The night Sveta fell from the cliff, Henrik found a large ruby ring lying in the snow. It glittered against the white snow like a jewel on a velvet carpet.

Before he could take this in, he spotted something else nearby: a diamond necklace sparkling in the moonlight.

Then he saw a sapphire ring.

Then another gemstone.

They were scattered as though carelessly flung across the snow.

“What is this…?”

Perplexed, he began to pick them up one by one and move forward. Before he knew it, the bag he had brought with him was full.

They must belong to Baron Luce’s young lady.

She had said she would bring the jewels with her.

“Then she must be somewhere nearby.”

Fortunately, there were no signs of animal tracks.

And yet only the jewels remained.

It made no sense.

“Did she vanish into the sky? Where on earth—”

He sighed heavily and raised his head.

That was when he saw it.

Dangling in the air among the thick branches of a nearby Dreipium tree was something black.

Henrik recoiled instinctively.

Then he realized it was a person.

Trembling, he stepped closer.

He felt like crying.

It was her.

Sveta hung limp and utterly motionless, as though she were dead.

***

Henrik crossed the snowy landscape without delay and took her straight to a family-owned villa.

His sister, who suffered from melancholia, was convalescing there, and a skilled physician was on the premises.

It was a stroke of luck indeed.

“….”

Henrik stood by the bed, staring at Sveta as she lay there.

Her pale face seemed as fragile as the moon’s reflection quivering on a lake’s surface.

He remembered the moment he had lifted her into his arms. She had been light — far too light — like a bundle of straw rather than a grown woman.

Hadn’t she lived with the duke? She must have been served the finest meals. And yet she was so thin.

This contrasted starkly with his own sturdy wife. The smallness of her body stirred something heavy within him.

He swallowed the sour bile rising in his throat and slowly raised his head.

“How is she?”

The physician, fingers still pressed to her pulse, replied gently.

“Other than a few fractured fingers, there are no major breaks.”

“…Ha.”

A rough breath escaped him.

When he found her, her body was folded forward. The belt that had been tightly wrapped around her waist to hold up her trousers had caught on a thick branch of the Dreipium tree, saving her life.

He should have been grateful for this miracle.

So why did his chest ache instead?

“I feared her ribs or spine might have been damaged. ‘I am relieved they were not.”

“Yes.”

“And her legs?”

The physician arched his white brows.

“I have removed the arrowhead lodged in her calf. The bone is intact, but the muscle appears to be severely damaged. She sustained further injury in the fall. She will likely need to remain bedridden until spring.”

“…And after that? Will she be able to walk?”

“We must observe her progress.”

Physicians always spoke that way.

We must observe. We must wait.

They never offered certainty.

‘Frustrating—but what other choice is there?’

Henrik looked at the physician with dry eyes.

The physician carefully wiped her forehead; she had fallen asleep under the sedative.

“Her fever seems high.”

“She will be in pain for some time. It is part of the healing process.”

“…You have done well. I am in your care from now on.”

“Yes, sir.”

At the physician’s signal, his assistant—who had been waiting behind—quickly cleared away the bloodied gauze and instruments.

As the physician and assistant bowed and turned to leave—

“Wait.”

“Yes? Is there something more you require?”

“Leave the trousers.”

“Of course.”

The assistant handed over the trousers she had been wearing and exited the room.

Henrik returned to the bedside and looked down at Sveta once more.

“She looks… in so much pain.”

Her full lips were torn and ragged, as though she had bitten them repeatedly. Henrik’s thick brows drew together deeply.

“What if she cannot walk?”

He could not bring himself to lift the blanket. He hovered helplessly.

‘What if she loses the use of one leg? What then?’

Fear surged through him.

He despised weakness.

He admired strength.

He had a great deal of respect for his formidable father-in-law. He adored his strong-willed wife.

Weakness repulsed him.

He curled his thin fingers into a tight fist.

“Coward Meriner.”

That’s what people called him and his family.

The Meriners had always been frail. It was simply in their nature.

Like reeds bending before the wind.

Like slender grass bowing beneath the weight of morning dew.

That was how the Meriners had been shaped.

They were as weak as water and as thin as mist.

Weakness —

It was his nature. His flaw. His inferiority.

This fragile woman, who had the same hair and eye color as his formidable father-in-law and strong-willed wife, seemed to him to be a disruption to his firm, orderly world.

What should have been strong was instead painfully delicate.

He could not bear it.

And so Henrik chose to cross the line.

“I thought letting her cross the border would be enough…”

Henrik tore apart Sveta’s bloodstained trousers with a quiet sigh.

From the jewels he had gathered, he selected several necklaces set with small stones.

