“What is it, Rote?”

“My legs hurt… May I sit here for a while?”

She pointed toward the guest sofa placed at the front of the shop.

“Of course. We’ve walked quite a lot today. Rest a little.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Once she was certain her daughter was settled on the sofa, Selaia turned her attention fully to the watchmaker.

“If you’re looking for a men’s watch, would it perhaps be for the gentleman accompanying you?”

The shopkeeper asked politely, flicking his eyes toward Haider.

Startled, Selaia followed the man’s gaze, then quickly shook her head, flustered.

“No. It’s a gift for Sir Devonshire.”

“Ahh—the captain of the guard.”

The shopkeeper nodded in understanding and put several models on the counter. However, they all looked very similar to Selaia.

“Mm… this is difficult. Rote, darling, why don’t you come and help me choose?”

She glanced over her shoulder to call her daughter—only to stop short.

The sofa where Rote had been sitting quietly only moments ago was empty.

Her eyes widened.

“Rote?”

Panic laced her voice as she scanned the shop and the street beyond.

“Perhaps she grew restless and went to look around nearby.”

The shopkeeper offered reassurance. Most of the people in the marketplace were indeed from Cheringen, and everyone recognised the young lady from the estate.

“Yes… she’s a clever child. She wouldn’t have gone far.”

Even as she said it, Selaia felt her chest tighten.

Selaia tried to reason with herself, but the instinct of a mother was merciless—her mind kept conjuring the worst possible outcomes.

Unable to endure the rising panic, she excused herself from the watchmaker and hurried out into the street.

“Rote!”

But there was no sign of the child, even outside the shop. Selaia’s heart plummeted as she clung desperately to passers-by.

“Have you seen my daughter? Please, a little girl—”

“Do you mean young Lady Rote? No, I haven’t.”

Every answer was the same: a shake of the head. No one had seen her daughter. Anxiety twisted sharper and sharper inside her.

‘What if… what if Teian plotted something?’

Occasionally, merchants and travellers from the Teian Kingdom passed through the market. As only his inner circle knew that Hendrick had a daughter, surely the kingdom was unaware of Esperote’s existence? Surely.

And yet…

Pale with dread, she turned to Haider.

“Let’s split up and search for her.”

“…Understood.”

Seeing her stricken face, he obeyed without hesitation. Selaia darted off in the opposite direction from him, her steps quickening.

“Rote! Esperote!”

Her voice rang through the market as she ran, prepared to search every corner if she had to. Panic narrowed her vision until she could see nothing but shadows and gaps.

‘What if something happened? What if—’

‘I should have watched more carefully!’

Regret and self-reproach pummeled her chest. Then—suddenly—she remembered the way Rote had kept glancing at alleys all morning.

“Could it be…?”

Her muttering trailed off as she walked towards a narrow, dimly lit alleyway.

The further she went, the thinner the crowd became, until all but the faintest echoes of voices and footsteps remained. Her already pale face turned ashen as she scanned every shadow with her green eyes.

“…Rote?”

At the far end of the market, beside an abandoned fruit stall, a small figure was crouched down in the alley.

A white lambswool coat. A soft pink head.

“Rote!”

Selaia ran, her heart leaping into her throat.

“Mother?”

The child turned around and looked up at her with wide eyes. Selaia swept the child into her arms at once. The faint chill of the spring wind clung to the girl’s body, as did the rapid beating of her small heart. The child’s solid, undeniable presence loosened the knot in Selaia’s chest and she exhaled slowly and deeply. Her hands trembled as she held her daughter closer.

“How could you leave Mother behind like that?”

“…I’m sorry.”

Her small voice wavered.

“I only meant to go for a moment.”

Hearing her daughter’s muffled apology in her arms, Selaia instinctively turned her gaze over Rote’s shoulder—only to freeze in shock.

“…!”

There, lying sprawled across the ground, was a man. A man of considerable size.

Selaia quickly pushed Rote behind her, her face hardening with alarm.

‘Is he dead?’

The man on the ground didn’t stir an inch.

