“Lady Priscilla does have quite a s＊xy appearance. I was worried men might bother her, but this is something else.”

Perhaps because she looked tall and intimidating, men actually feared Priscilla instead. Even though she had tried not to stand out and consistently remained silent even when men occasionally spouted nonsense, never getting into confrontations, they treated her like some behind-the-scenes power player. On the other hand, strangely, women followed Priscilla all the more.

Gillian didn’t hide his irritation while loosening his collar and roughly searched for cotton to remove his makeup with destructive movements. He scrubbed his face so hard one might worry the skin would peel off, then went behind the partition.

Hearing the rough sounds of clothes being removed, Jerome grinned.

“Maybe that young lady has good instincts?”

“How so?”

An irritated voice came back from beyond the partition. Jerome shrugged.

“Usually, even when admiring someone, people don’t really think about liking someone of the same s*x in that way. Even without knowing you’re a man, maybe she instinctively felt attraction to you as the opposite s*x?”

“She’s probably just more comfortable with women than men still.”

Gillian emerged from behind the partition wearing a shirt and pants after roughly removing his makeup, his face sullen.

Without the dress, he was so completely masculine that one couldn’t imagine his cross-dressed appearance. Even his long hair, grown deliberately to below his chest for cross-dressing, didn’t confuse his gender.

Shoulders unusually broad for a woman were hidden by puffy sleeves, frills, and lace, his protruding Adam’s apple was always covered by collars that came up to his neck, and his body lacking any feminine curves was concealed by voluminous dresses. 

Though he was helped by his beautiful appearance that made gender indistinguishable from his face alone and his relatively graceful physique, without such clothing, it would have been impossible for a twenty-three-year-old adult man to pretend to be a woman.

“Get out. I’m going to wash.”

Gillian gestured toward the door like shooing away a dog.

“Geez, what? Are you being modest like a real woman?”

His eyes blazed with murderous intent, looking ready to draw the sword hanging on the wall, so Jerome quickly left the room.

***

Jerome, who had been sitting on the living room sofa reading a book, turned his head at the approaching presence.

“I’m going out.”

Gillian appeared at the doorway wearing rather untidy clothes – a shirt with buttons half-fastened and a wool coat with a hat stuffed in the pocket. Perhaps because of this, he gave off the feeling of a delinquent college student or a street con artist as he spoke and immediately turned to leave.

“Where are you going?”

Jerome asked, following from behind. Gillian spoke without looking back.

“Going to get some fresh air.”

“I’ll come with you. I’ll get ready quickly.”

“No need. If I drag you around looking noble even upside down, it’ll draw more attention.”

Saying this, Gillian turned the corner.

A maid he encountered in the corridor bowed her head.

“Are you going out?”

“Yeah.”

The few employees residing in this mansion all knew Gillian’s true identity. Since he might arouse more suspicion by trying to hide coming in as a woman and leaving as a man, he had brought trustworthy employees.

Soon Gillian pressed the hat he had stuffed in his coat pocket onto his head and left the lobby.

***

Standing in front of the bridge railing, Gillian looked down at the black river water illuminated by pale gas lamps.

Because the weather had been good today, quite warm winds blew until this hour. Pushed by those winds, the river water rippled with sparkles.

Actually, this wasn’t his country.

Fifteen.

That was the age when he had fled his homeland and begun wandering foreign countries.

Originally, Gillian was the heir to the Dratva Count family, which owned vast territories in the southeastern part of the Kingdom of Kirak.

From birth, he had received all expectations and affection as the eldest son of Count Dratva and the future Count. But he who had everything also had an ambitious and cunning uncle.

On the day Gillian’s father died from a chronic illness, his uncle stormed into the house, chaotic from the family head’s death, and seized control of everything in an instant. Most of the retainers had already switched to his side.

His mother immediately escaped the territory with her son. And to shake off her brother-in-law’s pursuit, they wandered everywhere, seeking refuge wherever would accept them, until they reached this place – the Kingdom of Selon in the western continent.

