A Fear of Losing You
Could it be?
Am I being imprisoned in the estate right now?
Lefonya's eyes wavered. Could the Duke have known everything all along, putting on a show of humoring her until he gathered undeniable proof, while keeping her locked away in the manor...? No, that was completely absurd.
"Why? Why not?"
At Lefonya's question, the Duke merely offered a bitter smile.
"Ponya. If there is anything you need, no matter what it is, I will have it prepared for you. Just say the word."
"It's not about needing things!"
"Did you not say you had items to retrieve from the place you stayed? I can order Sir Velic to bring back everything from there. The desk and chair you used, down to the last speck of dust—I will have him gather it all. How does that sound?"
What she needed wasn't physical possessions; she needed to go outside.
"Tell me why I can't go."
When she pressed him for an explanation, the Duke answered once again with a somber smile.
To flatly forbid it without even offering a reason was an entirely different pattern of behavior from what he had shown so far. Lefonya bit her lower lip, her brow furrowing deeply. A strange sensation washed over her.
Did I really believe he would grant whatever I asked of him? Why do I feel so hurt and upset, as if I've been betrayed?
As Lefonya's lip protruded further into a clear pout, Pelens, who had been watching from the side, subtly pulled out a handkerchief, bracing himself for tears.
"Your Grace." Rather than bursting into tears like any ordinary five-year-old, Lefonya asked a question in an effort to make sense of the situation. "Could it be... um, are you afraid people will find out about me?"
"What do you mean by that, Ponya?"
"Are you hiding me because it's embarrassing if others find out that I'm the Lady of Craitan?"
No matter how hard she racked her brain, she couldn't think of any other reason for the Duke to oppose her outing so fiercely. Furthermore, when she thought about it, that reasoning made total sense. She had not yet received proper aristocratic tutoring. He was undoubtedly anxious that if she stepped outside the estate under the Craitan name, she might bring disgrace upon the house. Or perhaps he simply did not want the world to know that the child he had adopted to ease his lingering guilt toward his lost daughter looked like this.
"If it's embarrassing for people to know I'm the Craitan daughter, I can hide it really well—"
"Ponya. There is no world in which I could ever be embarrassed of you. Why on earth would you reach such a conclusion...? Haah." The Duke let out a long, heavy sigh. Running a hand back through his hair, he reached into his coat, produced a case, and drew out a cigar.
"Father." Pelens glared at him as if his father had lost his mind.
"Do not fret. Ever since Ponya arrived, I haven't smoked a single one; I quit on the spot. Simply holding it in my hand brings a sense of calm, which is the only reason I took it out."
Lefonya's eyes went round. He had quit immediately? Was such a thing even possible?
She knew well how intensely addictive tobacco was. The orphanage director had watched noblemen smoke and tried it a few times himself, only to become so hopelessly hooked that he squandered exorbitant amounts of money just to purchase it. Yet the Duke had dropped it in a single day.
Having never once been sheltered from harmful vices—whether alcohol, gambling, violence, or verbal abuse—even in her earliest childhood, this situation felt utterly alien to Lefonya. Pelens glaring in reprimand just because his father pulled out a cigar, and the Duke having quit the instant he brought her home—all of it seemed unreal.
"Ponya."
"Huh?" Lefonya stared up at him blankly.
"My opposition to your outing is not because of you."
"..."
"No. The problem lies not with you, but with me." The Duke sighed, dragging a palm down his weary face, before murmuring with a deeply troubled expression, "I heard you met the butler there."
He seemed to be referring to the encounter in the annex. Lefonya gave a small nod.
"Ponya." Duke Craitan reached out and gently took her small hand into his own. "I... I am terrified that I might lose you to the very same mistake."
The words that left his mouth were completely unexpected.
Something she had never imagined.
Something she had never even dared to conceive.
"...Huh?"
"It was a carriage accident. Dozens of knights were assigned, and an escort accompanied her, yet we still failed to protect her." The Duke gently stroked the back of Lefonya's tiny hand as if she were made of porcelain. It was a gesture meant to soothe, begging her not to be angry, not to be sad, and to soften her heart—comforting her with the reminder that none of this was her fault, but his own flaw. "Ponya, respecting your wishes, I did not search for the culprit behind the fire. And the retainers have not yet departed."
"..."
"I know, of course, that this is difficult for you to understand. I know it makes little sense. Ponya, I know that I cannot restrict your freedom, nor should I ever do so."
At that moment, Pelens, who had been sitting beside her, took Lefonya's other hand in a tight clasp. His broad hand trembled visibly. Startled, Lefonya turned toward him, only to find Pelens hanging his head, his face drained of all color. The Duke's words had evidently dragged those harrowing memories back to the surface.
"Just for a brief while." The Duke offered a wry, pained smile, yet he could not bring himself to let go of her hand. "Could you indulge me for just a little while, Ponya?"
She truly had never dreamed this could be the reason.
"Not long ago, you were nearly grievously injured in a fire, and then you fell into the lake and were placed in mortal peril. Perhaps because of that, the dread in my heart has yet to fade."
