Chapter 4

Was this the punishment of annihilating three generations? Or was he trying to find some meaning in my uselessly pretty face…?

The latter had always been her hope, but the man’s cold gaze stubbornly refused to leave her face. 

Was it fortunate…? 

In the meantime, the strength in her hand, which had been gripping the man’s arm, drained away. Before she knew it, she collapsed to her knees with a thud.

“Ugh…”

The man bent down to her level, sweeping her hair aside with one hand and firmly gripping her head. With his other hand, he turned her chin this way and that, as if appraising her face. 

Whatever it was, it didn’t seem like he was going to beat her or demand a large compensation. After all, no matter how closely he examined her face, there wasn’t anything there that could yield money. 

So what he was looking for in her was this face that was just a hassle to her.

‘But even in this situation…’

He’s so handsome…

Perhaps it was because her fear neither increased nor decreased, but she found herself calmly admiring the man’s sculpted face once again. 

His face, glowing pale under the moonlight, looked like an ancient statue. The unfeeling gaze that looked down at her and the tightly closed, emotionless lips only added to that impression. 

Receiving his cold and persistent stare in full, she felt a strange tingling sensation below her navel. Her throat throbbed as she recalled the firm grip of his muscular arm on her earlier. 

She wanted to linger under that fierce gaze for a little longer.

What she said next was purely impulsive.

“Um, Sir Knight…”

The man responded with a curt nod.

“Well, um, you must feel sticky…”

Fear had burned away several necessary words, but her violet eyes glanced at the man’s shoulder, making her meaning clear. It was the shoulder that moments ago had been soaked in beer. 

Her delicate fingers reached for the man’s tunic that had fallen to the floor.

“If, if it’s alright, I could, um, clean it for you…”

Her voice trembled endlessly as she spoke. The man, still gripping her head, looked down at her with an unreadable expression.

Was it an inappropriate suggestion?

Unable to guess what his silence meant, her eyes, which had dried up earlier, began to glisten with tears again. After staring at the sight for a long moment, the man finally muttered in a low voice.

“…Do as you wish.”

She didn’t even know what possessed her to run out like that. Gripping the man’s tunic tightly, she darted towards the kitchen as if fleeing.

“Hey, girl! Is the young master alright? He’s not angry?”

“Yes, he said he’s fine!”

Probably, since he didn’t say much. 

She brushed off Selma’s worried question and filled a bucket with hot water. Carrying it to the back of the building, she poured it into an empty washbasin, soaked the tunic, and prepared a clean basin with a few dampened towels. 

It was the first time in her life she’d shown such courage.

Her legs trembled as she climbed to the third floor, where the noble young master of Montferdia was staying.

‘If he’s interested in my face, who knows what might happen.’

Those piercing blue eyes that seemed to devour her face, the solid muscles that twitched with every small movement… Thinking about these things made her belly feel oddly ticklish.

‘…What do I have to lose?’

Until now, she had never imagined her first time. Selma had always shielded her from chatting unnecessarily with strange men and warned her to be careful of “dangerous situations.” Over the years, working as a waitress in the largest tavern in the village, she had overheard plenty of things. But she had never pictured it in detail. 

She had lived her life as it came. After her grandmother passed away, she had survived on odd jobs, and when Selma took her in, she became a maid at the inn. If someone took her as their bride, fine. If not, that was fine too. It would simply be what it was.

But now, someone had entered her heart. He was someone so noble she dared not even dream of him. Someone so high above her that she might never have the chance to cross paths with him again. And yet, it seemed as though he was showing some interest in her.

So, compared to the third son of the Lord of Eldorff, who had already buried several wives, or the mercenaries who leered at her with lustful eyes… wouldn’t it be better for her first to be with someone she fell for at first sight?

‘The Fairy Mother has granted my wish.’

It would only be a memory of one night, but that much fortune was enough. If he truly had taken an interest in her pretty face… It wasn’t as if noblemen like him hadn’t encountered village girls throwing themselves at them before.

