Whether it was true that arrangements had been made in advance or not, Celia was shown to a room the moment she stepped into the inn.
Lucius, soaked through from the rain, went off to wash first, and Celia took her time soaking in the bath afterward.
Unused to bathing without attendants, she emerged far earlier than usual and slipped on the robe provided by the inn. The rough fabric made her frown for a moment—
Then the sound of the door opening echoed across the floorboards.
“Lucius?”
Celia narrowed her eyes the instant she recognized who it was.
Standing before the cracked window, checking her appearance in the reflection, she snapped instinctively,
“What kind of nobleman walks into a lady’s room without knocking? Is that how Wind—”
Windmier teaches its men?
The sharp words slid back down her throat before she finished.
She hadn’t wanted to realize it like this, but abandoning old habits was as difficult as cutting away a part of herself.
“I think I was careless. I’ll be more mindful next time.”
Celia loosened her grip on the front of her robe at the soft melody of his voice.
She was someone whose words were always sharpened like blades, ready to strike at any moment. Yet lately, every knife she threw simply fell uselessly to the floor instead of returning to wound her.
Unfamiliar with such a situation, she dragged her worn slippers back a few steps.
Lucius did not approach her any closer.
Instead, he turned his gaze toward the bed and tilted his head awkwardly.
“What should we do? It’s a little too small for two people.”
Celia’s eyes widened immediately.
“Two people? We’re sleeping together?”
“...There was only one room available.”
“If the inn was full, then you should’ve made someone leave!”
She didn’t care about Windmier’s finances, but if he’d offered enough money, surely there would’ve been people eager to give up their rooms.
“It was a cold, rainy night. I couldn’t force people out with money.”
As if anyone else’s circumstances mattered.
The only thing important to Celia was the fact that she had to share both a bed and a room with him.
A cramped, old, musty room.
And on top of that—
Lucius.
“It’s embarrassing, so I hate it!”
She clenched her fists so tightly her nails trembled.
The regret came the moment the words left her mouth, but it was too late to take them back.
Why would I make an excuse like that?!
She quickly looked away. At the wrinkles in the sheets. The edge of the curtains. Anywhere but his face.
“We’re married.”
His low voice caught her immediately.
Warm—yet somehow strangely evasive at the same time.
“There’s no reason to be embarrassed, Celia.”
There was still distance between them, but the moment Lucius leaned forward and extended an arm, he reached her easily.
“I’ll dry your hair.”
The cold, wet strands swaying against her movements curled around his finger.
Celia glared at her own traitorous hair clinging obediently to him.
“I can... do it myself.”
In the end, she turned her back on him.
Not that there was anywhere to go in the tiny room, but she said it as firmly as she could.
Then suddenly—
The air brushing against her cheek changed.
At some point, he had stepped right behind her.
“If you catch a cold, I’ll be upset.”
Neither lightly nor forcefully, he wrapped his arms around her.
As though engraving into her body exactly whose embrace this was.
Her breath faltered.
Celia looked up at the man gazing down at her. Was it her imagination, or was Lucius’s face drawing closer?
His warm breath brushed along the bridge of her nose.
When his breathing came close enough to touch her skin, Celia tried to speak.
Something she had to say.
No—
Something she needed to say.
“Don’t—”
“Shouldn’t I?”
“......”
The unfinished words that escaped weakly from her lips were completed instead by Lucius.
Damn it.
Celia lifted her eyes upward.
“If I’m not going to, then stop biting your lips like that. Is it a habit?”
She wanted to tell him not to mind it.
But the words kept circling near her lips, every sentence losing shape before it could escape.
“Biting them is my business.”
If you’re going to lose your mind, at least do it properly.
Why did he have to go mad in such a strange direction and say ridiculous things like that?
The hand she’d placed on his arm to push him away tightened.
Her wandering eyes refused to settle anywhere.
This is irritating.
A Lucius who wasn’t unpleasant.
A Lucius who wasn’t cold toward her.
A Lucius who didn’t hate her...
She hated to admit it, but she didn’t know how to deal with him anymore.
Because he no longer treated her cruelly.
All that remained now was her own anger and disgust.
Emotions he knew nothing about—feelings that kept spilling out pointlessly before scattering into nothing.
I hate this.
Her fingers stiffened white.
“Let go.”
Every moment was unbearable.
She shoved him away and moved hastily—
Only for her heel to strike something hard.
“Ah—?”
The frail old table wobbled from the slightest bump.
Beyond her elbow, a long bottle tipped dangerously.
The slender neck twisted through the air.
For the briefest instant, she almost heard the sound of shattering—
Tak!
“Ah.”
A hand shot out suddenly past her.
Lucius caught the falling wine bottle by the neck with impossible precision.
“Thank goodness. I got it.”
But Celia couldn’t move.
His chest had pressed close as he reached for the bottle.
His hand still lingered near enough to brush her waist.
She barely managed to part her lips.
