Yet Laska’s reaction defied everyone’s expectations. Calm and composed, he replied:

“I see. Perhaps he felt that he was unworthy of such a wise and beautiful woman, not to mention her charming daughter.”

Nodding gravely, as though his guess were certainty itself, Laska then smoothly extended his empty bowl.

“So then, might I trouble you for another serving of that onion soup?”

‘Quick-witted, and skilled at steering a conversation.’

For a mercenary, social grace was no less vital than skill with a blade. Satisfying a client required more than martial prowess alone.

Thanks to his easy manner, Laska soon struck up conversations with everyone—save Haider—and grew especially close to Rote.

‘She’s never the one to reach out to others first. Why is Laska the exception?’

The child behaved as though she trusted him completely, as though she had known him all her life.

“My lady?”

Startled by his call, Selaia finally returned from her reverie. Still smiling, Laska held out his hand, palm upwards, as if to help her down from the chair.

Selaia glanced at his hardened, calloused hand, fit for a swordsman.

“I appreciate the thought.”

She thanked him but declined. Instead, she stepped down on her own. Watching her, Laska climbed onto the chair she had just vacated.

Immediately, he towered above her in height.

“You mean to have all the curtains in this corridor taken down, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

At her reply, Laska began removing the curtains.

While Selaia had only managed this by balancing on tiptoe on top of the chair, he did it with ease, barely stretching his arm at all.

“With so many windows, you must have had a hard time doing this alone.”

Laska had already pulled down one side of the curtain and handed it to Selaia with a light remark. He certainly had a knack for keeping conversation from turning awkward.

“Vera works harder than anyone. She never lets anyone else handle the laundry.”

“Ah, yes. She’s certainly a woman of conviction.”

Laska nodded. Though managing and cleaning such a large castle alone was no easy task, Vera had always insisted that her duties as housekeeper were her pride, and firmly refused help from others.

“So, have there always been just the six of you living here?”

He asked the question while focusing on the curtain, his lips slightly parted and his head tilted as though he were absorbed in the task. From his straight brow to his high nose and down to the line of his lips, he looked as though he had been carved from stone.

“Five years ago, Rote and I came to the castle where Maximilian was staying. After that, Elaine—an acquaintance from the capital—joined us. Vera arrived in response to a notice for a maid. And Lord Elden…”

Selaia trailed off mid-sentence.

‘How should I explain Lord Elden?’

How could she convince him that a castle that could barely afford to hire a maid had a knight in residence? After pausing for a moment, she forced herself to continue.

“…Lord Elden was sent by my former husband. He said he worried since I had a daughter.”

Even to her own ears, her voice sounded strained. But she could think of no better excuse.

Laska’s shameless frankness often left people flustered, but he did not seem a bad man. At least, from what Selaia had observed thus far.

Still, she could not afford to bare her vulnerabilities so openly.

‘It’s better if he believes Hendrik still cares about us. That way he won’t see us as easy prey.’

Stifling the prick of her conscience, Selaia straightened her neck more stiffly.

“I see.”

Unlike Selaia, who had agonized over her words, Laska’s response was so mild it almost felt anticlimactic. Instead, he paused as though in brief thought before asking something else.

“Forgive the question, but… since Cheringen borders the Teian Kingdom, is it not dangerous?”

Fortunately, there’s little to fear. Five years ago, the Teian army occupied Cheringen, but withdrew without causing significant damage. They haven’t invaded since then. Although both armies remain stationed at the border, aside from minor skirmishes, there has been no major conflict.”

Many have said the same: the real mystery is why the Teiansattacked Chering in the first place.

The borderlands between Teian and Tropes had always been peaceful. At times, markets even opened where the two sides traded goods. This was technically forbidden, but both nations chose to turn a blind eye for mutual gain — it was a tacit understanding between them.

“So then, there’s no need to worry about another invasion from Teian in the future.”

Murmuring casually, Laska tore down another curtain and stepped off the chair.

“…!”

In that instant, as Selaia moved closer to take the curtain, the two nearly collided. Their scents mingled in the air. From his strong neck and shoulders, from the solid breadth of his muscular frame, there seemed to emanate a fresh, vigorous vitality.

“Forgive me.”

Selaia’s apology came with a calm face.

“No, the fault was mine. I was careless.”

Laska’s brows dipped as he gave a shy smile, his gaze plain and amiable, yet with something elusive flickering behind it.

‘…Is it only because he’s handsome that he feels this way to me?’

Selaia found herself staring at him, before she naturally drew back. Laska too stepped back, his easy smile never fading.

‘He’s taller than I thought.’

Only when standing so close did she realize. He was far larger than he seemed—because he had been deliberately lowering his posture, suppressing his presence.

“Well then, shall we take down the next curtain?”

Laska spoke with cheerful vigor. Selaia smiled faintly and nodded.

The two worked together for quite some time after. Soon, the pile of removed curtains grew heavy and substantial.

“This is the last one.”

With a spirited grunt, Laska pulled free the final curtain. Sunlight poured unhindered into the corridor, bright and full, while the dust clinging to the fabric drifted into the air, glimmering like stars.

“Thank you for helping.”

Selaia offered her gratitude as Laska stepped down from the chair. He only shrugged, hoisting the chair easily with one hand.

“Think nothing of it. Consider it light rehabilitation training.”

“Where shall I set this?”

He asked with a smile, his lightly sun-browned face sparkling in the sunlight.

Selaia carefully returned the chair to the room, then made her way with Laska towards the rear garden. Vera had insisted that the curtains be hand-washed.

“Isn’t it heavy? Should I take some?”

Selaia glanced at his arms—twice the thickness of her own—as she voiced her concern.

Laska blinked, surprised by the question, then laughed.

“This is nothing. If I really had to trouble my lady with it, I should go and lie back down and start convalescing again.”

At his playful jest, Selaia’s lips curved into a faint smile.

“You don’t know how much of a help you’ve already been to the castle, Sir Laska.”

Selaia praised him with genuine warmth. Laska, walking with measured, unhurried strides, glanced back at her and gave a small shrug.

“I’m glad if I’ve been of help. Is there anything more rewarding than proving one’s own worth?”

“With your skills, I imagine you’d be indispensable anywhere.”

“That’s not always the case.”

Laska gave a brief hum, a sound that seemed to linger in his throat.

“My family, for one, never thought so.”

Selaia looked up at him. His face was as calm and untroubled as ever.

“Life as a wandering mercenary is bound to be a harsh one. Most of us throw ourselves into it willingly because we no longer have a family to worry about.”

He spoke of his misfortune as lightly as if it were a remark on the weather.

Then Laska stopped walking. Instinctively, Selaia halted as well—only a moment later realizing that they had reached the rear garden.

“Ah, there’s Lady Rote.”

Before they even caught sight of Vera, they noticed Rote first, crouched in front of the kitchen garden. Laska clicked his tongue softly, mimicking a knock.

Knock, knock—

At the sound, Rote turned her head.

“Mother? Laska?”

Her wide eyes darted to Selaia, then to the man standing beside her, and back again.

On her startled face flickered not only gladness, but a trace of expectation whose meaning was harder to place. Yet before Selaia could question that expression, there was something more pressing to ask.