Chapter 35

“I guess we have no choice. Might as well treat this as a break.”

Everyone needs rest now and then!

Having stepped into the room at the detached palace with Aivert, Rodella decided to think positively.  

They were handcuffed together anyway, so going out wasn’t exactly an option.

“Should I just take a nap?”  Rodella hesitated.  

It was rare to have time without any pressing work nearby, so the logical(?) part of her wanted to catch up on sleep.

That’s when it happened.

“Dame Rodella Syveric, are you in?”

A soft knock came at the door—subtle, but just loud enough for Rodella to hear.

Their eyes met over the close space forced between them by the cuffs.

“Were you expecting someone?” Aivert asked.

Rodella shook her head.  

“No?”

‘I told you—I don’t have friends,’ she thought, tilting her head as she moved toward the door.

Aivert naturally moved with her and stood at her side.

While he watched the hallway with caution, Rodella cracked the door open slightly.

—Swish.

In a flash, something slipped through—and Aivert reflexively snatched it.

But…what is this?

“A letter?” he mouthed silently.

Since it had only come through the crack, the sender likely hadn’t realized Aivert was in the room too.

“……!”

The person behind the door, clearly not expecting Rodella to catch the letter so quickly, froze for a second and then said,

“Have you been waiting long? My apologies.”

‘What? You think that was from me?’

Rodella stared at the ornate envelope—decorated with gold dust that looked oddly familiar—and smiled serenely.

“Then I’ll be going.”

Leaving behind only confusion, the servant slipped away.

Click. The door closed, and Rodella made a very annoyed face.

Meanwhile, Aivert was inspecting the letter.

“I never thought I’d get this kind of thing even here.” 

At her comment, Aivert’s brow twitched.

“You know this letter?”

He was puzzled—there was no sender written anywhere, yet she seemed to recognize it instantly.

“Oh yeah. There’s this guy who pesters me with letters every single day.”

She remembered mostly because burning them made gold dust float into the air—but of course, Aivert wouldn’t know that.

Two words stuck in his head: ’pesters?’ ‘Guy?’

“Who is it?” he asked in a low voice.

Rodella waved her hand dismissively.

“Just some guy who wants us to break up. Even with us walking around like this, he still won’t give up.”

Now Aivert was seriously curious about the guy who ticked every single box he hates.

“Want me to take care of him?”

Rodella burst out laughing at his serious tone.  

“There are tons of guys like that. Why waste your energy on them?”

She searched for the brazier while casually opening the letter.

[Tonight, 12 o’clock. Palace fountain. I’ll be waiting.]

“What’s he waiting for?”  

Anyone would think they had a prior arrangement.

Her face clearly showed her irritation. She went to tear up the letter on the spot.

—Rip.

“Ugh, this one’s thick.”

The paper was so high-quality it wouldn’t even tear properly.

“Here, give it to me.”

Aivert casually took the letter from her hand.

—Shhk!

With a sound that made one doubt it came from just paper, the letter was shredded cleanly into eight pieces.

“Let’s burn it.”

Rodella’s suggestion was met with an eager agreement as Aivert walked over to the brazier.

He tossed the shredded letter in with one hand.

“If you burn that, there’ll be gold dust—”

Before she could finish, a handkerchief fluttered up and opened in front of her face.

It was Aivert, shielding her from the dust. He didn’t even flinch at such a tiny thing, but he still blocked it—for her.

Rodella chuckled.

“You’re awfully considerate.”

“I’m only like this with you.”

He replied as he lowered the handkerchief after the gold dust settled.

Rodella shrugged.

“I know.”

Because she’d never seen him treat anyone else with such kindness.

“……”

But unlike usual, Aivert didn’t grumble something like ‘If you know, then try being nicer to me too’.

He was just quiet.

Rodella turned to look at him—only to find him staring directly at her.

She flinched without even realizing it.

Before she could process why he was reacting like that, the strange tension between them made her mouth move without thinking.

“Why?”

As soon as the word left her lips, it was as if time, which had briefly stopped, began flowing again.  

Aivert muttered his reply like dropping a pebble into still water.

“…No reason.”

* * *

Aivert had once heard something when he was a child.

“Married couples tend to have opposite personalities.”

It was his uncle, Viscount Vinrad, who had said it. His aunt, in contrast to the whimsical uncle, was a careful and reserved person.

So young Aivert once thought about himself and Rodella.  

Opposites? It seemed to make sense.

Rodella, unlike him, was patient even with others, and her stamina wasn’t overwhelmingly strong.

But there was another saying he’d heard around the same time: “Birds of a feather flock together.”

That one had come from his mother.

That, too, seemed right.  

He remembered thinking, ‘We’re alike in ways no one else is…’ That’s what he believed as a child.

But a few years later, he had stopped thinking either of those sayings mattered.  

As long as Rodella was by his side, nothing else was important.

However, these days, he was leaning toward the first saying.

Maybe the person you end up marrying is someone fundamentally different from you.  

Even while sharing the same space, looking at the same things, you see and think differently than I do.  

You think of me as just a friend—but I think of you differently.  

And you…

 —Snooore…

…Sleep like a baby, while I lie here wide awake.

“Hah.”

Well, if we’re different, that’s good too.  

Then as your complete opposite, I can fill in your gaps—like two puzzle pieces that fit just right.

By now, he felt like he could tell whether she was in a deep sleep just by listening to her breathing.

—Tap tap.

Once Rodella was deeply asleep, Aivert moved ever so slightly, just enough to not disturb her, and tapped the bedside table.

To anyone else, it might’ve sounded like meaningless noise. But anyone who couldn’t tell it apart wouldn’t qualify to be the personal attendant of Royden.

Sure enough—

 —Tap tap.

A faint knock came from outside the room.

While Aivert kept his eyes on the door, Denet—disguised as one of the many noble servants in the palace annex—entered silently.

He was not a foolish servant; he kept his gaze fixed firmly to the ground.

He knew his master wouldn’t appreciate him even accidentally glimpsing the woman he wished to someday make his wife.

“……”

Without lifting his eyes, Denet handed him a piece of paper.

[The people who lingered around during the farm support effort were, as you suspected, sent by the House of Viscount Linbeck.]

He was, indeed, a commendable attendant—bringing exactly what his master would want to know, even before being asked.

Aivert gave a small nod.

“Deal with them. Make sure they don’t try anything again.”

If they’d actually drawn their swords, this would’ve ended much more brutally.  

But in cases like this, a stern warning was more effective.

It also served to scare off the other small fry with similar intentions.

It was a bit frustrating—knowing exactly who the pests were, yet being unable to crush them outright.

But he had to keep watching.  

Now that Rodella had begun to stand out, they would only target her more.

“Understood.”

“And head to the palace annex fountain at midnight. There’ll be a man there waiting for Rodella.”

Don’t kill him. Just take care of it.  

Make sure he never bothers her again.

“Understood.”

There was an edge of cold fury in the quiet order, and Denet withdrew without making a sound.