At Eveline’s answer, a faint smile briefly crossed Michael’s sharply defined features. Setting down his glass, he rested his chin on one hand and spoke.

“Tell me more. I want to hear your voice a little longer.”

Eveline swept her hair behind her shoulder and hesitated, unsure of what to say next. While living under a false identity in Kaimon, she had deliberately avoided creating opportunities to share anything intimate with others besides ordinary conversation.

Although she was unskilled at it, she willingly began to reveal the thoughts buried deep within her heart.

“There is somewhere I want to show you when we visit Beaufort.”

After pausing to take another sip of wine, Eveline continued.

“There is a log cabin halfway up the mountain behind the castle. When I was young, the head carpenter built it as a secret place for me. But not long afterward, my brother discovered it, and from then on, the two of us shared it.”

It was a story Michael had never heard before.

What kind of man was this head carpenter, who had built a secret hideaway for the Marquis’s only daughter—and halfway up a mountain, at that? However, Michael betrayed none of his thoughts and merely held his glass as he silently waited for her to continue.

“So, back then…… Since it was a place I shared with my brother, I could not introduce it to you without his permission. It was, in a manner of speaking, our shared secret hideaway. When we visit Beaufort this time, I would like to go to that cabin. Perhaps…… perhaps not, but since it would be difficult to find without knowing its exact location, I think it may still be standing untouched.”

Although her voice remained composed, Eveline fervently hoped that it was true.

The marquisate and everywhere else would already be filled with traces of the Cornwell family’s occupation. Remembering the cabin she had visited with her older brother, Daniel, since childhood—a place filled with memories of their younger years—she lifted her glass again, suddenly feeling somewhat self-conscious.

Watching her empty glass being refilled before she realized it, Eveline slowly looked around the bedchamber. The room Mrs. Tenon had said she had hurried to finish decorating possessed an overall softness, without a single harsh edge.

In particular, an oil painting of the lakeside before the ducal castle blanketed in snow captured her attention. This time, the story began flowing from her lips before she even realized it.

“Every year, a grand lantern festival was held in Rivaton, the capital of Kaimon. I happened to see it once while returning to the shop after meeting a customer who had commissioned a piece of jewelry. If you had seen it yourself, I am certain you would have been unable to look away for quite some time.”

Eveline recalled the colorful lanterns she had seen that day while crossing a bridge over the river flowing through Rivaton. Lanterns shaped like flowers, animals, and guardian deities had floated gently upon the water.

The sight, unlike anything she had ever seen before, had captivated her. Yet she had soon hurried back to the jewelry shop after realizing that she had no one with whom to share that moment. Perhaps, in her loneliness, she had desperately wished for someone who would remain by her side and share such memories with her.

Michael, who had been quietly listening to her while emptying his glass, then asked,

“Were there any moments in Kaimon when you felt joyful or happy?”

At the unexpected question, Eveline fell silent for a moment. Had there ever been a moment when she was happy in Kaimon? Or even a moment she had truly enjoyed?

“……No.”

There had occasionally been rewarding moments when she devoted herself to the jewelry work she loved, but she could not describe those years as joyful or happy. As Eveline briefly revisited those memories, Michael spoke quietly, almost as though to himself.

“Then we have something in common from those years. I do not have a single such memory from the past five years either.”

With a bitter smile, he extended his glass once more.

“I hope you will spend many happy days in Razan.”

It would not be difficult. Given Eveline’s tendency to immerse herself in one pursuit rather than socialize widely, she found this place far more comfortable than the capital. Finally letting go of much of her tension, she conversed with Michael more than usual.

“Eveline.”

“Yes.”

When she instinctively answered his quiet call, a large hand approached her cheek. Her face felt hot against his cool palm, as though it had become flushed. Michael gazed at Eveline, who was slightly startled but did not allow it to show, before rising from his seat.

“I think you should stop drinking now.”

Alcohol was best enjoyed only until one felt pleasantly intoxicated. Since Michael had never drunk with Eveline before, he learned two new things that evening.

The first was that when Eveline was drunk, she spoke far more about herself than usual. The second was that she had a much lower tolerance for alcohol than he had expected.

Michael pulled the intoxicated Eveline to her feet. The green eyes gazing up at him repeatedly fluttered open and closed.

“I may have drunk a little more than usual, but not enough to lose consciousness.”

Michael quietly looked down at her after the abrupt, unexpected remark.

True. Even for her, this amount of wine was hardly enough to make her lose consciousness. It seemed that the alcohol had gradually eased her tension, allowing all the exhaustion accumulated during the journey to Razan to overwhelm her at once.

“I only wanted you to know that I am not drunkenly rambling right now.”

He nodded to show that he understood perfectly well. Having witnessed more than enough disgraceful drunken behavior from other men, he was confident that no manner of drunkenness from her could make him so much as blink.

“Are you going to sleep here tonight?”

However, Michael could not help falling silent at the question that followed. From the moment he entered this separate room adjoining his own bedchamber, he had known with certainty that he had no intention of leaving tonight.

“I am sorry, but…….”

Yet before he could answer, Eveline offered an apology for reasons he could not understand.

Leaving him waiting for her to continue, Eveline blinked slowly and walked toward the bed. She removed her slippers, pulled back the covers, and sat down before looking at Michael, who remained standing in the same spot.

“I truly am sorry, but I think I am going to fall asleep first. I will see you tomorrow morning.”

After bidding him good night, it took Eveline no more than a few minutes to lie down and fall asleep. Yet to Michael, who silently watched the entire process, that brief span of time passed unbearably slowly.

