Chapter 1.7

Regardless of Greta’s or Richard’s feelings, time passed. Frightened by Greta’s near-hysterical wailing, Richard eventually summoned the servants. With all their might, they calmed Greta down and dressed her in the prettiest clothes, resolving the situation for the time being.

The servants also put an end to the siblings’ final argument about whether Greta should ride a horse or take a carriage.

“What carriage? What would you even do in a carriage? Roll around doing somersaults?”

“All my friends ride in carriages!” 

“All your friends have been riding in carriages since they were five! You’ve been riding horses since you were three!”

Greta had nothing to say to that.

“You even rode a horse for seven hours to the academy because you said carriages made you nauseous and claustrophobic!”

At this point, the skilled professionals stepped in.

“Miss, since your outfit today is inspired by riding attire, we believe it would be best to ride a horse.”

Greta had felt insecure about lacking “feminine” charm, but her assertiveness and confidence in showing herself as she was had always been her charm. The lady’s maids, who knew this well, subtly encouraged her to ride a horse. Neither Greta nor Richard realized this.

They also didn’t notice how stunning Greta looked as she rode out, having put extra effort into her appearance for once. Greta lacked confidence, and Richard, no matter how much he cared for his sister, was the kind of person who would bluntly call a hedgehog prickly.

***

Why was I so nervous about this?

Ragaen felt somewhat bewildered. If it had been anyone else, they might have rubbed their palms together to shake off the sudden tension, but with only one hand, Ragaen could only clench and unclench his remaining left hand. For someone who had never let go of tension in life, becoming aware of it now felt strangely new and odd.

‘Even a marriage meeting wouldn’t make me this nervous. Is this all Jespa’s fault?’

When Jespa, his aide, heard that Ragaen had agreed to meet the youngest daughter of the Count of Lievo at Richard’s request, he had made a huge fuss, putting in all his energy—truly, even the strength he used to suckle as an infant.

“Listen, Your Grace.”

“What.”

“A thank-you can be conveyed through a letter, or even through Sir Richard, who works in the same place as you. Besides, didn’t the Count of Lievo already express his gratitude separately? Yet, the young lady insists on meeting you in person to express her thanks. This means that the young lady…!”

“What.”

“The young lady…!”

“So, what?”

“The young lady…!”

There are many ways to irritate someone. One of them is to stop speaking mid-sentence.

“Ah, what!”

Ragaen shouted in frustration. Despite the booming roar of the massive man, Jespa seemed unfazed, as if he felt no impact.

“Shouldn’t you be able to figure it out with a snap, Your Grace? Of course, it means the young lady has feelings for you! And the fact that the meeting is set in a private room at Havorka Café says it all!”

“What?”

“So, you must dress more splendidly than usual today. Although Your Grace, you are always beautiful and exudes an undeniable radiance, you should make yourself shine even more, to the point where the young lady feels blinded by your brilliance. Times have changed, Your Grace. Men must also groom and refine themselves to be chosen and loved by women.”

“What…”

Before Ragaen could voice his dissatisfaction, the butler, Obil, and the servants stormed in. If they missed the opportunity to beautify their master, who always adhered strictly to the knight’s uniform, they could no longer call themselves professionals. Their hearts raced with excitement as they prepared to showcase all the beauty techniques they hadn’t been able to use until now.

Clothes Ragaen didn’t even know existed poured out in droves, and he was surrounded by blades meant to trim his hair and eyebrows. Meanwhile, Jespa, eyes glistening with tears, continued to prattle on.

“To think that you are forging a beautiful connection on your own, Your Grace, resisting the Crown Prince’s coercive matchmaking! I, Jespa, am truly, sob, sorry, sob, overwhelmed, sob, ah!”

Unable to bear Jespa’s nonsense any longer, Ragaen threw the nearest object at him. It was a bow tie, so it didn’t hurt, but Jespa pretended it did and showed no intention of stopping his chatter, even throwing in comments about clothes and perfumes. Annoyingly, the butler, Obil, added fuel to the fire.

