Chapter 1.11

And so, Ragaen spent the rest of the afternoon silently and gloomily processing paperwork. His work pace was unusually slow, as he kept glancing at the clock and sighing, like a death row inmate anxiously awaiting the hour of execution.

As the sun began to set, Jespa, who had briefly stepped out, came rushing back in, looking flustered.

“Your Grace!”

It’s here. The moment has come.

It’s fine. He had survived countless hardships and pain to make it to this day. He had endured. He could endure today as well.

Swallowing hard, Ragaen stood up with a solemn expression.

“What is it?”

To Ragaen, who was bracing himself for the executioner’s blade, Jespa’s words were entirely unexpected.

“This letter was found separately!”

“It’s surprising that you made such a mistake.”

The letter Jespa handed over with a face full of feigned despair was unlike the usual sweat-stained requests for sparring or “Please teach me” letters. It was a beautiful envelope of pale yellow, adorned with flowers and butterflies, and carried a faint scent of perfume.

“It’s from Lady Greta Lievo, the youngest daughter of the Count of Lievo! You met her a week ago.”

Greta Lievo. No one knew, not even Ragaen himself, that the thought of a forced blind date had crumbled away like a sandcastle upon hearing that name.

“Have you read its contents?”

“Of course not.”

Ragaen took the letter and carefully opened it. Greta’s letter, like the sweaty sparring requests, was brief and to the point.

I wish to deliver the handkerchief I forgot last time. May I visit at the end of your workday today? I await your reply.  

—Greta Lievo

There were less than thirty minutes left until the official end of the workday. There wasn’t even time to write and send a reply.

“This is a problem.”

“Indeed. The young lady may already be on her way.”

In the Empire of Yegahen, silence was often interpreted as agreement.

“Today, His Highness the Crown Prince’s curse—or rather, the forced blind date…”

“Oh.”

Oh, right. That’s still in play.

“Now that I think about it, I was informed by Sir Terry on my way here. It seems the other party had an urgent matter and won’t be able to attend. They’ve promised to reschedule.”

Naive as he was, Ragaen didn’t doubt those words for a second. They were simply too good to question.

“There is one issue, though. Sir Terry had reserved a table at <Lottresto> for the blind date, and there’s a penalty for no-shows. As you know, His Highness the Crown Prince is quite fond of <Lottresto>. He specifically requested that you dine there tonight to avoid the penalty.”

“That’s not difficult.”

Compared to a forced blind date, dining in an uncomfortable setting was no trouble at all!

* * *

Meanwhile, Greta was growing increasingly anxious as hours passed without a reply to her letter.

Could it be that he’s ignoring me? Maybe he doesn’t want to see me again but is too kind to outright reject me? Was it rude of me to suggest visiting on the same day? This is all Richard’s fault.

For hours, she tormented herself with all sorts of scenarios, pacing nervously near the mansion’s gates. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, she mounted her horse and headed for the capital. She couldn’t just sit and agonize. Silence meant consent! Since there was no reply, she would go and get an answer in person!

As a member of the Lievo family, Greta was well-acquainted with the capital’s layout, as most of her family, except for her eldest sister—who might as well be a ghost—and her father—who spent most of his time in the garden or studio—frequented the capital as if it were their second home. While her feet carried her confidently toward the Duke of Adantie’s office, her heart pounded so violently that her chest ached.

‘Calm down, heart! Today isn’t your turn to act up! Today, I have to be rational, composed, and utterly charming!’

Greta patted her left chest briefly. Of course, it was futile. Her heart mocked her thoughts, thundering not only in her chest but throughout her entire body.

How many tears had she shed over the past week? The thought of the disastrous impression she had made during their long-awaited meeting haunted her every night, making her kick her blanket in frustration. When Greta shared her story with her close friend Tara, Tara clicked her tongue so much that Greta worried she might wear it out. Tara’s opinion, however, was the same as Eurika’s: If he truly had no interest, he wouldn’t have mentioned “next time.” The fact that he did meant he likely harbored at least some positive feelings. Tara had also advised her to prepare thoroughly and make a grand gesture when presenting her gift.

Over the past week, Greta had purchased a lovely new dress, acquired new cosmetics, and even picked up the latest trendy perfume. She had ensured countless times that the gift, which had mysteriously ended up under her blanket a week ago, was properly packed this time. She had practiced conversations with Tara repeatedly, simulating her interaction with the Duke. 