To think he opposed her going outside simply because he could not bear to lose her.
"I only ask that you give me a few days. Ponya."
Lefonya looked down at her hands. One was held by the Duke, the other clutched by Pelens. The butler had told her that the family had still not recovered from that wound, to the point that they could not even bear to approach the annex. Yet despite that agony, they kept everyone else from setting foot inside, terrified that the traces of the lost daughter might fade.
"...Otay."
Faced with this, she could no longer insist on leaving.
Not to someone who says he's terrified of losing me.
Of course, she could always sneak out in secret without their knowledge. But if she were caught sneaking away, she might face the dissolution of her adoption before she even had a chance to accomplish anything further.
It's better to postpone the report by a few days.
It was a strange feeling.
In situations like this, she had been trained first and foremost to kill her emotions so that she would never waver. And so she had remained steadfast in the past, averting her gaze and closing her ears. Why was she unable to do so now?
Her own choice felt completely unfamiliar.
Did I trigger their trauma because I look too much like the Duchess?
Yet strangely, she did not feel offended. She had known from the very beginning that she was a substitute, so there was no reason to feel newly slighted now. Rather, she was merely astonished that people who genuinely worried about her safety had appeared in her life. Was that why she couldn't bring herself to turn away?
Ah. There was one other person. The Pope was afraid of losing me, too.
Though in his case, he hadn't feared losing Lefonya the person—he had feared losing a singularly capable spy. When she had broken down in tears, insisting she couldn't carry out assassination missions, he had chosen to beat her within an inch of her life rather than discard her, precisely because she was useful.
He wouldn't execute her over a report being delayed by a mere few days. He had never done so in the past. She had lived under the Pope for over a decade; he wouldn't suddenly brand her a traitor just for a minor delay. Moreover, since they had bound themselves by an Oath in the Name of God ensuring he would never interfere with her life again once this final mission was complete, he would know she had no reason to run away. After enduring so many years, why would she flee before finishing the very last task?
It can't be helped.
Lefonya let out a soft sigh and gave a reassuring squeeze to the Duke, who was murmuring apologies, and to Pelens, whose face remained stark white.
"Ponya. Where are you going?"
"...I told you, the library."
"Then let's go together."
Haah. This brother of mine is unbelievable.
"Hey, Fluffball. Where are you going?"
"I'm going to wash up. I told you that just now."
"Ah. Go on, then. I'll wait right here."
You mustn't hit people. A daughter of the noble House of Craitan, carrying on centuries of honor, does not resort to vulgar violence. Maintain your dignity at all times and conduct yourself like an intellectual. Becoming a flawless young lady is your current objective.
Lefonya steadied her breathing, tamping down the rising fury inside her. But this was already the fifth day. With the exact same routine repeating endlessly, her patience was wearing dangerously thin.
"Ponya. Where are you off to now?"
"..."
There didn't seem to be anyone else around. Would it really hurt if she hit him just once? Really hard?
No, she couldn't.
Think of it as endurance training.
Yes, this was conditioning. She had to treat this as training to maintain her composure and patience under any circumstance. Lefonya rose from her seat to open the library window.
"Fluffball, where—"
"I'm not going anywhere! Nowhere! Got it? Stop asking me! Do you know how many times you've asked where I'm going in the last five days? My entire day disappears just answering you! Huh?!"
Her patience finally detonating, Lefonya planted both hands firmly on her hips and laid into Pelens. Any normal person on the receiving end of such a scolding would have acknowledged their fault and quieted down, but this second-born scoundrel was cut from entirely different cloth.
"I'm your escort, so confirming your location is only natural." The good-for-nothing was utterly shameless. "Besides, since Father forbade you from going out, you might try to sneak out of the manor."
"I'm not sneaking out!"
"Come on now. Of course you'd say that. When Father grounded me as a kid, I told him I wouldn't leave either, then snuck out through the dog hole in broad daylight."
"I'm not like you."
That kind of brazenness belonged strictly to someone who knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that they had a home to return to no matter what trouble they caused. For Lefonya, who would lose not only her home but any place to lay her head if she slipped up in the slightest, such reckless defiance was out of the question. Though Pelens, naturally, seemed completely incapable of grasping that reality.
"It's fine. I don't believe you anyway."
At Pelens's languid reply, delivered with his chin propped casually on his hand, Lefonya's eyebrows knit tightly together.
"As someone who personally wrecked several parts of this estate, I could never trust your word."
"Brother. That is not something to be proud of."
He had only been able to act like a terror because he possessed the unshakeable confidence of a family that would forgive and embrace him no matter what he broke. Lefonya whipped her head around and glared daggers at him. When their eyes met, Pelens broke into a smirk.
"I hit the nail right on the head, didn't I? You were totally planning to sneak—"
Thud!
"Gah!"
Before he could even finish his sentence, Lefonya, her face flushed with sheer exasperation, reflexively drove her foot straight into his seated shin.
"Ugh..." Pelens's expression contorted in genuine agony.
She had actually gone and struck the second-born scoundrel.
I... I just caused a disaster.
Lefonya's face turned completely pale.