Chapter 93

Jeremy’s sister? In other words, the daughter of Marquis Elderin?

Lionel paused at the completely unexpected request. He asked with a puzzled expression,

“Jeremy, do you want to introduce me to your sister? You said she became a nun.”

“Yes, my sister has always wanted to meet you, Your Grace, if she ever had the chance. To be exact, since you were a captain.”

Why would a nun seek out Captain Lionel?

The two seemed like a seriously mismatched pair. Lionel replied with a reluctant face,

“Um, has she ever met me before?”

“No, she’s never met you, Your Grace. That’s why she wants to see you even more. She says there’s something she absolutely wants to ask you.”

A woman he’d never met—that was a relief. Lionel inwardly sighed in relief and nodded willingly.

“In that case, all right. When I go to the capital in autumn, I’ll meet her then. I have to be there for about two weeks during Saint Hubert’s festival anyway.”

Jeremy’s face brightened with relief from worrying about rejection.

“Thank you, Your Grace! I’ll write to my sister. She’ll be so happy!”

Jeremy thanked him repeatedly, but Lionel wondered if the meeting would be desirable.

He had almost never spoken to monks or nuns of the Ensila Order. The order’s solemn teachings were too far removed from Captain Lionel’s free-spirited life.

‘Well, I have to go to the capital anyway, so why not.’

The Saint Hubert’s festival, marking the start of autumn, was an important religious holiday in the Rosenta Empire.

The imperial family, blessed by Saint Hubert, celebrated lavishly, and as a duke, Lionel was required to attend the imperial event. In two months.

‘A two-week trip to Genoa.’

Lionel recalled the time he visited Genoa with Clarette and smiled contentedly. Her elegantly loosened hair, walking along the riverbank under the sunset—she had been so beautiful.

Thinking he wanted autumn to come quickly, Lionel walked down the corridor with Jeremy. Oliver was waiting for them in the wide, clean room prepared for boxing practice.

* * *

That night, Clarette was surprised when Lionel visited her studio.

“Lionel? Is it all right for you to model today?”

“Why? Is there a problem?”

Lionel tilted his head in confusion. Clarette approached and examined his face and neck above his clothes.

“You’re not hurt at all. I thought you might have some bruises.”

“Well, nothing really happened to cause injury.”

“You practiced boxing with Jeremy today, right? And you’re still so clean…”

“It was just practice.”

“But didn’t you get hit somewhere? If your opponent throws punches, you can’t dodge them all, can you?”

Realizing why she was worried, Lionel smiled.

“Clarette, I’m the one teaching him. If I wanted, Jeremy wouldn’t even graze my clothes.”

His casual confidence surprised Clarette. She knew nothing about boxing, so it was hard to believe. How could someone avoid every punch from someone determined to hit?

‘Could Lionel dodge if I suddenly attacked him right now?’

As Clarette gazed at him, curious, Lionel watched her thinking and asked softly,

“…You were thinking about testing me, weren’t you? Just now.”

“How did you know?”

Clarette jumped, and he gently stroked her hand.

“You suddenly clenched your fist. Like a cat, taking an obvious attack pose.”

Lionel smiled affectionately, and Clarette, embarrassed, tried to pull her hand away. But he lifted her clenched fist and kindly explained,

“When you hit something, you shouldn’t make a fist like this, Clarette. If you tuck your thumb in, you’ll hurt your fingers.”

He corrected Clarette’s awkward fist. As she looked at her thumb outside her fist, unfamiliar, Lionel lightly took a stance and said,

“Usually you extend your arm like this and strike. Like this.”

Whoosh—his fist shot through the air and returned instantly. Clarette flinched, and Lionel straightened up and laughed.

“Of course, you’ll never need to hit anyone. If you do, I’ll step in…”

“No, Lionel.”

Clarette interrupted firmly and looked up at him.

“Not just me, but you too—there should never be a need for that. Hitting someone, killing someone, those terrible things.”

Her gaze was very serious. Worry lingered in her expression as she looked at him.

As if asking him never to be in danger again, never to go to a place like a battlefield.

Lionel felt a strange flutter in his chest at her unexpected response. Clarette was the first woman to worry so genuinely about his safety.

“I promise. Until the Empire calls me, I’ll never do anything like that.”

Lionel kissed her forehead, hoping she’d be reassured. But Clarette kept recalling the memories from the hunting grounds.

His body tensing as he fired, sharp eyes aiming at the target, the distant echo of gunshots.

It would look wonderful in a painting, but Clarette didn’t want to see Lionel like that in reality. His soldierly image was enough for a portrait.

Meanwhile, Lionel unbuttoned his shirt and glanced at the empty easel.

“So, today’s finally the new painting, right? What pose should I take?”

Clarette shook off her dark thoughts and focused on him. She had wanted to call Lionel to the studio anyway.

She declared with determined eyes,

“It’s time to try that painting. The God of Hope bound on the Rocky Mountain.”

“Ah, right. It was a standing pose, wasn’t it? Stepping forward as if wanting to move on, arms lowered…”

“That’s right. But I’ll change the pose.”

Clarette took out a blank canvas and set it on the easel. She gazed at Lionel’s sturdy, bare torso and spoke.

“First, could you turn the sofa a bit, Lionel? So you can lie down facing me, lengthwise.”

It was a simple request. When he quickly complied, Clarette came over and directed his pose.

“Lean against the cushion and lie diagonally. So I can see your whole body…”

Lionel followed her instructions, relaxing and lying on the sofa. He naturally spread his legs, raising one knee and letting the other leg hang over the sofa.

It was a normal pose, but from the front, Lionel’s split thigh muscles and slender abs were striking.

Clarette tried to avert her gaze from between his legs and calmly brought her prepared tools.

“Clarette, why are you…?”

Lionel stared at the long white scarf in her hand. It was wide enough to cover part of his body, he thought.

But Clarette looked down at him and said calmly,

“Raise both hands above your head.”

“Like being punished?”

“Yes, just like that.”

Lionel obediently followed. The moment he wondered if she was going to tie him up—

Clarette began tying his wrists with the scarf.

‘Unbelievable.’

Lionel was quite shocked. He was always the one tying, never the one being tied—on the battlefield or in the bedroom.

Lost for words at this unexpected first experience, Clarette, with a serious face, brought over the stand coat rack.

She hung the middle of the scarf on the coat rack so his tied hands hung naturally.

“Lionel, does it feel uncomfortable?”

“No. It’s exciting.”

“What?”

“…Not uncomfortable at all, so don’t worry. Go on.”

Lionel’s face somehow looked thrilled. Clarette paused as she checked his pose.

‘Wait a second…’

His pose was exactly what she had envisioned.

Both hands tied above his head, leaning diagonally. Lionel’s posture was just like that.

‘But why is this…’

Clarette hesitated, looking down at him, obediently bound.

Arms raised above his head made Lionel’s sculpted muscles stand out even more. His exposed ribs were wrapped in dense, wave-like muscles, and his spread arms made his torso look like a perfect inverted triangle.

His body was ideal and beautiful.

But at the same time, it was overwhelmingly provocative.

‘This is… too racy.’

Clarette looked at Lionel with a troubled face. It was exactly what she wanted, but seeing him in this pose, it was almost too sensual to look at directly.

‘This is a problem. This pose is the best, but…’

As Clarette bit her lip and struggled to view his body objectively,

Lionel, tied up, suddenly looked up and stared at her bright red face.

The moment their eyes met, a satisfied smile spread across his lips.