Yes, I’ve done my best to prepare! I can do this! 

Greta steadied her trembling breath and knocked on the door.

Knock, knock.

The door opened silently, and standing there, filling her vision, was the enormous figure of Ragaen, whose size matched the overwhelming love in Greta’s heart.

“Gasp!”

Startled, Greta inhaled sharply and took a step back. This, in turn, startled Ragaen, who also stepped back. Greta immediately wished she could disappear from embarrassment.

Jespa, observing the two retreating as if they had encountered a predator, clicked his tongue internally and quickly intervened before an awkward silence could settle.

“Lady Lievo, welcome! We’ve been expecting you. Please, come in.”

Jespa nudged Ragaen on the back.

Why.

What are you doing? Move aside.

Ah.

For some inexplicable reason, Ragaen, frozen in place, stepped aside to let Greta in.

The Duke’s office, despite belonging to a national hero and the highest-ranking knight, was surprisingly modest and tidy. The only decorations were gifts from the Crown Prince, nameplates, medals, and badges. The desk was piled high with paperwork, which Ragaen found more exhausting than battling monsters. To Greta, however, the scene painted him as a diligent and serious man, further enhancing his charm.

Jespa, who seated Greta in her chair, signaled Ragaen to sit across from her by freely moving his eyebrows. The seat Greta occupied had always been taken by muscular men at least twice her size, so seeing such a small woman sitting there made the familiar sofa feel strangely unfamiliar.

Greta, feeling restless, placed her hands neatly on her lap as if they might start dancing to the rhythm of her heartbeat at any moment.  

“Hello, Duke. I didn’t receive a reply, so I just came. I hope I am not intruding?”  

“Not at all. It seems there was a mishap with the letters, and I only just realized you had sent one. My apologies.”  

At those words, Greta inwardly let out a massive sigh of relief. Feeling slightly more at ease, she began to speak.  

“I’m sorry for the trouble, but I forgot to bring the gift I prepared last time, so I had to come back.”  

“Trouble? Not at all.”  

Contrary to Greta’s worries, Ragaen truly had no thoughts on the matter. Unfortunately, it was here that Greta’s naivety became apparent. If she had been a more experienced and thoughtful admirer, she might have tried to engage Ragaen in more conversation. However, Greta, who lived by the motto “keep it simple,” was too nervous and entirely focused on delivering the gift she had brought.  

‘Give him the gift. Just give it! Properly, impressively, without any mistakes!’  

Eventually, Greta took out the gift. A small box wrapped in navy-blue paper was placed in Ragaen’s hands. Since it was customary to open a gift immediately upon receiving it, Ragaen did so. His hands were rough as he unwrapped the package. If only he knew how many hours Greta had spent preparing that simple wrapping, perhaps he might have been a bit more careful.  

When Ragaen saw the gift inside, his eyes widened. He had expected a luxurious handkerchief embroidered with initials since she mentioned preparing a handkerchief as a gift. However, what Greta handed him was entirely different from what he had imagined. It was a handkerchief, and it was indeed embroidered with intricate patterns, but…  

“I heard knights prefer this type of cloth when cleaning their swords.”  

The handkerchief Greta presented was not an ordinary handkerchief but a “sword handkerchief.” This was the term used by knights for a relatively small piece of cloth they used to maintain their swords during expeditions or important missions. Wealthier individuals who cherished their swords often used “Odal cloth” from the Utmerjin Mountains, a premium fabric. Utmerjin even launched limited-edition premium sword handkerchiefs, earning a significant profit.  

Ragaen, whose rare indulgence was collecting the finest sword handkerchiefs from Utmerjin, was stunned when he saw Greta’s gift. His eyes widened, though only Jespa noticed this subtle reaction.  

The handkerchief, bordered with blue fabric like his eye color, was embroidered in silver thread with a verse from “Zaraldin’s Poem.” Ragaen immediately recognized it as the Zaraldin 07 premium edition from Utmerjin Odal.  

Jespa could tell that Ragaen was deeply impressed and pleased with the gift. Unfortunately, Greta could not. Watching Ragaen unfold the handkerchief and stare at it blankly, she found it difficult to interpret his expression as one of joy.