162. Lilac Scent

2024.03.10.

She was stunned by his outrageous insistence and could not utter a word.

Yet she could not even laugh out loud, despite the utterly sincere look on his face.

To drive him away, she should have forced a laugh right then and there—but she couldn’t.

And in that moment, footsteps approached the door she had her back to.

Startled, she wondered if it might be Tasha—but it was Clade who brushed past her and flung the door open.

“What are you—!”

Strangers poured into the room. These were the physicians Clade had requested from the old count.

Only when Yuan saw the medical bags in their hands did she finally grasp the situation, retreating to the corner like a fleeing animal.

“What are you doing barging into someone’s room?”

Her feeble protest was useless.

Whether the estate’s personal physicians or doctors hastily summoned from nearby villages, around thirty men lined up to examine her pulse, press stethoscopes to her chest, and even flip back her eyelids when necessary.

Overwhelmed by such direct examination—unimaginable in the capital—she flinched, but the doctors remained subdued under Clade’s imposing presence as he silently observed.

In the end, they had no choice but to conduct their examination with desperate seriousness.

“She has a mild fever. Nothing serious.”

“She seems fatigued.”

“Malnutrition.”

“Did you know your heart is weak?”

Diagnoses poured from their mouths one after another.

Yet not a single one could provide the decisive confirmation Clade’s insistence demanded.

Yuan’s illness was a Pelliese hereditary condition.

No doctor dared confidently declare such an uncertain diagnosis to a noble, simply because her pulse was weak.

“Vomiting blood and nosebleeds, and you say it’s just malnutrition?”

Frightened by Clade’s sharp tone, the physicians huddled together in discussion. But the conclusion remained unchanged.

While not just anyone vomits blood, nosebleeds could occur from fatigue, they reasoned.

If she had lung disease or chronic illness, vomiting blood would be possible—but the patient denied any prior condition, and lung sounds heard through the stethoscope showed no signs of disease. They were just as frustrated.

In the end, Yuan was finally able to relax only after being examined by over thirty physicians, including the old count’s personal doctor, all confirming she had no physical abnormalities.

Yuan straightened her clothes and smoothed her disheveled hair, then looked at Clade, still standing rigidly in the center of the room with arms crossed.

“Is that enough?”

Yuan spoke calmly, facing Clade, whose one eyebrow twitched.

“…I hope we never have to see each other again.”

With that, Yuan clenched her teeth and averted her gaze.

She had done everything to sound cold—she just prayed he would leave.

Before she could foolishly cling on, asking if he truly didn’t love her.

Clade’s dark eyes lingered on Yuan’s sunken face and pale cheeks.

They traced her small hand, gripping her wrist so tightly that her fingertips had turned white, before returning to her face—now pointedly refusing to look at him.

He knew better than anyone that they had no reason to meet again.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

It wasn’t because his chest ached, or because he wanted to memorize the sight of her averted face, or for any other embarrassingly sentimental reason.

It simply was.

His feet refused to move.

He hadn’t failed to imagine screaming furiously until the woman broke into sobs.

Or ignoring her shaking head in refusal, just wanting to bury himself in her familiar breath.

But those reckless two feet had already climbed shamelessly over every barrier in his imagination.

He stood there, enduring the unbearable heaviness in the air, gazing only at her profile as she turned away—until, at some point, he became aware of time passing, and finally opened his heavy mouth.

“…I came here for my own reasons.”

Her dark eyes turned toward him, slowly.

Clade suppressed the rising lump in his throat as he met her gaze and added,

“I’ll stay as long as I need to. Don’t tell me what to do.”

“…You’re truly making things uncomfortable for many people.”

“Feel free to take your anger out on me anytime.”

Yuan flinched and wrapped her arms around herself.

When her slender wrists came into view, Clade’s eyes sharpened instantly.

“You probably didn’t realize when I said it lightly—how far I might go.”

“So you’re saying you’ll stay here just to vent your anger on me.”

“Yes. So go ahead—try enduring it.”

He snapped at her, her dark eyes trembling with unease.

“I’ll bring as many doctors as it takes until the truth comes out of your mouth.”

And as he finally pulled his rooted feet away, the woman followed him as if seeing him off.

Then, to his back as he roughly opened the door and stepped out, she extended a faint but firm voice.

“If you won’t leave, then just stay.”

The door closed.

Much later, a faint sob seeped from inside the room.

