Chapter 19

Even so, the woman worked at Selmane, serving countless guests. Although she didn’t know Randolph’s exact temperament, she instinctively sensed from his seemingly kind but calculating gaze that he could be quite cruel if crossed. Thus, she tried her best not to provoke him.

“What’s your name?”

“I-I… I don’t have one…”

When he grabbed her wrist as she was about to clear his empty plate, the woman hid her surprise and behaved submissively. The man’s fingers, wrapped around her wrist, were adorned with thick rings, one on each.

As the matter of names came up, her gaze involuntarily slipped toward Karel, who was seated behind Randolph. Fortunately, it seemed Randolph didn’t notice.

“No name, huh… Well, when you get a husband, your last name will change anyway. So, what’s the harm in getting a new name?”

For some reason, Randolph seemed pleased with her response. His thick lips curved into a crooked smile.

‘As expected of the Lord’s son, his appearance is striking… But wasn’t he over forty?’

The man’s fingers, which gripped her wrist, radiated a sticky warmth. Having had her wrist grabbed more than once while working at Selmane, she knew exactly what such a gesture meant. However, the slight sagging of his skin, the deep wrinkles extending from his eyes, and the loosened texture of his flesh betrayed his age. She tried not to dwell on the fact that this man might be imagining her in an intimate context.

Especially when, just across from him, sat the man she had already given her heart to—a man far more beautiful and robust.

The rings on Randolph’s fingers were undoubtedly expensive, and his well-maintained appearance might even qualify as handsome for a man in his forties. Yet, none of this resonated with her.

“When’s your birthday?”

“I… don’t know…”

Though she knew her exact age and birthday, the woman feigned ignorance, understanding Randolph’s intentions all too well. She also knew why Selma had instructed her to lie about her age.

For some reason, her reply of “I don’t know” seemed to please Randolph. A sly smile spread across his face. His other hand hovered near her cheek, as if to caress it, before tracing the edge of her headscarf, brushing from her temple to her forehead.

The moment his hand stopped, having confirmed the hidden beauty the village chief had spoken of—

“Oh, my Lord!”

Selma, who had been watching the scene, hurried over, startled. With a practiced gesture born of experience, she managed to make Randolph release the woman’s wrist.

“She’s still a bit young to be of age, my Lord. If you need someone to attend to you at night, I can find someone more suitable…”

Though Selma had never actually offered her staff for such purposes, her words were effective in subtly urging Randolph to back off. Most of those she rebuked in such situations had approached her staff with ulterior motives.

And in Randolph’s case…

“No, no. It’s not that I’m lonely at night. I just wanted to take a closer look at our young lady’s face.”

He spoke with a sly tone, as if he had just heard an amusing joke. In that fleeting moment when he glimpsed her face beneath her bangs, he resolved that if he couldn’t have this girl from Oedel, he wouldn’t take anyone else. Though his lips curved into a seemingly innocent smile, everyone present knew he was entertaining lewd thoughts.

As if to cap it off, Randolph’s hand slid hesitantly along the woman’s waist, tracing her curves with a deliberate motion.

“Well then. I’ll be counting on you from now on.”

“Y-yes…”

From the lack of confusion or embarrassment on her face, Randolph realized that the woman was somewhat aware of her situation. His cunning eyes lingered on her attire, trying to peer beneath it. Her slender waist and the curves that followed were to his liking.

‘Nineteen or twenty, it doesn’t really matter. Especially when she doesn’t even know her own birthday…’

Forging a birth certificate was no difficult task. Besides, he entertained the thought that he didn’t necessarily need to marry her to have his way. While others might see a polished, handsome face, Randolph’s mind was filled with depraved thoughts, so much so that he failed to notice the burning gaze boring into the back of his head.

The icy glare, filled with unbridled fury, was so intense that even the girl who was the object of his fantasies couldn’t help but feel unsettled.

In the northern mountain villages where night fell early, banquets also ended early. By the time the first part of a ball would have ended in the royal capital, Oedel’s residents were already heading home one by one. Only the village elders, who were the chief’s close confidants, and the knights of the expedition remained in the banquet hall.

“Excuse me, my Lord. If it pleases you, may I present Eldorff Territory’s pride, Elplü whiskey?”

Randolph suddenly addressed Karel, making it clear that he wanted to host the son of Montferdia in a manner that would satisfy even himself.

