They stared at each other for a long moment.

Annely was the first to react. She relaxed her grip and curved her lips into a faint smile.

“Is there something you wanted to say?”

As the tension finally eased, Carlos was overcome with an inexplicable sense of regret. He didn’t know why, but this was not the reaction he had hoped for.

Lowering his gaze, he loosened his hold on the thread and gave it a light tug. His lips parted, but no words came out. He wanted to ask. He wanted to know the answer. And yet, at the same time, he was afraid to hear it.

If he crossed the line again, he feared that Annely would stop pretending.

The moment had been brief, but waking from that sweet reverie and opening his eyes to the hard, cold floor had sent a chill straight down his spine, leaving his back rigid with dread. He never wanted to experience that again.

So Carlos swallowed the words he had been about to speak.

“It’s just… you were so focused and didn’t pay me any attention.”

Annely let out a soft, unguarded laugh at the childish complaint, before she could stop herself. Moments like this only served to emphasize the difference. He was nothing like the thirty-year-old Carlos.

Nothing in particular had happened over the past two years, and yet he had become colder, more brittle and more distant. Even this faint trace of playfulness had disappeared. In fact, it had been difficult to see Carlos even once a month back then.

As this unwelcome memory surfaced, Annely’s hands, busy with her embroidery, gradually slowed.

Carlos, who had been idly toying with the thread, noticed immediately. The distant, troubled look on her face unsettled him. When the color drained from her face and her features stiffened, his heart sank.

Rather than calling her name, Carlos tugged on the thread that was still in his hand.

The sudden pull made her hand, which was holding the needle, jerk, bringing her back to the present. Realizing that she had drifted off, she put the embroidery frame to one side and pressed a hand to her forehead.

Whenever memories of her previous life surfaced, they were accompanied by pain, as though someone were striking her head with a hammer. What had begun as a dull ache was becoming increasingly difficult to suppress without rest as it sharpened.

“Annely?”

Sensing that something was wrong, Carlos immediately let go of the thread. He didn’t see it roll across the floor. Instead, he pulled Annely into his arms.

Annely instinctively burrowed into his warmth, resting her forehead against his solid chest, waiting for the headache to subside.

“I’ll be fine if I rest for a moment.”

Fearing he might call for her physician and make a scene, Annely spoke in a quiet voice.

“Just… hold me.”

Upon hearing her words, Carlos abandoned the idea of calling the doctor altogether. In an attempt to comfort her, he relaxed his tense body and pulled Annely close, holding her as tightly as possible.

She could hardly move, but it made her feel safe nonetheless. Gradually, the pain began to subside.

Carlos placed a hand on the crease between her brows and gently rubbed it. As the furrow slowly smoothed out and a hint of color returned to her pale face, he finally felt at ease.

“Does this happen often?”

They had been together for days, but this was the first time he had seen her like this. She didn’t usually suffer from chronic ailments such as headaches.

“No. Only sometimes.”

“Even so, show it to your physician later.”

Only after speaking did Carlos recall something and amend his words.

“I’ll find a clinic that specializes in headaches.”

Carlos usually trusted the ducal family’s personal physician and rarely sought the services of other doctors. In truth, the ducal physician was exceptionally skilled. This was the first time he had done anything like this, but Annely, still suffering from her lingering headache, didn’t think much of it and merely nodded vaguely.

Carlos turned his head to glance at the embroidery frame, then lowered his gaze.

“Annely, make one for me too.”

He hadn’t named the object, but she knew exactly what he meant.

With her eyes closed, she pretended not to hear him, but she could feel his ticklish breath drawing closer to her ear.

“You promised you’d make one.”

Despite her silence, he acted as though he had got his own way. The absurdity of the situation almost made her laugh out loud.

Carlos did not press her for an answer. There was time — plenty of it. If he kept probing her like this, she would eventually give in and make at least one.

But Annely had no intention of making him a handkerchief.

