However, the suggestion that only one of them should sleep on the floor was met with firm resistance from those piercing green eyes.

“If only one person can take the bed, it should of course be you, my lady.”

“But…”

“It is unbecoming of a knight to make a lady sleep on the floor.”

“But you’re not quite healed yet…”

The woman hesitated, her words trailing off as she pressed her lips together in frustration. Her lips, slightly curled like a duck’s beak, were a soft shade of pink. He noticed the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose. Her youthful face was etched with indecision. After a long pause, she finally nodded reluctantly.

“Just for tonight, then. Tomorrow – tomorrow Uncle Tom will be back up here. I don’t know what kept him so busy in the village the last few days, but…”

“I see.”

Perhaps it was because she didn’t quite trust herself to agree, or perhaps she felt the need to rationalise her decision to allow a stranger to take her bed. She rambled on, her words coming out in a scattered stream. 

“Anyway, he’ll be back tomorrow.” 

“Yes.”

Without much interest, he picked up his spoon and took a bite of the stew. The chunks, devoid of any real flavour, crumbled dry in his mouth.

***

He suddenly wondered why she hadn’t gone down to the village herself. Since she knew the way to the village, she must have been there before – or at least known where it was. 

Yet she made no attempt to go down and look for the man called Tom, nor did she seem inclined to do anything other than wait. 

The path to the village couldn’t be too difficult if it took thirty minutes at the most. Yet the area was eerily deserted. She hadn’t gone down, and no one from the village had come up here either. 

As the evening wore on, Swan kept looking anxiously at the door, apparently hoping that Tom might still arrive. Finally, as night fell, she gave up and moved away from the door. 

They took turns using the wooden bathtub, and when the darkness of the night had completely settled, they were finally able to lie down and rest. 

“This was the bed I used to share with my mother.”

“I see.”

“Before that, this was my mother’s bed, and her mother’s before hers.” 

As they hesitated, reluctant to lie side by side, Swan, dressed in thin, pyjama-like sleepwear, spoke softly, her flushed face betraying her discomfort. She smoothed out the wrinkles in the mattress with a few shy pats, her nervousness palpable. Avoiding his gaze, she bit her lip several times, as if unsure how to proceed. 

Feigning indifference, he lay down first. The bedstead groaned loudly, sinking under his weight. For a moment he feared the wooden structure would collapse, but it held as he rested his head on the pillow. 

Swan watched him, trembling slightly, her eyelashes fluttering nervously. Clutching her chest, she finally said, “G-good night.” 

“Yes.”

Her face flushed to her eyes as she hesitantly rested her head on the pillow. “Good night,” she whispered again, so soft it was barely audible. 

He responded with a brief nod before closing his eyes. 

A faint scent lingered in the air – a subtle, sweet scent that teased his senses and made him clench his fists involuntarily. 

The sound of rustling accompanied her shifting movements, along with the warmth of her breath brushing against him. The soft exhalations slipping from her lips, coupled with the heat of her closeness, seemed to seep beneath his closed eyelids, sending a tense ripple through his lower abdomen. His chest tightened, as if constricted by some unseen force. 

Suddenly, the rustling of the blanket was interrupted by a hesitant voice. 

“Um…” 

“……” 

“Um, are you… asleep?” 

He opened his eyes. In the dim light, softened by the darkness, her body was faintly visible, the thin fabric of her pyjamas outlining her rounded curves. Her neckline was open, revealing a bare shoulder and hinting at the fullness of her br*ast. Her pale, soft skin seemed almost alive, shifting subtly with her movements. 

“Are you… asleep…?”

When he didn’t answer, she reached out tentatively, her hand trembling as she placed it on his shoulder. 

His reaction was swift and instinctive – he jerked his shoulder sharply, shoved her hand away and turned to look at her. 

Her eyes widened in shock, fear flooding her expression as she stared at him, frozen.

“…Do not touch me. Not without permission.”

“…Yes.”

Frozen in place, she stared at him without blinking, her wide eyes locked with his. Heat flared in his abdomen, and beneath the blanket covering his body, a part of him had risen halfway up, the tip moist with a telltale warmth. Mortification washed over him and he clenched his teeth, angry at himself. This sensation was alien – something entirely new, even to the fragmented memories of his lost past. 

“What is it?”

“No, it’s… nothing.”

“You seem to have something to say.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you. I just… until morning…” 

“Speak.” 

The edge in his voice was commanding, leaving no room for hesitation or evasion.

The woman lowered her head, the flickering lamplight highlighting the delicate curve of her exposed collarbone. Frustration bubbled to the surface and before he could stop himself, he reached out and grabbed her chin, lifting her face. Her hand instinctively followed, wrapping his around her jaw in a feeble attempt to resist. When she tried to pull his hand away, he grabbed her wrist and held it down instead. 

“What is it?”

Her moist eyes, swollen and reddened, looked back at him, trembling with emotion. He focused on the flutter of her lashes, the raw vulnerability in her gaze, and swallowed hard, his throat tightening. 