“Today, all the unmarried women of Hiteria will regret not having won your heart, Your Grace.”

“Ha…”

Ragaen looked at the mirror. A scarred man stared back at him. His face was passable, and the more they groomed him, the more presentable he became, but none of it mattered to Ragaen. He only saw a tired man. Ragaen knew. No matter how beautifully he dressed or how expensive and stylish his clothes were, he would always be a shabby, worthless person, just as he could never hide the absence of his right arm.

‘Feelings for me?’

Nonsense. It was just Jespa’s imagination, reflecting his dreams and hopes. And Ragaen knew it couldn’t be true. The man in the mirror was utterly miserable. He felt sorry for everyone who had tried so hard, but he believed this day would be just another ordinary, gloomy day for a man like him.

He was sure of it. Absolutely sure.  

Then why was he so nervous?

It was so ridiculous he couldn’t even laugh.

***

“Sorry for being late, Commander.”

Apologizing as he entered, Richard was followed by a small-framed woman. She was likely Greta Lievo, the one responsible for this peculiar meeting. As Greta entered the room and met Ragaen’s eyes, his gaze trembled slightly. Perhaps Greta’s did too.

For this moment, Ragaen had been fully adorned to showcase his charm, and Greta, with the help of the servants, had done everything she could to present herself at her best. As a result, whether intentional or not, the two individuals ended up resembling male peacocks flaunting their splendid tail feathers to win the favor of a female. In other words, unless one of them had a strong aversion to the other from the start, their appearances were bound to leave a positive impression, or at least one close to it. And how could Greta, already consumed by a desperate, aching unrequited love, feel otherwise?

‘Oh my goodness, Your Grace, oh my goodness! How can such a beautiful being exist in this world?!’

She felt as if she couldn’t bear to look at him directly. Of course, her sparkling eyes were fixed intently on him.

Though she had gathered every portrait and photograph of Ragaen that had appeared in newspapers to learn what he looked like, Ragaen’s appearance was still so different, so beautiful, so radiant, so dazzling, as if he had stepped out of a masterpiece. She couldn’t help but wish that with every breath he took, he would gain wealth on the inhale, honor on the exhale, health with his left step, and happiness with his right.

To Greta’s eyes, Ragaen’s dark black hair was like a night sky embracing the stars, and his cool blue eyes resembled an exquisite jewel carved from the sea. The faint scar on his left cheek didn’t make him look ugly or frightening; instead, it seemed like a mark of time that added an antique charm to his already beautiful features. His muscular build, combined with the jacket draped over his shoulders that subtly concealed the absence of his right arm, gave him the imposing air of a massive tiger. But to Greta, even that was nothing but attractive. Her gaze nearly slipped to his taut shirt around his chest, but she quickly corrected herself, being a person of decorum, and directed her eyes back to the proper place.

Standing before the Ragaen of her dreams, Greta realized once again that a man didn’t have to be as beautiful as a flower for someone to fall in love with him.

In truth, Greta hadn’t known, as her only experience seeing Ragaen in person had been a brief moment in front of a bear, but Richard immediately noticed that Ragaen had put an unusual amount of effort into his appearance today. After all, men are better at noticing when another man has dressed up.

Unlike his usual style, which adhered to a neat, old-fashioned knightly image that might have been in vogue 30 years ago—an effort to clean up his mercenary image—Ragaen’s black hair today was slightly tousled in a more natural style. Richard instantly recognized it as a product of advanced modern grooming techniques. Additionally, his eyebrows had been neatly trimmed, making the scar on his right brow look like a stylish scratch. He even seemed to be wearing cologne—one of the trendy men’s fragrances that Richard had been wanting to buy himself. And his outfit! Ragaen, who usually wore nothing but his knightly uniform like a man with only one suit, was dressed in a formal suit reminiscent of the knightly uniform but elevated to the pinnacle of style.

‘What is this atmosphere right now? What are they trying to do, these two?’