“My father, who loyally serves His Majesty Federico II, said there’s nothing too precious for you, my Lord, and has offered this whiskey aged for forty years.”

Though the truth of his words and the Earl’s exact intentions were unclear, Randolph’s tone carried goodwill toward Montferdia. With such a name invoked, even in the face of despair, it was impossible to refuse the goodwill of a provincial noble. Karel, after briefly glancing at his knights as if to gauge their thoughts, gave a small nod.

“Chief, we’ll take our leave now.”

“Ah, yes, yes. You’ve worked hard. I’ll visit your shop soon.”

Selma, sensing that the remaining cleanup could be left to the chief’s household staff, quickly gathered her workers and left the chief’s residence. A few of the expedition members, particularly those of mercenary origin, quietly slipped away as well. No matter how rare the whiskey, staying in the company of the Lord’s son and the village chief was far more uncomfortable.

“Now, let me pour the first glass for you, my Lord.”

As the servants of the inn and Selma’s workers disappeared into the darkness beyond the banquet hall door, Karel’s gaze followed them, ignoring the whiskey Randolph was pouring.

Then, moments later—

“I’ll step out to sober up.”

Speaking in a low voice, as if not expecting anyone to hear, Karel downed his drink in one gulp and stepped outside. The lingering scent of the whiskey, aged for decades, mingled with the faint smell of oak barrels that clung to the woman’s fingertips.

Snow, like dust, was falling on the garden path leading to the main gate. In the heart of winter, the nights were always like this. Soon, heavy snow would fall relentlessly day after day, and then Magiella’s nights would also…

With such thoughts in mind, Selma turned to urge her maids forward when—

“Oh, my Lord?”

Unexpectedly, a figure was following them. It was the most noble and powerful man in Oedel, his silhouette framed against the dim lights of the banquet hall.

Words of casual courtesy, such as “Are you out for some fresh air?” lingered on her tongue, but Selma couldn’t bring herself to say them.

Surely not. Not here.

No, it couldn’t be.

Even if there were only the inn’s maids and her own subordinates around…

The man’s face, shrouded in shadow, was even harder to discern. As Selma cautiously tried to gauge his intentions—

The man’s purpose became clear as he emerged from the building. Without hesitation, he grabbed the shoulder of the woman trailing at the very end of the group. Though all the maids were dressed alike and wore identical headscarves, he couldn’t mistake the back of the woman he had spent days and nights with.

“W-who… Ah…”

“Come to me later.”

The woman’s violet eyes trembled. Though unseen, Karel could imagine it. After all, during the many nights and days they had spent together, her voice always trembled like that when startled.

“Y-yes, I understand…”

Her voice quivered like a frightened lamb.

It was only after the dozen or so men had emptied three bottles of Elplü whiskey before Randolph finally released Montferdia’s party. Perhaps it was the sentiment that this might be their last gathering, but the knights who had remained with Karel drank the whiskey as if it were wine. By the time the knights entered Selmane, their throats still burning from the fiery alcohol, they were already under a hazy intoxication.

Selma was seated in the dining hall, which served as the inn’s main entrance. Leaning on a small oil lamp, she stared at the fire burning in the hearth. Her face, usually adorned with a welcoming expression for guests, was now veiled in a solemn stillness.

“Ah, our innkeeper, old lady. Were you waiting for us?”

“Old lady? Madam Selma is far too lovely for that.”

“We’ve had a good stay. Thank you for everything. Stay healthy, and live long and well…”

The drunken knights, unaware of why Selma had waited for them, mumbled what sounded like well-wishes. “You still have many years ahead of you!” Selma, who had by now donned her usual mask for guests, ignored their emotional remarks and responded with a tone of feigned annoyance.

For the knights, this was their first expedition undertaken with the resolve to face death. But for the innkeeper, bidding farewell to travelers who might never return was an all-too-common occurrence. Naturally, there was a stark contrast in how they approached this parting.

As the drunken men continued to lose themselves in sentimental murmurs, forgetting their usual bravado, Selma finally spoke up.

“I have something to ask the Captain.”

The seasoned innkeeper’s subtle but firm command to leave was clear. ‘Understood,’ the knights said, nodding their heads so deeply they nearly stumbled, before retreating to their rooms. The last to leave was Winden, who cast a troubled glance at Karel. But as he had been all day, Karel’s face remained unreadable, betraying no hint of his thoughts.