Perhaps the whirlwind of confusion had made her reckless, but her twisted resolve came so easily.

By the time she had repeated the same thoughts over and over to steady herself, she found herself standing before the door on the third floor. Taking a short breath to compose herself, she carefully moved her hand.

Knock, knock.

“…”

But there was no response.

Was he asleep? He hadn’t called for bathwater, so he must feel sticky.

Knock, knock.

Thinking he might not have heard her, she knocked again, but still, there was no answer.

What should I do? Should I just leave? Was this his way of refusing me?

But then again, this might be her first and last chance. Even if she were lucky enough to go unnoticed and spend her life working at Selma’s inn until she died, wouldn’t it be worth it to live just once the way she wanted…?

Closing her eyes tightly, she summoned all her courage and cautiously opened the door.

Creak. The hinges groaned softly, mirroring her careful movements.

Peeking inside through her messy bangs, she scanned the room. The room was still dark, with not a single lamp lit.

‘He’s not asleep?’

The young master of Montferdia was sitting by the tea table near the window. Reclining lazily against the backrest, his elbow rested on the windowsill, and his hand stroked his chin as if lost in thought. His upper body was still bare, as it had been when she left.

His angular profile shone sternly under the moonlight.

“I-I thought you might be asleep…”

The man’s gaze slowly shifted, landing on her.

That was a relief. He wasn’t asleep.

Of course, of course… He might not have a taste for someone as lowly as her, but she had nothing to lose. The fact that he hadn’t slapped her earlier was proof enough that he was a generous man.

She placed the basin on the tea table and deliberately spoke in a lively tone.

“Th-The nights of Magiella are said to be chilly. You should wipe yourself off quickly…”

Oh no, I had ruined the tunic he was supposed to wear to bed. 

Berating herself for her carelessness, she pulled out a thick towel from the basin, wrung it out tightly, and approached him.

Drip, drip… The sound of water echoed in the silent room.

“If-if it’s alright, I could, um, wipe you down…”

The man, Karel, didn’t stop stroking his chin, but his sharp eyes scanned her up and down.

His gaze dissected her, taking in her lips trembling under her messy bangs, her thin jawline, and her slender shoulders. His keen eyes meticulously examined her as if dissecting her. The silence stretched on, neither granting permission nor refusing.

Why, why is he like this?

Not knowing what he was thinking, she decided to interpret the prolonged silence as consent. Afraid he might change his mind, she quickly leaned forward and began to wipe his shoulders.

‘They say touching skin can spark feelings…’

Who could she have asked about the ways of the night? She had grown up overhearing lewd jokes from the rowdy guests at Selma’s tavern. So, without knowing what else to do, she diligently wiped his shoulders. The dried liquid that had stained his shoulders gleamed with a warm sheen after being wiped clean.

The man showed no reaction. He simply watched her actions with a detached gaze, his eyes half-lidded.

Several times, she peeked at his face through her bangs, only to quickly look away.

When there was nothing left to clean, she moved on to his collarbone and firm chest, wiping them carefully. But she still didn’t know what to do next or whether he was pleased with her efforts. The lewd comments she had overheard about pressing one’s chest or gripping thighs echoed in her mind, but none of them felt like something she could do.

“Y-You have a really nice body, Sir Knight…”

She barely managed to mumble something meaningless before gathering her courage to lightly brush her fingers over his chest. His abdominal muscles twitched beneath her touch. And below that…

Gulp. She swallowed hard, as if making a big decision.

“W-With no tunic to wear, if-if you get cold at night…”

“…”

“I-I could warm the bed for you…”

Since you have nothing to wear… 

Stammering, she crouched beside him and pressed her body closer.

It wasn’t a bold gesture, but with only a thin dress between them, her soft chest must have brushed against his firm muscles. As if trying to leave an impression of herself on him, she awkwardly moved her upper body, pressing her chest against his arm. Her small, round br*asts swelled softly through the loosened neckline she had adjusted earlier.