“What... is this?”
Lucius carefully set the luxurious wine back onto the table—a bottle far too refined to belong in such a shabby inn.
“It’s wine.”
“Wine?”
“I’d planned to give it to you during the carriage ride back, but things turned out like this instead.”
Only then did Celia properly examine the bottle.
This was...
Rubiel wine. The kind notoriously difficult to obtain these days.
A white wine made from grapes grown only in the eastern highlands of the Isvrilla continent.
The dried flower petals fermented together with the grape juice gave it a faint floral aroma, and it was famous for its sweetness.
Lucius ran his fingers along the neck of the bottle before tilting it slightly.
Soft violet bubbles shimmered through the crystal-clear glass.
“If you’d like, shall we drink it?”
He gestured toward the prepared glasses beside it.
“It might feel a little out of place in somewhere like this, but it tastes quite good.”
Drink together?
The two of them?
Celia parted her lips slightly at the unbelievable combination of words.
She rarely drank alcohol. Not that she couldn’t—she could manage a glass or two when necessary, but...
Then suddenly—
A thought crossed her mind.
Not a bad idea.
“Fine.”
The short reply fell heavily between them.
His shadow shifted faintly.
“I’ll drink it.”
She repeated herself, short and clear.
At her answer, she heard him inhale deeply, as though suppressing something.
Lucius’s chest rose subtly.
At her eye level, the first thing she noticed was the movement of his firm ribcage.
Celia deliberately avoided looking any higher.
The plan had been simple.
Get Lucius drunk, then dump him outside the room.
It was a scheme devised by Celia herself—a woman who despised alcohol.
But what was she supposed to do?
This tiny, old, foul-smelling room had only one bed.
Fortunately, although she didn’t enjoy drinking, Celia had always been able to handle alcohol well.
So there shouldn’t have been any problem.
Her plan had been perfect.
It should have been perfect.
“Are you okay?”
Clatter—
Celia covered her mouth and leaned toward the table.
“Celia, does your stomach hurt? Do you feel sick?”
The tone he used was so gentle, like soothing a child, that she almost gagged from irritation and shook her head quickly.
The room spun.
This is strange. He’s the one with brain damage, so why am I the one like this?
Her chest felt heavy.
A soft whining sound escaped her throat.
The hand that gently caught her wobbling head belonged to Lucius.
“Then do you want to lie down for a bit?”
“No. I don’t... like the bed.”
Apparently he already knew that, because a faint laugh escaped him.
That irritated her even more.
“Why... why did you want to see the opera? I hate inns. Ever since earlier... the floor’s been making weird noises...”
“It’s okay. The boards are just old. The floor isn’t going to collapse.”
“I hate... old floorboards too...”
Even through her mumbling, he somehow understood her and apologized.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve found somewhere better.”
He didn’t make excuses.
And even while she drunkenly blamed him for no reason, he didn’t scold her.
The first part was understandable, considering his personality.
But the second?
That wasn’t like Lucius at all.
The old Lucius would have—
“Why aren’t you angry...?”
Celia blinked her heavy eyelids and voiced the question honestly.
By now, he should’ve already snapped back at her.
Lucius’s hand, which had been brushing damp hair away from her forehead, suddenly paused.
“...Should I have been angry with you?”
“It’s... the kind of situation... where you would.”
That kind of situation.
He rolled the words around in his mouth quietly.
“No matter what the situation is, I don’t think it’s right for me to... get angry at you.”
Listening to his words through her hazy mind, Celia laughed.
“Liar.”
“......”
“You were always angry with me. That’s why it feels weird now that you’re not.”
A heavy sound escaped him, like someone drawing in breath.
Celia slapped away the hand that had reached toward her again and leaned against the creaking armrest of her chair.
They sat across from each other with a tiny table between them.
And there were many things she disliked besides the fact that the table was so small their knees nearly touched.
Like how Lucius’s glass was nearly empty despite them drinking at the same pace.
While hers was still half full.
Or the crooked shelf leaning slightly to one side.
On the table sat a plate of cheese alongside the wine.
And beside it—
A small cheese knife.
...A knife.
“Did I... get angry often?”
His rigid voice no longer reached her properly.
Celia lifted her gaze from the knife and slowly traced the line of his shoulder.
“—lia.”
“......”
“Celia.”
Celia stretched out her hand.
Toward the blurred outline before her.
The moment her fingers finally touched him, she gave a lazy smile and tilted her chin proudly upward.
Lucius appeared hazy within her blurred vision, as though submerged underwater.
But even that didn’t last long.
The alcohol drifting around her forehead soon seeped beneath her eyelids.
Even that old bed seems fine now.
Anywhere was fine.
She just wanted to close her eyes.
“I’m sleepy...”
Her final memory was of a low voice drifting faintly between the sound of breathing and the touch brushing near her cheek.
Every sensation dissolved into warm, hazy darkness.
And that was where her memory ended.
