just missed the days when she had people to share one with.
Lucas, Heinrich, Dominik, Florian—they probably won't remember any of it.
These were names from the final twelve, the ones who became her comrades.
Strict hierarchy at first, strangers all. But walls crumbled in time.
Playful Lucas loved ruffling her hair at every chance. Giev knew the stars well; he'd wanted to be a poet once.
Dominik seemed gruff and cold at a glance, but he had depth—easy to confide in. She'd thought more than once he'd feel just like a real big brother.
Oh, right—where'd they lock Abel away?
Or exile him abroad, maybe.
No real interest, but she hoped he never crossed her path again.
Blood family meant nothing to Ibel. If she had "family," it was those twelve who stayed till the end.
“Figured you needed a beer, so I came.”
It was then.