The Weight of a Name
But now that I’ve had the honor of meeting Your Grace, I can’t begin to express how fortunate this is. Duke Farrow, if you intend to travel the Harvest Road, why not accompany us?
“That wouldn’t be accompaniment. That would be an escort.”
The duke replied from atop his restless horse in his characteristically blunt tone.
“Haha, I won’t deny that was part of the intention. Still, our soldiers aren’t the sort to sit idle. We’ll match your pace so we don’t become a hindrance.”
In truth, it was a request for protection. Unless the bandits were unusually confident and well-armed, few would dare attack the mountain-horse army of Farrow. Simply staying close to them would be reassuring enough.
The Belard forces were headed for Elvenlake, which shared part of the route with Loudhill. They would travel northeast along the Sidbon River together until the watershed, where the paths would diverge north and south.
Farrow and Belard were allies. Since their routes overlapped anyway, there was no reason they couldn’t travel together.
“Well… I understand the situation, but…”
Even so, Nyx hesitated to answer, and the reason was purely personal.
His uncomfortable gaze drifted toward the carriage. Knowing exactly who was riding inside, he could not remain indifferent.
I never imagined I’d run into her out here. Please don’t come out. Don’t come out, please…
This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to travel so far for something as trivial as socializing. The man chewed his lip in bitter regret.
Seeing the duke’s continued silence, Sir Volzen spoke more earnestly, playing the one card Nyx could never refuse.
“Count Belard will surely repay this kindness.”
Count Belard.
Nyx let out a deep sigh at the name.
It was the same name that made him want to flee, yet the same name that ultimately forced him to comply. Whenever the old man was mentioned, he became hopelessly weak.
Reluctantly, Nyx offered a compromise.
“Then let’s head to Pass Valley first. We can discuss the rest once we arrive.”
As he spoke, he thought of Desidero. He decided to send his brother to deal with Abigail.
Sir Volzen, unaware of these calculations, readily agreed to the duke’s proposal. Everyone concurred that they should reach the village before sunset.
Even after renting an entire inn, there weren’t enough rooms. The number of people traveling with Duke Farrow was considerable, and Lady Belard’s entourage was no smaller.
Desidero ordered Tichite to remain in the carriage. His reason was the same as before.
“Abigail Belard is a woman who talks too much. If she sees you, she’ll invent rumors that don’t even exist and spread them everywhere. I’d wager one of my arms on it. You know how much that would mean to me, don’t you?”
The young man said this while fidgeting with what remained of his shortened leg. Whenever he made such dark jokes, Tichite never knew whether to laugh or cry.
“Yes, I understand.”
Setting aside her discomfort, Tichite obeyed Desidero’s instructions without complaint.
Even though she was being denied the chance to rest in a proper building with a roof and pillars for the first time in a while, she felt no resentment. If the spacious carriage could be hers alone, she was content to sleep there.
The carriage was parked beside the stable where the horses were tied. The smell of manure lingered, but it was nothing compared to the stench of rotting fish. Tichite had a strong stomach.
She opened the carriage shutter and looked toward the inn where the others would be staying. The sky was turning a deep bruised blue, and warm yellow light spilled from the windows of the two-story wooden building.
She wondered what was happening inside. She was curious about Lady Belard’s face, and even more curious about how the Duke of Farrow would react upon seeing her.
According to Desidero, Abigail Belard was one of the people who had “ruined Duke Farrow’s life.” Tichite wasn’t sure if the duke himself saw it that way, but the description struck her as slightly excessive.
His former fiancée who broke off their engagement…
Their connection went back a long way. Count Belard had been Duke Farrow’s godfather and had cherished him since childhood. He was a surrogate family member and mentor who had spent more time with Nyx than his own father and taught him many things.
The count had wanted to marry his only daughter to his beloved godson. This was long before Nyx Farrow had even fully matured, but ten years ago he had been an undeniably ideal match. Men his age were rare to begin with, and nowhere in Bigland was there a boy whose future was more assured than Nyx Farrow’s. When such a boy offered blind respect and trust, arranging the engagement had been a swift and prudent decision.
The two had been expected to become good partners for each other. But as time passed, the story changed.
Having been bound together before they even recognized each other as the opposite sex, the moment they reached an age where they could understand romantic love, they overturned the promise.
The notification was one-sided, and the reason given was the duke’s illness.
Lady Belard had concluded that she could never take the Duke of Farrow as her husband after seeing his ruined face.
Was he really that ugly?
While Tichite felt sorry for the duke, a rather wicked curiosity began to sprout.
Still, he has high status, wealth, and the power to command other men.
She had never even seen a single strand of his hair, yet she held an optimistic impression of him. She even found herself indulging in the foolish fantasy that she would gladly accept a proposal from such a powerful man.
But for someone of Lady Belard’s standing, material conditions apparently no longer mattered. Unlike Tichite, she was a noblewoman who lacked neither social status nor economic freedom. Rumor had it that she was also exceptionally beautiful. There had been no reason for such a perfect woman to marry a “monster.”
Count Belard had been quite taken aback by his daughter’s declaration that she would break the engagement. He tried to change Abigail’s mind but ultimately failed to break her stubbornness.
Moreover, according to Desidero, the woman had also effectively blocked any other marriage prospects for the duke.
Wherever Belard went, women who had never seen the duke’s face gossiped about his hideous appearance, and he gradually stopped showing his face in public. The more he hid, the more it lent credence to the rumors, yet the man could not break the habit.
She was once someone he had promised a future with. Calling him terrifying or disgusting… that was too harsh.
From what she heard, the duke had received the breakup notice in a particularly unkind manner.
While she agreed that marriage should be based on the couple’s own feelings, she imagined how deeply hurt he must have felt.
To be discarded not for any other reason but because his appearance had become monstrous—how humiliating that would be to speak of. Desidero had ground his teeth, saying that was when the duke’s gynophobia had truly begun to surface.
If it were me, I wouldn’t have been able to say I’d help so easily.
But the broken engagement and the relationship between godfather and godson were separate matters. Even after the incident, the duke and the count remained as close as father and son. This was possible because the count felt deeply guilty about what had happened, and because the duke was not a petty man.
Therefore, Desidero predicted that Duke Farrow would not be able to refuse the request to protect Abigail for the sake of Count Belard’s face.
They seem uncomfortable even looking at each other. I wonder how this will turn out.
With that thought, she pulled the blanket over herself and lay down.
Then, around dawn, a commotion woke her from sleep. The noise was coming from the direction of the stable.
“Why is Sir Milvian allowed to go but not me?”
“I told you from the beginning that I was going alone…”
“That won’t do, Commander. How can you move without any escort? It’s unacceptable.”
“You’re following me, so he came along too.”
The man sounded genuinely annoyed. It seemed both sides were equally bothersome, but the one with the slightly more mature voice appeared to hold a slight advantage.
“You seem to keep forgetting, Zama. You’re still a squire. You’re not qualified to serve as an escort.”
“Attending to the commander has always been my role. If not the knight’s squire, then who else would be suited for it?”
“Both of you, shut up and saddle the horses.”
The weary man spoke between the bickering youths. She could have ignored them and gone back to sleep, but the voice was too familiar to dismiss. Tichite tried to wake herself fully, only half-understanding the words that had reached her ears.