Until late at night, when Tasha returned to her room and nearly jumped in shock at seeing the man standing before the door.

Clade stood there blankly, like a lost child.

The sobbing didn’t stop even as Tasha’s alarmed reaction chased him down the corridor.

Each time his face emerged in fragments under the moonlight as he walked deeper into darkness, it slowly twisted further out of shape.

***

The Harvest Festival had begun.

After Empress Marilyn announced the grand opening from the square’s podium and returned to the manor, Yuan, Eugene Kimfri, Tasha, and Noel remained behind to enjoy the festivities.

The old count had granted them full freedom to participate.

Yuan, trying to distract herself from thoughts of Clade, kept glancing around the square—her first time walking outside the manor grounds.

Tasha, overjoyed, wrapped her arm around Yuan’s shoulder like a lover and began leading her forward.

“Let’s go over there! Over there!”

“T-Tasha. Me too—you have to take me too!”

“Let the girls have some fun without men! Festivals are more fun when you wander around hoping for new encounters!”

“Not at the risk of danger.”

Eugene Kimfri quietly replied, pulling the hood of his robe over Tasha’s head.

He then carefully adjusted the hood over Yuan’s head as well, frowning slightly as he glanced around.

Easterners were usually known for their propriety, but during festivals, some seemed to have collectively drunk something that made them go wild.

Tasha, mouth running fast, whispered something to Yuan. Judging by how quickly she spoke while glancing at Eugene, she was clearly gossiping excitedly about her brother.

Yuan caught Eugene’s gaze and gave an awkward smile.

Eugene instinctively averted his eyes and coughed lightly.

Ever since Clade’s sudden arrival in the east and his gathering of physicians to examine Yuan, Eugene had been spending more time with her.

Uncomfortable in her husband’s presence, Yuan kept calling for Eugene, and he never refused.

Though he had once been warned not to interfere in a married couple’s affairs, thanks to the timely appearances of the old count whenever tensions rose, the situation remained precariously balanced.

And Eugene found himself strangely relieved—more than he cared to admit—seeing Yuan leaning on him to push her husband away.

Yes, it was clearly relief.

“Can we go over there?”

“Yuan! You don’t have to ask your brother for permission every time! He’s just scaring you by saying it’s dangerous! I can protect someone like you!”

Even as Tasha shouted, Yuan’s dark eyes turned to Eugene, seeking approval.

Eugene stared at her for a long moment, then, feigning defeat under Tasha’s fierce momentum, nodded.

“I’ll follow behind with Prince Noel. Please enjoy yourselves.”

“A-Ah, no, I want to walk with you—”

Tasha laughed heartily, pulling Yuan forward as she led the way.

Noel followed behind with slumped shoulders, occasionally shooting Eugene a resentful glance.

“Wow…”

Yuan’s eyes widened like saucers. A rosy flush bloomed on her usually pale face.

At the center of the square where they had stopped, one of the major events of the first day of the Harvest Festival was underway—the making of a giant loaf of bread.

Hundreds of people were passionately kneading dough that covered more than half the square.

A few of the organizers recognized Eugene and bowed respectfully.

The cheerful group quickly invited the others—excluding Eugene—to join in.

After washing their hands and rolling up their sleeves, the group awkwardly helped knead the dough.

Yuan, unaware of her fatigue, worked enthusiastically with flushed cheeks.

Her bright face, glowing under the warm eastern sunlight, sparkled with life.

Seeing Tasha scolding Noel to knead properly, a faint smile tugged at Yuan’s lips.

She looked like a pristine lilac blossom blooming between ash trees.

Eugene Kimfri’s gaze softened as he gazed long at the peaceful, beautiful scene.

When Yuan, her nose playfully adorned with a smudge of white flour, turned to look back at Eugene with a mischievous squint—

as if accusing him of the prank—

He felt a deep lilac scent, one that shouldn’t bloom in autumn, rise fully and bloom inside his chest.

***

“I didn’t expect Your Highness to come in person.”

The old count approached Clade, who stood watching the group begin rolling the dough into a round shape at the edge of the square.

His long eyelashes cast a shadow over eyes that had been fixed on something far away for a long while.

His violet-like eyes shimmered faintly, reflecting light as if they had just seen the most radiant thing in the world.

“Your Highness?”

Eventually, eyes weary and sensitive—like those of someone who hadn’t slept properly for days—turned slowly toward the old count, now deeply sunken, as if they had never held any light at all.