Chapter 1.12

“Um, do you not like it?”  

Ragaen was startled. Embarrassed by how absorbed he had been, he quickly responded. Of course, only Jespa noticed his embarrassment.  

“No, I like it very much.”  

Jespa, pleased to see his superior’s rare expression of satisfaction, felt gratified. However, he could not allow Ragaen to simply enjoy the moment. The effort that went into arranging this meeting involved more people than one could count on two hands, if slightly exaggerated.  

Jespa stepped forward.  

“Miss, have you had dinner yet?”  

“Pardon? No, not yet.”  

“If you have no pressing engagements afterward, would you consider having dinner with our Duke?”  

“Jespa.”  

Ragaen called his name in a warning tone, signaling him to stop speaking nonsense, but Jespa ignored him completely. His frustrating superior needed this much spoon-feeding just to take action!  

“There was an important dinner reservation at Lottresto for work, but the meeting got postponed. As you know, Lottresto imposes significant penalties for no-shows. Since you’ve come all this way, I believe the Duke would be honored to treat you to dinner.”  

Greta widened her eyes and looked at Ragaen, her gaze asking if this was true. She had been worried about returning home without even being offered tea due to the awkward timing, so this was wonderful news.  

Ragaen, who was about to refuse, found himself speechless.  

Her slightly flushed cheeks. The soft, stray strands of brown hair escaping her neatly tied hairstyle, resembling the fur of a young animal. Her eyes brimming with expectation.  

Ragaen’s gaze wavered slightly.  

He simply could not bring himself to reject Jespa’s suggestion. Doing so felt as though he would be committing some grave sin. Moreover, he had just received a gift that pleased him greatly. The refusal that had been at the tip of his tongue faded away.  

“Yes. It would be an honor to treat you to dinner as a token of gratitude for the handkerchief.”  

“Wow! Thank you!”  

Jespa discreetly covered his mouth with both hands, suppressing his laughter at how naturally Ragaen had delivered the line, as if it had been rehearsed. Greta, on the other hand, beamed with joy.  

The moment he saw her smile, Ragaen, as if enchanted, abandoned the stack of documents on his desk and left his office. That was how they ended up riding side by side on horseback, heading to Lottresto.  

Thinking of the work delayed until tomorrow and the time he would waste at the upscale restaurant, he knew he should have refused. Yet, here they were.  

It felt as though everything had been orchestrated for this very moment.  

‘Could it be?’  

Come to think of it, Jespa had once said something absurd like, ‘Could it be that Miss Lievo has feelings for you, Duke?’

Ragaen turned to glare sharply at Jespa, who was trailing behind them at a distance. However, his attempt was interrupted by a soft voice from beside him.  

“Duke, may I ask your horse’s name?”  

“Devin.”  

“What a magnificent horse. Is it an Antires breed?”  

“It’s a mixed breed. Its mother was an Antires, and its father was a Lunteha.”  

“Ah, that explains the mane and muscles.”  

In truth, Greta had been unable to take her eyes off Ragaen’s horse since he had brought it out. The horse, a massive black steed as large as its owner, had hooves that were broad, ears slightly pointed, and a neck that was a bit long, resembling an Antires. However, its muscles were developed to the level of a warhorse, and its mane gleamed brilliantly, making it clear that it was a hybrid.  

“Do you know a lot about horses?”  

“I wouldn’t say I know much—it’s more of a hobby. I just really like horses.”  

“Is your horse a Dubilse breed? I’ve heard they have fierce temperaments and are avoided by women. Even men struggle to control them without exceptional riding skills.”  

“Zara has been with me since birth, so she’s gentle with me. But she’s mean to everyone else, so I take care of her myself.”  

Greta reached out and stroked her white mare, Zara, who neighed happily in response. Devin, the massive black horse, also made a sound, as if responding. It seemed that Zara and Devin were bonding with each other far more easily than their owners. 

In fact, Greta had spent the past week preparing dozens of conversation topics to make up for her previous mistakes. These included subjects like the recently published paper, <The Correlation Between Umbreta Milk Tea and Knights’ Training Focus,> or <The Ongoing Efforts of Monsterologists to Domesticate Docile Monster Species for Military Use,> and <The Impact of the Battle of Jingati Hill on Subsequent Summer Expedition Training.>  

But to think that, after all that preparation, they would end up talking about horses instead.

Greta particularly cherished the Dubilse breed mare, Zara, she was riding now. Greta knew a bit more about horses than the average person because her interest in Zara extended to an interest in horses as a species. Moreover, even those without a deep interest in horses would find it hard not to be captivated by the giant and beautiful black horses of Ragaen.

It was indeed fortunate that the conversation topic between Ragaen and Greta focused on horses. If Greta had brought up discussions akin to debates about her prepared thesis or opinions, Ragaen, exhausted from the Crown Prince’s inexplicable harassment, the mountain of paperwork, and the anxiety over forced matchmaking, would quickly lose interest in the conversation.

Talking about her original interests rather than forced study topics made Greta’s speech more comfortable and natural.

“Does Devin also like sugar cubes?”

“Yes. Sometimes, if there are only sugar cubes, he might not recognize his owner.”

Ragaen’s voice carried a slight hint of laughter.

“Zara also loves sugar cubes very much, but she has developed a bad habit where she gets angry if it’s not Yuji sugar cubes. She won’t eat hay unless it’s Haybin Mountain hay.”

“Yuji sugar cubes are what the Crown Prince consumes…”

Even Haybin Mountain hay is so expensive that it’s given only to the Emperor’s cherished horses.

“…Exactly. She’s developed a bad habit.”

“If you starve her for a few days, she might change.”

“Richard said the same, but I just can’t do it. I once starved her for a day, but when she started shedding tears, I felt too sorry to continue. How long can she live anyway?”

“How old is she now?”

“Zara is five years old.”

Ragaen briefly pondered whether he should tell her that horses generally live up to 30 years and decided to keep silent.

“Devin is truly a good horse. He doesn’t fuss over food.”

“Yes. He’s a good one. Of course, I think Zara is also a very splendid horse.”

They exchanged stories about their horses as if they were young parents sharing childcare concerns until they arrived at the most luxurious and expensive restaurant in the capital, Lottresto. Devin and Zara, guided by the servants, moved to the most luxurious stable they had ever seen in their lives, while Ragaen and Greta were escorted by the manager to the Crown Prince’s private room. Jespa silently followed them like a ghost, only to be quietly led to a private dining space by another servant.

Ragaen, having visited Lottresto several times with the Crown Prince, was familiar with the place, and Greta, who dined here with her family every birthday except for the eldest daughter whose whereabouts were unknown, was also accustomed to dining at Lottresto. However, one major difference from usual was that all the dishes were cut into bite-sized pieces. Greta was momentarily puzzled when even the main course steak was served in neat pieces but soon realized it was for Ragaen and continued her meal without comment, thinking that the meals at Lottresto were always satisfying.

When both servings of steak were served cut, and Greta showed a moment of puzzlement at the unfamiliar presentation, Ragaen unknowingly felt tense. Such tension was one of the reasons he preferred not to dine with people he wasn’t close to.

Since he had grown accustomed to living with one arm, he didn’t feel much discomfort in his daily life. However, it was unpleasant when people reminded him of his lost arm. Many high-ranking nobles he dealt with often subtly poked at his only weakness to see his reaction, which made it even more unpleasant.

Greta couldn’t possibly know how her indifferent attitude, continuing the meal without comment, came across to him.

‘Delicious. I should boast to Father! The Duke eats slightly less than Richard.’

Just as he didn’t know that Greta was thinking such trivial thoughts.