Apparently, she had been so lost in thought that she hadn't heard the knock.
Victor's calm voice drifted through the door.
Realizing the position she had been sprawled in, Yvel shot upright as if electrocuted. Fortunately, the door wasn't wide open.
Just slightly ajar.
Like the considerate man he was.
"I was going to leave if you had fallen asleep. Though it seems that won't be necessary."
"C-Come in."
"Excuse me."
The tall shadow blocking the light moved forward.
A handsome man stood there, dressed appropriately for the season in a single light shirt. In one hand, he carried a tray and a bottle of beer.
To be completely honest, it was a very pleasant sight.
"How did you know I'd be looking for beer?"
Yvel's voice lifted with obvious delight.
Quick to notice the change in her tone, Victor shrugged.
"Well. You seem to have a habit."
"What habit?"
"When a rabbit gets startled, it drinks itself silly."
How on earth did he know that?
She grumbled inwardly, but beer was beer.
With great generosity, Yvel scooted aside on the couch and offered him a seat.
"I'll be visiting the Eberstein estate soon. Lady Eberstein wishes to discuss the wedding with you herself. The dress fabrics, jewelry, and similar matters."
"Understood."
"Lady Eberstein is one of the most influential figures in local high society. She'll be of great help."
Hadn't he said she already treated Yvel like a daughter?
Though they hadn't met yet, Yvel already felt a strange sense of familiarity.
Perhaps because Colonel Conrad, an absurdly devoted husband, talked about his wife at every opportunity.
"I can't wait to meet her."
"You'll have the chance soon enough. Apparently, Lady Eberstein is counting the days until she can meet you as well, so everything should proceed smoothly."
"We'll need to make a guest list too, won't we?"
"Yes. Lady Eberstein will assist with that as well."
Thank goodness.
That sort of thing wasn't exactly her expertise.
She had learned some of it indirectly while watching her mother, but she'd never done it herself.
After all, she'd run off to university before she could be sold into marriage.
Since childhood, Yvel had hated the idea of becoming the wife of a man she didn't love and spending her life tending his household.
A life like an accessory.
She had wanted the things people called men's pursuits—studying, hunting, horseback riding, billiards.
Even now, nothing had changed.
Wearing dresses wasn't the issue.
What mattered was whether she could continue doing the things she wanted to do.
Victor had said he needed her medical skills.
He had given her a position.
The position just happened to be wife.
"...Life is funny, isn't it? I struggled so hard because I didn't want to become the lady of someone's house, and yet here I am."
She paused awkwardly.
"Not that I dislike it. In case you're misunderstanding."
"I'm not."
The concise reply came as Victor handed her the beer.
After a few sips, she desperately wanted to tilt the bottle back and drain it all at once, but she restrained herself.
Tomorrow she would officially meet the household staff.
The last thing she wanted was to spend the morning suffering from a hangover.
"I was called strange all the time when I was young. Why are there things for women and things for men? Why can't I come home covered in mud like Abel? Why am I forbidden from learning numbers and expected to sit around reading poetry instead?"
Victor listened quietly.
Watching her.
Hearing every word.
It wasn't a hardship he could truly understand.
Seranna had been gentle and delicate by nature, with no desire whatsoever to leave the shelter of home.
Victor, meanwhile, had been the heir of his family.
Going out into the world had always been expected of him.
There had never been anyone who could tell him no.
"It was suffocating. And now I'm becoming a wife. Sometimes it feels like all the things I cut my hair and lived like a man to escape are being shoved back into my hands."
"That's entirely understandable."
"...Sorry. That was a lot of complaining."
It was the beer's fault.
Yes.
Let's blame the beer.
As she fell silent, embarrassment crept in.
Victor wasn't the one who had pressured her.
She couldn't say these things to her family and had run away instead.
Yet here she was, dumping her frustrations on him.
"It's all right, Yvel."
And to her surprise, Victor answered carefully.
"If there is something you dislike, then don't do it."
"..."
"If there is something you wish to change, then change it."
"..."
"There will still be many things you cannot accomplish alone. If anyone tells you 'no' or orders you to stop, invoke the name of Bavaria."
His gaze never wavered.
"These words may sound deceptive, but... I will stand behind you."
Every word was sincere.
Among Richter's nobility, there was a famous saying:
A lady guards the drawing room fireplace. A gentleman learns the gun.
Ladies were emotional.
Fickle.
Unsuitable for important work in either mind or body.
Ladies were flowers meant to be protected.
Yet sitting before him was a woman who contradicted every one of those beliefs.
Looking at Yvel.
Listening to her.
He could see it clearly.
Managing not only a household but an entire territory.
Handling tax revenues.
Choosing investments.
Attending university to study law or diplomacy.
Such things had always belonged exclusively to men.
But couldn't Yvel do them too?
She had served in the military.
She had survived.
Even when deserters had fled in droves, Yvel had remained until the very end.
"I'm going to abuse that privilege terribly, you know."
"Feel free."
Victor's answer came without hesitation.
"After all, I placed someone who never wanted to be a wife into the position of one."
Yvel stared into his blue eyes for a long moment.
Victor Bayern never spoke empty words.
If she caused trouble somewhere, somehow, he truly intended to protect her.
"All right."
A grin spread across her face.
"Then look forward to it."
If they had been friends, she might have punched him lightly in the chest.
Instead, she simply winked.
Another layer of respect settled in her heart.
This kind of marriage...
Maybe it wasn't so bad.
"Oh, right. Even if it's a fake wedding... could we invite Guiev?"
"He'll probably have no idea what's happening and feel burdened by it, but I don't mind. I was planning to keep him within Bavaria's protection anyway."
"I hope he comes."
Of the final twelve survivors, Guiev was the only one born a commoner.
Both of them had known what it meant to earn money simply to survive.
Without ever saying it aloud, they had understood each other.
"Let's invite him first. Guiev volunteered because he needed medicine money for his younger sister, didn't he? I'd like to help her. I can make the medicine myself."
"I'll come up with a suitable excuse. Perhaps she'll be selected for one of the Grand Duchy's sponsorship programs. Or she'll arrive to receive aid and discover that it just so happens to be wedding season."
This time, even if war broke out again—
May Guiev never have to volunteer.
And—
"I hope he becomes a poet this time."
"Then while you're Grand Duchess, sponsor artists."
Yvel laughed.
"Power really is nice. You can do whatever you want."
"That's precisely why I'm living like this."
After that, their conversation turned toward all the people now living separate lives and how they might somehow gather them together for the wedding.
Lucas was easy.
He was already a soldier and had been Victor's childhood friend.
His status was high enough that inviting him posed no problem.
The others were nobles as well.
Even without regular contact, extending invitations wouldn't be difficult.
The discussion carried on for quite some time.
Then, gradually, Yvel fell quiet.
Without a word, Victor moved a little closer.
Thump.
Not long afterward, Yvel's head landed against his shoulder.
Or rather, she swayed and ended up leaning there.
Victor set down the remaining beer.
Then he stayed exactly where he was.
Motionless.
Waiting.
Until she drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.
After all, he hadn't come tonight to drink beer.
He had come because he knew Yvel would struggle to sleep with old memories haunting her.
And he intended to stay until she finally could.