Finally, he looked down at her and whispered gently.

“I am sorry about the necklaces. But I need to help you a little more, Lady Luce. I truly cannot stand weakness.”

Just like mine.

He swallowed the final words.

***

A month and a half passed.

“Ah—”

Sveta stirred out of habit, then clenched her teeth at the sharp pain in her calf.

“It didn’t look that bad…”

Was the wound really that deep?

Even the slightest movement caused agonizing pain to shoot through her leg as if it were splitting in two.

She held her breath and waited for the pain to subside.

Three fingers on her left hand. One on her right.

All of them were splinted straight.

“It’s better than before. So it’s all right.”

Slowly, she pushed herself into an upright position.

It took time — she had to be careful not to put weight on her fingers or leg — but managing to sit up unaided filled her with quiet pride.

For the past month and a half, the only thing she had been able to do was ring the small bell beside her pillow.

Whenever she rang it, a maid would come and turn her over or attend to her needs.

She was grateful. And sorry.

‘I must recover soon.’

After a month and a half, she was finally able to sit up by herself.

But that was all she could do.

Her left leg still sent waves of intense pain through her body with every movement.

It felt like a bad omen.

“Will I… be able to walk again?”

She murmured it under her breath.

Just as her gaze drifted down towards her toes, there was a hurried knock at the door, which then opened.

When she saw who it was, her eyes widened.

“Lord Meriner!”

Henrik entered the room, smiling brightly.

His eyes curved gently, like a rainbow.

For some reason, seeing him made her want to cry.

She had been told that Lord Meriner had brought her here after she had fallen unconscious from the cliff.

“It has been exactly a month and a half, Lady Luce. From my perspective, at least.”

Pulling a chair closer, Henrik removed his brown gloves and laid them across one knee.

Leaning forward in a familiar manner, he spoke carefully.

“It seems the duke has set people to watch me. That is why I could only come now.”

“…Have I caused you trouble?”

“No. Do not worry.”

“….”

A month and a half had passed.

Why was the duke still watching Lord Meriner?

She could not understand it.

Why now?

She had thought he might grieve for about two weeks. At most, a month.

That should have been enough time to come to terms with the loss of something once cherished.

‘Then why?’

As she blinked blankly, Henrik asked gently—

“Is it uncomfortable, lying there all the time?”

“It is.”

“I did not expect you to admit that.”

Henrik gave a small, amused laugh.

“Did I… say something improper, Lord Meriner?”

“Not at all. It is simply that I would have said I was fine—even if I was not.”

“….”

“Even if it is uncomfortable, endure a little longer. When spring comes, we will assess your condition. If you are able to walk, we will move you to another village.”

“Yes.”

Sveta gave a small nod.

“Are you not curious to know how the Duke of Strilland is doing?”

Henrik asked the question as he added a few logs to the fire. He kept his gaze fixed on the flames as he spoke, as though the subject were trivial.

“…I am not.”

“Truly?”

Henrik’s eyes widened slightly.

“Truly, Lord Meriner. I do not wish to know. Even if I beg you one day, please do not tell me.”

“I will not. In that case…”

After a brief hesitation, Henrik began rummaging through the leather bag he had brought.

He unrolled a piece of black cloth across his knees. A large pair of shears lay inside.

“I am sorry, but I must cut your hair.”

“Why?”

A faint smile curved his lips as he answered gently.

“Because you must now become a dead woman.”

“…I see.”

For reasons she could not fathom, it was clear that Aiden was still looking for her.

Then proof of her death would be required.

Understanding Henrik’s intentions, Sveta carefully shifted her body.

She gathered her hair together with a few fingers and shook it slightly — a sign that she was ready.

“I will cut it rather short. Is that all right?”

Henrik lowered his brows apologetically.

“Yes. I have felt guilty toward the maid who washes it for me.”

“Then… I will begin.”

Snip.

The sound was soft, and in an instant her head felt lighter. The hair that had brushed against her waist now swayed from Henrik’s hand.

“I must leave now, I am afraid.”

After checking the time, Henrik tucked the cut hair into his bag.

“I do not know when I will be able to come again.”

“…Thank you, Lord Meriner.”

He hurried out of the room, giving her a small, strained smile as he went.

Sveta stared blankly at the doorway for a long time after he had left.

Then she slowly lay back on the bed.

***

Some time later, when the moon had reached its fullest phase and begun to wane again, a Ballok wolf was captured near the border outpost.

The hair found in its stomach was placed in the trembling hand of the Duke of Strilland.

Having fled the outpost in the middle of the night, the Duke of Strilland returned at dawn in a ruined state.