She had made him many in the past, and they belonged to a life she wanted to forget. Because of that, she did not even want to look at an embroidery frame again. If it had not been for her father and brother, she would never have picked one up again.

With her eyes still closed to avoid responding, Annely slowly drifted off to sleep.

The last thing she felt was his hand gently stroking her hair.

***

Just before dawn, Carlos opened his eyes.

He usually got up as soon as he woke up, but this time he lowered his head and pulled the person in his arms closer to him instead. The soft warmth pressing against him filled him with a quiet, lingering sense of satisfaction.

He took the slender hand that was resting on his chest and, in the darkness, gently stroked each finger one by one.

The fingers were still long and delicate, but the tips were faintly swollen. For the past four days, aside from brief moments of rest, Annely had spent nearly all her time embroidering. As a result, all ten fingertips were swollen and sore.

Almost out of habit, Carlos reached for the small table beside the bed and picked up an ointment. When he opened the lid, a sharp medicinal scent wafted up. Taking a small amount, he carefully applied it to Annely’s fingertips one by one.

His touch was slow and painstaking. By the time he had finished treating all ten fingers, the sun had already begun to rise.

After replacing the ointment, Carlos carefully lifted himself from the bed. Although he knew she would not wake if he moved more boldly, he focused on slipping away silently. He pulled the blanket back into place, then gently kissed Annely on the forehead.

Lifting his head, he left the bedroom and began to gather the clothes scattered across the floor, one piece at a time. He kept his own on and neatly folded Annely’s before placing them on the sofa.

It was then that his gaze fell on the embroidery frame resting on the table.

Carlos lifted it.

Embroidered into the fabric was a pine tree, which was quite different from the first one he had seen, which was now almost finished. This was the second handkerchief, intended for the Grand Duke.

Carlos’s brow furrowed slightly as he noticed how much Annely’s skill had improved in such a short time. In the past, when he lined up all the handkerchiefs she had made for him, he could see her gradual progress at a glance. He had kept every piece, from the very first to the most recent, and looking at them always put him in a good mood.

Now, however, her skill had surpassed even that stage.

Yet this finished piece was not for him.

His gaze, fixed on the embroidery frame, slowly darkened. He turned his head to look at the teacup on the table. Inside was pale orange tea, just over halfway full. Beneath it lay a thin white handkerchief.

His hesitation lasted only a moment.

When he emerged from Annely’s room shortly afterwards, his expression betrayed nothing. He went straight upstairs, changed his clothes, and headed for the training grounds.

Only after the sun had fully risen did he finish sparring. After bathing, he made his way to his office. Each time he turned a page, the faint scent of ointment clinging to his hands drifted into the air.

It was effective, but the smell was strong — too strong for Annely’s liking. Yet Carlos was in an excellent mood.

Instead of the usual stiffness of paper beneath his fingers, he felt as though he were touching Annely’s soft fingertips.

After checking the time, Carlos summoned Knox.

“Annely?”

“She has not woken yet.”

“Mm.”

It was just as he had expected. During the day, she was glued to her embroidery frame, and at night she slept in his arms. Over the past few days, Annely had been sleeping noticeably more.

As Carlos tallied up the hours she spent asleep, a quiet unease crept over him. She slept for more than twelve hours yet still appeared drained throughout the day. And when he factored in the time she spent dozing…

Her total sleep time was unnervingly long.

The instant he realized this, a single thought flashed through his mind.

Carlos’s brow furrowed. Thinking he was just lost in thought, Knox remained silent until he remembered a report that had come in that morning. Reading the tension in the room, he spoke with measured caution.

“My lord, there is something I must report.”

“What is it?”

Still trying to grasp the thought that had slipped through his fingers, Carlos asked, “What is it?” Knox stepped closer and lowered his voice.

“A confidential, urgent report has arrived. It says there’s a spy from a foreign tribe in the ducal household.”