But two years ago, his mother, having suffered hardships in foreign lands, fell ill and followed his father. And Gillian left the countryside where he had been hiding until then and came to the capital. He couldn’t bear slowly dying while submerged in the peaceful, eternally stagnant pond-like atmosphere.

After about eight years since leaving, he could now barely remember what his homeland looked like. Only that it had been beautiful land where gentle hills rolled like waves.

“I wonder how cold it would be?”

Suddenly a voice came from beside him.

“Pardon?”

Gillian reflexively answered while turning around, then was startled and quickly pressed his hat down further while turning his head away. Andrea was standing next to him, looking down at the river.

She was even wearing the same outfit from during the day – a top that felt like a men’s frock coat layered with a lace shirt, and a walking dress with the back puffed out. In other words, she hadn’t gone home.

‘Did she follow me?’

Had she been tailing him? He hadn’t thought she had such a gloomy personality…

Gillian’s steps faltered, ready to flee immediately. But Andrea wasn’t looking at him. Seeing her deeply shadowed eyes looking down at the river water, Gillian glanced at the black river water then looked at Andrea again.

When he didn’t answer, Andrea looked at him and said, “The river water.”

She showed no sign of recognizing who he was.

Actually, when he was Priscilla, his makeup was so heavy, and it wouldn’t be easy to match someone who was convinced he was a woman with someone who was obviously a man. Most importantly, his voice was completely different.

Having practiced making a woman’s voice since childhood, like a well-trained singer, he could still produce a woman’s voice even after his voice changed. So even hearing his natural male voice, one couldn’t think they were the same person.

“You’re not planning to jump in, are you?”

Indeed not thinking that Gillian could be Priscilla, Andrea’s lips trembled at the question and she began to sob.

“I was rejected.”

‘Hmm.’

Though he could well guess why she was acting so pitiful, as the person who had rejected her, he didn’t know what to say.

“There isn’t just that one person in the world.”

“Only that person…!”

The moment he offered clumsy comfort, Andrea covered her eyes and burst into tears. But what he hadn’t noticed because she had been holding it in her opposite hand until just now – she was gripping the neck of a liquor bottle in one hand. An enormously large one at that.

It was absurd.

‘Does she have any awareness that she’s the Ulrich daughter?’

Getting drunk on the street like this.

Though it was late and not many people were walking around, there was a carriage stop not far away, and people riding in carriages could easily look outside. He couldn’t understand where the young maid who usually followed her around had gone, leaving her alone like this.

Then Andrea suddenly looked like she realized she was holding a liquor bottle, and thinking it was just right, she pulled out the cork and began gulping it down.

“Wait, if you drink like that…”

Gillian reflexively tried to stop Andrea but gave up. What right did he have, he wondered.

He had no right to accept her, nor the right to console her sorrow over a love that had ended—especially as the one who had caused her heartbreak. So, he simply asked.

“What was so special about that person?”

“She was kind. Though she didn’t show it.”

Andrea answered without hesitation.

“And she was elegant. I didn’t think anything could break her dignity. I always fumble and am clumsy, so I really admired that aspect of her.”

When he had received the confession earlier, Gillian had been so focused on the thought that he needed to reject Andrea that he hadn’t even thought to ask why she liked him. 

He hadn’t thought it was serious feelings to begin with. But hearing the detailed reasons for her affection, he began to think he might have rejected her too coldly. So to change Andrea’s mind, he said.

“That sounds more like respect than love?”

“I thought so too. But strangely…”

When Andrea swallowed her words at that point, he became more curious.

“Strangely?”

A red flush began rising from Andrea’s neck. He could tell it wasn’t from the alcohol.

“I kept stealing glances at her. At her lips… or her ears. Unless you’re an idiot, you can tell what kind of eyes you’re looking at someone with.”

When he was Priscilla, he always wore thin lace gloves because he worried his thick-jointed fingers might give away that he was a man, and since he wrapped himself up to his neck, there would have been no opportunity to see bare skin except his face. 

So the parts she mentioned stealing glances at felt somewhat lacking, but Andrea began chattering excitedly like someone completely absorbed in a particular field.