The freckled bridge of her nose twitched faintly and her lips, pressed tightly together, hinted at the turmoil within. 

It was always the same expression. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, the unspoken emotions lingered in her eyes, refusing to be hidden or extinguished. 

“Why are you crying?”

His voice softer this time, the edge giving way to an undercurrent of something unspoken – a mixture of curiosity, concern, and an emotion he couldn’t quite define.

He wiped the tears from her eyes, surprised by her sudden outburst. It was always like this – whenever he pulled away, whenever he tried to push her away, she wore the same expression. A face on the verge of tears, as if the slightest push would cause the tears to spill over. 

“It’s… it’s nothing…”

As she struggled to free herself, he tightened his grip, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her closer. She stumbled forward, her wide, startled eyes locked with his. The raw, unfiltered emotions surging through him wrapped tightly around his throat, leaving him breathless. Who was truly trapped in this web of invisible bonds – she or he? 

“Let… let me go.”

He said nothing, his eyes fixed on hers. Her wavering gaze was almost… seductive. The restless heat stirring in his body was absurd – just the brush of her skin or the faint, intoxicating scent of her so close was enough to harden him. 

He released his grip on her chin but kept his hands on her shoulders, as if it were impossible to let her go completely.

“It’s just… it’s just that… I still don’t know your name…” 

“I don’t remember it.”

“Nor my name. You… never asked…” 

Her eyes dropped to the floor, her voice softening with each word. Her pale face seemed to shrink further into itself, and her trembling lips finally stilled. She twisted slightly under his grasp, her body pulling against his grip on her shoulders as if trying to escape. But the tears continued to fall, relentlessly. 

Almost absentmindedly, his hand moved to brush the wet streaks from her cheeks. The skin beneath his fingers was warm and damp, her shoulders flinching instinctively at his touch. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, her chin lifted under the gentle guidance of his fingers. 

His heart pounded heavily against his chest, each beat louder than the last. He barely noticed the way his thumb lingered, brushing her damp lashes, before pulling his hand back. 

She blinked up at him with reddened, swollen eyes, her gaze searching his face, her expression unreadable. 

Her face was serene, but unlike before, when her expression had always carried an air of reluctant hesitation, there was something distinctly different now. Her eyes, like embers with a flicker of blue fire, burned with an intensity that seemed alive, writhing and shifting in a way that defied understanding. 

Her fingers trembled slightly as they gripped the blanket, knuckles pale against the fabric. Swan, who moments before had twisted her shoulders in an attempt to free herself, became still. Instead, her focus drifted to the front of her robe, barely visible under the blanket. The crumpled fabric told its story all too clearly. Her heart pounded again as she quickly looked away, her cheeks flushing slightly. 

“I will ask your name, my lady, so that you may give me one in return.” 

The words reached her ears and made her chest tighten. She turned her head slightly, as if to shut him out, but stopped herself. Her teeth caught on her lip and she found herself staring at him against her better judgement. 

His expression, in stark contrast to the tension in his posture, was dry and composed, a calm mask that betrayed nothing of what was churning beneath the surface.

“That’s…”

“What is your name?”

“S-Swan.”

She hadn’t meant to offer it so easily – she’d almost said there was no need for such formality. But the words slipped out before she could stop them. 

The man remained as indifferent as ever, his expression unchanged. He didn’t even bother to say her name out loud, as if it meant nothing to him. The faint swelling of pride or warmth in her chest from sharing her name subsided with a soft, resigned sigh. 

“Your family name?”

“Ropennin. Swan Ropennin.”

Her late mother had been Petunia Ropennin and her grandmother Una Ropennin. Unlike the villagers, who inherited their father’s surname, the Ropennin family carried their mother’s name. No one really knew when or why this tradition had begun, but it had continued for generations. 

Swan had been born a Ropennin – perhaps because she had no father to claim otherwise.

“Now, please give me a name as well.”

“But…”

“It’s only for the time I’m here… or until I remember my real name. Since that’s the name you’ll be calling me, it’s only fitting that you choose it.”

Swan looked up at him, her brow slightly furrowed in curiosity. His argument had shifted mid-sentence, as if he had reconsidered his words. At first he spoke of using the name temporarily, but there was an odd hesitation in his tone, as if the change had been deliberate. 

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she continued to stare at him. Then, as if suddenly aware of her loosened neckline, Swan pulled the blanket higher to shield her br*ast. 

“So… how about Theo?”

“That’s fine.”

Swan smiled softly, but the moment was fleeting. The man, now called Theo, reached out and gently gripped her shoulder, his touch firm yet calm. Her smile faded as her eyes met his, her expression becoming unreadable. 

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

“No, it’s… it’s fine. But rather…” 

“……” 

“Ah, um… down there…” 

Swan turned her head, dropping her gaze. Theo, gripping the blanket that covered his lower body, looked at her. The dryness in his mouth began to bother him again. 

He rose from the bed and murmured softly, “I’ll take care of it, so please, just go to sleep.”