“Ah…”

Rive stopped mid-motion as she applied ointment to the cut at the corner of Paul’s lips, pressing her own lips tightly together.

Her pale green eyes, dulled and distant, had lost their light.

Paul shrank his broad shoulders slightly, glancing at her nervously.

“Are you mad?”

Rive lowered her hand holding the ointment and bowed her head.

Paul could only watch her, flustered—like a guilty man caught in the act.

A silence fell between them—brief, yet endless.

When Rive finally lifted her head, her lower eyelids were tinged red.

“I let him hit me on purpose. You know that, right? I’m actually really good at fighting!”

“……”

“I’m serious! I was just planning to take a few hits and get the gloves back, but…”

Paul couldn’t finish his sentence under her piercing gaze.

He scratched the back of his head, the sensation dull, and bit down on his lower lip.

“What if your hand had been seriously injured? Drawing is everything to you.”

“That—!”

“Why did you turn down the National Art Institute? You said it was personally sponsored by His Majesty. Becoming a court painter was your dream, wasn’t it?”

Paul let out an awkward laugh, unable to respond.

‘I didn’t want to leave your side. Not even for a moment.’

How could he possibly say that out loud?

“They’re just gloves. I could knit another pair. And if we’d just explained things to Ainer—”

“I didn’t want him to remember something like that.”

“……”

“There’s already not enough room for all the happy memories he should have. I didn’t want him getting hurt over something like this.”

Paul’s gaze drifted into the distance.

The setting sun cast a warm orange glow over the snow-covered world.

He didn’t want to burden her.

Loving Ainer was already more than enough for her to carry, he couldn’t bring himself to add the weight of his own feelings.

Perhaps he had felt that way from the very beginning.

‘I want to protect her. I want to hold on to that whole, unbroken smile.’

And so, Paul chose to remain by their side in the only way he could—not too much, not too little—as if it were only natural that he would always be there.

He glanced at Rive, who stood with her gaze lowered, saying nothing.

“Liz.”

She couldn’t lift her head at his call.

‘Is it right to keep living like this—hidden away? Am I only causing more pain to the people who accepted Ainer and me as family?’

The questions had lingered, unresolved, as time slipped away.

In this world, her existence had already died once.

Like the changing of seasons, she had likely faded from memory—forgotten, erased, and left behind.

Ainer had never once asked about his father as if by silent agreement.

But she knew—one day, she would have to tell him.

Because of her fear—because of her selfishness—she was only hurting those around her.

Rive clenched the fabric of her skirt tightly.

“I knew… but I pretended I didn’t.”

At her quiet confession, Paul looked at her in confusion.

“I saw the letter addressed to you. From the National Art Institute. And… I heard what Mrs. Margaret and the people at the market were saying.”

“……”

“How talented you are. And yet you stay here in Southfirth, teaching children instead. Every time I heard them say they couldn’t understand why, it made me uncomfortable.”

“Liz, that’s not—”

“I don’t want to be a burden to anyone, Paul. I’m not that weak.”

A soft breath escaped her red lips, visible in the cold air.

Paul swallowed dryly as he watched her gently brush her wind-tangled hair behind her ear.

“Protecting Ainer—”

“I can do that on my own.”

“……”

“You saw it yourself earlier. How I protect him.”

“……”

“So, Paul… I don’t want you giving up your dream over unnecessary worries.”

Love is beautiful precisely because it has no form.

And because of that, it has no single definition.

Paul Burnett’s gaze had always been fixed on Rive.

He followed in her footsteps, watching her every day, attentive to even the smallest shifts in her mood.

Live could not possibly be unaware of his feelings.

Once, she had been the same.

How could she fail to recognize it?

When someone pours their whole heart into another, it reveals itself in everything they do.

Though it shamed her, Rive chose to overlook his blind devotion.

She was afraid of losing the peace she had only just found. She did not want to hurt the people who had accepted her as family.

So even knowing the pain he would eventually suffer, she turned away.