Remaining utterly motionless where he stood, Michael only then realized that Eveline had truly fallen asleep.

And very quietly at that.

After staring at her face, now completely relaxed in sleep, Michael looked down at his own glass, left forlornly by itself.

‘What exactly is this situation……?’

Letting out an incredulous laugh, he drained the remaining half of his wine in a single gulp.

***

The following morning, by the time Eveline awoke and remembered everything that had happened the previous night, Michael had already begun his day at an early hour.

The combination of alcohol and exhaustion had merely produced a somewhat dramatic effect; she had not lost her memory. With her thoughts now clear, she vividly recalled even the final words she had spoken to him the night before. Beginning her morning with a certain sense of awkwardness, she slowly looked around the interior of the ducal castle.

Portraits of successive Dukes and Duchesses of Parsen hung chronologically along the corridor. Following the row, Eveline stopped before the portraits of Michael’s father and mother. Beside them hung a portrait of Michael himself, apparently painted after he inherited the title.

He truly does resemble his father.

Although she had already known this, seeing the lifelike portraits before her made the resemblance even more striking. Father and son shared the same jet-black hair and vivid eyes.

In contrast, Michael’s mother, the late Duchess, had very pale platinum-blonde hair and golden eyes. Seated gracefully in a chair, the woman appeared delicate and frail even in the painting. Unlike the late Duke, who was depicted at an advanced age, she appeared to have been painted in her youth.

Was this portrait painted before she became gravely ill?

“His Grace closely resembles the late Duke, does he not?”

“Yes. Although I had noticed it before.”

The person who addressed Eveline as she stood gazing thoughtfully at the portrait was Mrs. Tenon. Standing several steps away and looking at the painting with her, Mrs. Tenon wore a wistful expression.

“How delighted the late Duchess would have been to witness her son’s wedding. She would have adored you standing at His Grace’s side, my lady. We must have your portrait painted and hung beside his as soon as possible.”

Mrs. Tenon had served the late Duchess since before her marriage, but Eveline could not be certain of her words.

‘Would she truly have approved of me? Even after I returned years later and threw all of Entia into an uproar?’

When Eveline offered no particular response, Mrs. Tenon guided her toward the other end of the corridor.

“Would you come this way, my lady?”

Upon reaching the corridor that turned to the left, portraits depicting Michael’s childhood came into view. The paintings portrayed him at approximately five or six years old, when he entered the Royal Academy, and when he had just reached adulthood.

“Ever since he was a child, His Grace has always accomplished anything he set his mind to. Even the late Duke admitted that once his son became determined about something, there was no stopping him.”

A smile touched Mrs. Tenon’s faintly lined lips. Her recollection was distant and wistful.

Although it was a part of Michael’s childhood that Eveline knew nothing about, she could easily imagine what he must have been like. The face of Michael at five or six years old was undoubtedly as sweet as an angel’s, yet at the same time, it appeared so cold that one would have found it difficult even to speak to him.

“I would like to hear more about His Grace’s childhood.”

Suddenly curious to learn about the years when he had been much smaller, Eveline turned her gaze towards Mrs. Tenon. However, they were prevented from continuing their conversation by a voice that immediately reached them.

“I believe the person who knows my childhood best would be me.”

Michael suddenly appeared around the bend in the corridor, having been hidden from Eveline’s view until then.

Standing before a window bathed in sunlight, he looked markedly different to how he had in the capital.

Regardless of his plans for the day, he had always insisted on putting on an almost impeccably tailored suit as soon as he got up. Now, however, he wore comfortable, everyday clothes. A thin, tightly woven khaki sweater and beige trousers lent him a much gentler appearance.

For a moment, Eveline felt as though the man before her were the Michael she had first met seven years ago. The traces of boyhood that had lingered back then naturally overlapped with the face of the fully mature man he had become.

“Mrs. Tenon, where are you? I believe you need to come and see this.”

“We can stack the things we will take to the vineyard this afternoon over here for now.”

Just as the voices of the people searching for her reached them, Mrs. Tenon hurried away, leaving the two of them alone in the corridor.

Eveline wanted to hear more stories about his childhood, but the man himself had appeared just then, of all times.

For some reason, she felt self-conscious. She could only hope that Michael would drop the matter without asking her any more questions.

“Then, which story shall I begin with?”

As expected, however, he had no intention of doing so. Moreover, a smile that seemed half intended to tease her lingered upon his lips. Since it had become difficult to extricate herself naturally, Eveline decided to say something—anything.

“Was this painted when you entered the Royal Academy?”

Eveline pointed towards the frame while looking at Michael, who had stepped up beside her. It was a portrait of a seated boy wearing a sash embroidered with the royal crest.

Eveline had learnt almost everything from books and the two tutors who lived in Beaufort. Consequently, there had been times when she had wondered what it would be like to attend a school filled with peers her own age. She especially tried to imagine the Royal Academy, where the children of the capital’s most prominent nobles gathered, but she could never picture it clearly.

“Judging by the fact that I was tortured by being forced to sit motionless for half a day while wearing a sash like that, it must have been.”

He let out a quiet laugh, as though recalling those days.

“What was school life like? I am curious about what kind of student you were.”

“My years at the Royal Academy were dull, busy, chaotic, and tedious.”

“That was not the sort of vague answer I wanted.”

Eveline concluded that it would be difficult to coax even a trivial childhood anecdote out of him. As though he had read her thoughts, Michael spoke again.

“I was an excellent student, but not a model one. Of course, I wasn’t obedient enough to graduate at the top of my class. There was nothing particularly remarkable about school life either. I spent six years surrounded by scheming boys in the dormitory and classrooms.”