Chapter 23: Chapter 23

I answered sarcastically, “If you’re going to keep getting up like you’re leaving, only to come back and start more trouble, won’t our conversations just drag on? At this rate, we’ll end up with some form of affection, whether it’s grudging or otherwise.”

“…It seems the lady has the upper hand,” Rick admitted with a wry smile as he stood.

“It was a pleasure talking with you. Until next time.”

“Yes, take care.”

I waved cheerfully, even though my expression was hidden behind my mask.

Haha. I really talked a lot today.

Hahaha. Pretending to act like Natalie is actually kind of fun. She must find life so entertaining.

Hahaha. This water tastes amazing…

“…AAAAAAARGH!”

No matter how hard I tried to think of something else, the words I’d said earlier kept replaying in my head.

“Even if someone is annoying, it’s easy to grow attached to them if they sneak you snacks.”

Seriously? The salt-and-sweet routine has its limits! Have I forgotten the level of venom Tristan’s remarks can contain? Do I think waffles or get-well gifts can fix that?

There’s no cute and cuddly between us!

“Sigh…”

We’re going to get married, so I guess I’ll have to develop some attachment to him.

But the idea of actually becoming fond of that guy feels like losing somehow… Like I’m letting myself fall for someone who doesn’t deserve it. Not that it’s wrong to grow attached, and, well, okay, his face does sometimes make my heart flutter a bit, but—

To break the endless cycle of thoughts spiraling through my mind, I called for a server.

“Excuse me! One gin and tonic, extra shot!”

***

In high society, every bit of gossip warrants a healthy dose of skepticism.

"A and B are getting married?" They probably just danced together once.

“C’s business is failing?” More likely, the person spreading the rumor got turned down for a free meal from C today.

"Doris Redfield has been bedridden since stepping on the young duke’s foot?"

The Countess of Redfield must be trying to use this as an excuse to invite the young duke over.

‘Doris Redfield stepped on his foot three times and still walked home on both legs. It’s obvious the countess is exaggerating her daughter’s condition to pair up the young duke with Natalie.’

Despite recognizing this transparent ploy, Tristan still found himself shopping for a get-well gift to bring to the Redfield estate that Saturday.

Even though he was busy investigating reports of monsters in Blue Atrium, he figured he should at least confirm that his fiancée’s already small feet hadn’t somehow shrunk further.

After carving out what little free time he had, Tristan successfully made it to the gates of the Redfield estate with a gift in hand.

Unfortunately, the person who greeted him was the worst possible choice.

“Oh my, Your Highness. What brings you here?”

Natalie Redfield. The most beautiful—and most tactless—woman in the history of the Redfield family.

“I don’t recall inviting you, nor receiving word of your visit. Surely you haven’t come to trouble the Redfield household, have you?”

“I heard my fiancée was injured.”

“While it’s true she’s experiencing some discomfort, that hardly explains your sudden appearance. Would you care to make an appointment for another day?”

“Miss Redfield, have you never made a sick visit before? Ah, perhaps you’ve never had a friend exchange such courtesies with you? If so, that’s unfortunate. Still, projecting your own misfortune onto your sister’s circumstances seems like an inappropriate choice.”

“Why would a sister who receives her elder’s love ever feel lonely? Unless, of course, you believe familial love to be inferior to a fiancé’s love. Which, might I add, raises questions about whether what you’ve brought here even qualifies as ‘love.’”

Tristan briefly entertained the thought of locking Natalie in a cabin deep in the woods, where she’d have no one to talk to but squirrels and deer. That might improve her temperament.

Of course, she was probably imagining him hanging upside-down from a fir tree in that same forest. Her sharp glare made it all too clear.

Their conversation—or linguistic duel—was unexpectedly interrupted in the most peaceful way possible.

Behind Natalie, a voice called out.

“Please, calm down! If Doris finds out you’re arguing because of her, she’ll be hurt!”

“Miss Meyer? What brings you here?”

“Oh, Your Highness. My apologies for the late introduction. I’m here as Doris’s friend, visiting her. This is my escort, Rick Ray.”

Maria Meyer smiled warmly, clearly doing her best to diffuse the tension.

Tristan suppressed his irritation and returned Maria and her escort’s greetings.

“Ray? That’s an unfamiliar surname. Not a noble, I take it?”

The young man’s genial smile didn’t quite match his wiry but rugged frame. For some reason, despite his friendly expression, his eyes seemed to pierce like daggers.

Nevertheless, Tristan maintained his manners and turned his attention back to the estate. But Natalie clung to him persistently.

“Doris has already seen too many visitors today. Even the Meyers were considerate enough to leave early.”

“…”

“I’ll personally pass along your well wishes to her.”

Such remarkable "consideration."

Her insistence only made Tristan want to push through even more, but…

“Very well, Miss Redfield. Please convey my concerns to my fiancée.”

After all, she was the hostess and the patient’s elder sister. Ignoring her in front of other guests would only cause unnecessary trouble.

“Until next time.”

Tristan turned abruptly, careful to keep his actions just shy of outright rudeness. As he walked away, he belatedly realized he’d missed an opportunity to speak with Maria. By the time it occurred to him, he was already well away from the estate.