She knew it was a selfish choice, a flawed desire yet her cunning heart justified it all.

“Liz, it’s not because of you.”

“……”

“It’s just—”

“Let’s go to the capital.”

At Rive’s sudden words, Paul’s brows lifted in surprise.

When she spoke again, her voice carried firm resolve.

“Let’s go together. You’ll join the National Art Institute, and I’ll go to Roman Department Store.”

“…What are you talking about? A department store?”

“Mrs. Margaret suggested it—she said I should try supplying my knitted clothes to Roman Department Store.”

“What?”

“So I’m going to give it a try. Ainer will be starting school soon, and with what I’m earning now, it’s not nearly enough to raise him.”

“Wait—Liz, are you serious?”

Paul stood there, stunned. He had never imagined those words would come from her.

“Yes, I’m serious. Even if you join the Institute, we can still see each other. And if I succeed in supplying the department store, I’ll have to go to the capital anyway. We can meet whenever I come. I’ll bring Ainer with me too.”

“But…”

“How long are you going to keep drawing only portraits of me and Ainer? I want to see all the different kinds of paintings you can create. Someday, when you hold an exhibition under your own name… I think that would make me really happy.”

Her eyes curved into a soft smile, shining as if she were imagining a distant future.

Paul couldn’t look away from her.

Dreams.

As he allowed himself to think of the dream he had long pushed aside, something warm stirred in his chest.

If he succeeded as a painter, then she wouldn’t have to strain her hands knitting anymore, and Ainer could attend a better school, living a more stable life.

The sunset bathed her golden hair in soft light as it swayed gently.

His thoughts didn’t last long.

In that brief moment, Paul gained another dream.

When their eyes met, he smiled shyly.

“Ah—”

“Don’t smile! You’ll reopen the wound.”

Her familiar scolding, just as always, sounded oddly comforting.

At her warning, Paul couldn’t hold it in any longer and burst into bright laughter.

***

“Ainer, are you alright?”

Marsili approached and carefully took a seat beside him.

Ainer, who had been staring blankly out the window at Rive and Paul—smiling brightly at each other—had a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

The child’s hand, fidgeting with the star-adorned mitten, brushed lightly against his nose.

“Mom smiles a lot when she’s with Uncle Paul. I do too.”

“Does it seem that way to you?”

“Yes.”

Ainer smiled softly and turned to look at Marsili.

As Marsili gently brushed the child’s hair back, his gaze drifted toward the window as well.

“It’s so cold out, yet they insist on staying outside… honestly.”

His voice, filled with quiet affection, was warm.

Ainer recalled what had happened earlier and carefully held the mitten in his hand.

“Brother Jason is a liar.”

“A liar?”

“Yes. He took my gloves—and he pushed me! But earlier, he lied to that bad man.”

“……”

“I’m sorry, Father.”

Jason had said that as he held out Ainer’s gloves from his pocket.

“Ainer let me hold them for a moment, and I forgot to give them back.”

Marsili recalled what the boy had said earlier and furrowed his brows.

“You’re not hurt anywhere, are you?”

The child covered his mouth with his small hand and whispered,

“No. But Grandfather… it’s a secret from Mom.”

“A secret?”

“If Mom finds out, she’ll be sad.”

“…What?”

Marsili’s eyes trembled at the child’s calm reply.

“Mom cries when no one’s looking. And Ainer… hates seeing Mom cry the most.”

“……”

“Maybe it’s because she misses Dad.”

Pressing a hand to his forehead, Marsili let out a quiet sigh.

Ainer slipped the beige mittens onto his small hands, clenching and unclenching his fists.

His long eyelashes cast soft shadows over his tiny face.

“But… are fathers usually scary?”

“……”

“Like brother Jason’s dad?”

Viscount Tayligo had struck his son across the face as the boy spoke out about what had happened.

Jason hadn’t cried.

His head, turned to the side, had been facing Ainer—who was held tightly in Marsili’s arms.

His empty eyes held no visible emotion—and yet, somehow—Ainer understood.

It was sadness.