“Um… I found him just now.”

Tugging lightly at her mother’s skirts, Rote spoke with calm composure.

‘How can she remain so calm in a situation like this?’

Selaia couldn’t quite mask her incredulity at her daughter’s steady face, but Rote only blinked innocently, as though nothing were unusual.

“I think he fainted from being hurt. He kept frowning and groaning. We should probably help him.”

If he’d been showing signs of pain, then at least he wasn’t a corpse. Selaia resolved first to confirm whether he was still alive.

“Rote, stay right here. Do not move from this spot.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Leaving her daughter with that firm warning, Selaia stepped cautiously deeper into the alley. She bent closer, and the fallen man’s features slowly came into view.

‘Blood…’

At first, the dark fabric of his clothes concealed the stain, but she could see it spreading through the rents in his tunic — a long gash across his torso, the kind that might be left by a blade. Selaia’s face hardened.

“…Ah?”

When she finally got a good look at him, she faltered.

Beneath his disheveled hair, which was pale and must once have been bright gold, was a face that was far too striking for someone in such a state. The smears of blood did nothing to diminish the man’s sheer presence.

“He’s really handsome, isn’t he?”

Rote, perhaps trying to lighten the mood, tossed out a frivolous remark. But Selaia did not relax. She knelt by the stranger’s head, her body tense.

Just as her hand hovered beneath his nose, the man grimaced and gave a faint cough. His pale lips trembled.

‘He’s alive…!’

Selaia startled, pulling her hand back. At that moment, Haider came running, having spotted Rote in the alley.

“Where on earth have you— Selaia?”

His dark-blue eyes swept from Rote to Selaia, and finally to the man collapsed before them. A shadow of suspicion flickered across his face.

“…Surely it wasn’t you who did this, Selaia?”

“No!”

Selaia blurted, shaking her head hastily.

“Rote found him here, already like this—”

“Mother, let’s take him with us.”

“What?”

Selaia’s eyes widened at her daughter, but Rote spoke with calm certainty, as if it were the most natural suggestion in the world.

“He’s hurt. We should bring him back and have him treated.”

“That will not do.”

It was Haider who spoke first, his voice cool and unyielding. He fixed his sharp, rational gaze on the man who was barely breathing, before flicking it away again.

“We cannot risk bringing an unidentified stranger.”

“But if we leave him here, and he dies?”

Rote’s voice rose in protest. Haider’s expression darkened with irritation, but when he saw Selaia’s troubled, worried face, he sighed with weariness and agreed to consider another solution.

“We can entrust him to the townsfolk. Shall I summon the village headman?”

“No.”

Selaia replied, shaking her head firmly.

“These people already struggle to feed themselves. I can’t burden them with a wounded stranger they know nothing about.”

‘And besides… he was struck with a blade. A man like that must also know how to wield one.’

Leaving him in the care of ordinary villagers would be far too dangerous.

Selaia turned her eyes to her daughter. Rote flinched beneath her mother’s gaze, but she did not waver—her face set with quiet determination.

“Rote. You understand, don’t you? Even if this man dies here, it has nothing to do with you.”

Selaia spoke slowly, trying to etch the truth into her daughter’s heart. She only wished to shield the child from guilt should the stranger fail to survive. Yet Rote seemed to hear it in an entirely different way.

“No. He’s my responsibility. I was the one who found him.”

Her small fists clenched tight, her face set with a resolve that would not easily yield.

“It’s still winter. We can’t just leave someone wounded out here like this.”

“Don’t be so stubborn. You know it will only cause trouble. How can you take him in when you don’t even know who he is?”

Haider’s voice rose; he could no longer hide his anger.

For a moment, the child shrank beneath the weight of his intimidating presence. But soon her eyes widened, becoming fierce and unflinching as she stared him down.

“How can you refuse when you don’t even know who he is? If he dies here, isn’t it our fault too for abandoning someone who was dying right in front of us?”

Her argument cut sharp and true. Haider fell silent.

Rote’s shoulders lifted and fell with a trembling breath as she turned her gaze to Selaia.