“There will be another chance. Besides, that brown-haired man was distracting.”

Maria quickly faded from his mind as more pressing matters took over.

Later that afternoon, Tristan considered returning to the estate. However, a letter from his subordinate regarding Blue Atrium derailed his plans.

Limited access to certain farmland confirmed. Additional investigation underway. Initial witness, the herbalist, is missing.

A sinking feeling weighed on him. Tristan spent the rest of his day assigning reinforcements and poring over records of the affected area.

By the time he glanced up from his desk, shoving bread into his mouth to stave off hunger, it was already ten at night—far too late for another visit.

“I’ll have to try again tomorrow.”

Even so, his steps had already carried him outside the palace.

The summer night breeze carried the faint scent of blooming flowers, and petals scattered underfoot as he walked, unaccompanied by his guards.

“I should’ve brought flowers instead of bread. Then again, she seems more like the type to prefer snacks.”

Tomorrow, he’d send flowers. The current trend in social circles was lisianthus. Pairing white and pink scabiosa would make for a tasteful arrangement to place by her bedside…

These musings were interrupted as he neared the Redfield estate. Unexpected voices reached his ears—one drunken and slurred, the other clear and steady.

“I can walk on my own…”

“That won’t do. Please hold onto my hand until we get there.”

A lady and her maid, perhaps returning from a party.

Tristan glanced in their direction out of idle curiosity, and his heart dropped the moment he caught sight of the lady’s hair color.

“Doris Redfield?”

Two women were heading toward the servants’ entrance of the Redfield estate. One, presumably the maid, carried herself with a straight-backed posture. The other, a lady whose dress frills peeked from under her cloak, walked unsteadily.

Is she drunk? Or injured? Either way, Arthur Albion will have to answer for this.

As the lady—presumably Doris—spoke, her slurred words reached him.

“Thank you so much. For helping me, for working overtime because of me… hic. Do you get paid extra?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, my lady. We’re simply here to ensure your safety…”

“No, seriously, make sure you get paid! Don’t hold back because you’re afraid of upsetting the higher-ups. You’ll end up with nothing. Trust me.”

“…”

“For my birthday once, I skipped buying a fraisier cake because it was too expensive. I ended up crying while eating three Ferrero Rocher chocolates instead. They were good, but still…”

The specificity of the rambling confirmed it—this was Doris Redfield.

Her maid, unfazed, responded with curt politeness: “Please watch your step, my lady.”

Tristan’s mind swirled with questions.

“Where on earth has she been at this hour?”

It was a Saturday night, so plenty of parties would’ve been taking place, from lavish balls to small gatherings around a table with friends. Since she hadn’t taken a carriage, it was likely the latter.

“She has friends?”

He felt a pang of guilt for even entertaining the thought. Of course, she could have friends.

“Maria seemed friendly with her earlier today… When did they become close?”

More questions piled up, but answers eluded him. It was a rare feeling for Tristan. Normally, he would work backward to unravel a problem.

“What do I actually know about my fiancée?”

Doris Redfield. The third daughter of the Redfield family. Quiet, uninteresting, and not particularly beautiful.

Even the tidbit about her liking sweets was something he’d only stumbled upon by accident earlier that year. Hardly groundbreaking information.

“How is it that I know so little about the woman I’ve been engaged to for five years?”

He could deduce complex issues in Blue Atrium from rumors and a few documents, yet when it came to Doris, he knew little more than the dance hall attendants who announced her arrival.

The reason was obvious.

He’d never cared to know.

Even as this realization settled in, his mind felt oddly blank.

Yet his feet kept moving forward.

“And what am I going to do if I catch up to her?”

“Ask her what she likes besides snacks?”

By the time these thoughts ran their course, Doris and her maid had reached the estate’s side gate. The door creaked open.

“Please head in safely, my lady. I’m sure the mistress will look forward to seeing you again.”

“Thank her for me. I’ll visit again soon.”

So, it had been a gathering with friends after all.

Tristan felt an inexplicable sense of relief. He didn’t know why.

Just as Doris stepped through the threshold, her shawl slipped off her shoulders.@@novelbin@@

“Eek!”

She hastily pulled it back up, briefly revealing her bare shoulders under the moonlight.

The maid seemed more startled than she was.

“What’s wrong, my lady?”

“My shoulders showed… Sorry, it’s nothing. I don’t usually wear dresses like this.”

“Thank you for your hard work tonight. Please rest well.”

The maid turned and walked off into the night. Doris carefully adjusted her shawl, ensuring it was secure, and closed the door behind her.

It was time for Tristan to leave as well.

“So, she doesn’t only wear nun-like clothes. She can wear a proper dress every now and then.”

Though surprised, he felt reassured knowing she was well enough to spend time with friends.

“Damn it. It really was the countess exaggerating her condition to lure the young duke over.”

Tristan sighed and turned away. He’d wasted enough time. The rest of his walk would be spent focusing on the pressing issues of Blue Atrium.

“The restricted zones imply the higher-ups are aware of the monsters’ presence… And yet, why does she seem more dressed up when meeting friends than attending balls? No, why am I even thinking about that?!”