Side Story 6. The Guest

2024.04.17.

Yuan Pelliese, who had been staring at the pamphlet for a long while, shook her head.

She had just barely returned home—how could she possibly tell Clade she wanted to leave the house, even briefly?

Yuan fiddled with the worn edges of the pamphlet, then firmly closed her lips, carefully placed it inside a drawer, and locked it with a key.

Not now, at least.

Just as he had devotedly cared for her, it was now her turn to care for him.

***

“A guest came by.”

“A guest?”

“Seems to be the Lady’s guest.”

Eddie, visiting the Roxenhart estate early in the morning, hesitated before broaching the subject.

Clade, absorbed in his work and initially dismissive at the mention of “a guest,” abruptly halted his swiftly moving quill and lifted his head when he heard it might be Yuan’s visitor.

His chin, tilted toward the ceiling, twitched sharply. Eddie glanced briefly at the window behind Clade and let out a short sigh.

“Eugene Kimfri. That guy….”

…seemed to have arrived.

Before the sentence was even finished, Clade shot up from his seat.

His neatly combed blond hair was slightly disheveled; beneath his straight forehead, his deeply set eyes darkened with irritation.

“What business does that bastard have coming here?”

“He’s technically a guest—you should watch your language.”

“Don’t give me that ‘guest’ nonsense.”

The half-closed curtains were suddenly flung wide open. Clade pressed his delicate nose right against the windowpane.

Clearly having ridden all the way from the capital, the lanky man dressed far too formally grated on Clade’s retinas.

“Did that bastard come here for a ball or something?”

“Your Grace.”

Mountains of documents awaited approval, yet Clade, eyes half-lidded, pressed his nose almost against the glass and gripped the windowsill tightly.

When he saw his wife step out to greet the guest at the front door, his eyes seemed to roll so far back they might vanish into his skull.

Considering he once fled with Eugene Kimfri to a third country—though Clade sometimes denied so vehemently that he forgot he himself had ordered it—Yuan’s face now bloomed with an excessively bright, clear smile.

Anyone could see she looked genuinely pleased to see her visitor. Clade felt a surge of violent rage, as if yesterday’s dinner might come surging back up his throat.

“While you handle your duties, receiving guests is the Lady’s role. Of course, legally you’re still divorced, so you’re under no obligation to do so.”

“Every single word you just said was complete bullshit.”

Eddie’s mouth fell open slightly at the unfiltered profanity.

He’d thought Clade had calmed down considerably, but when it came to anything involving his wife, his eyes still flipped backward with rage—worse than ever, not better.

Merely because a man who had once been his romantic rival—though Clade would never admit it—visited the estate, Clade’s face now radiated the sum total of the world’s contempt.

“Why don’t you go storm in and make a scene? I’m sure the Lady would adore that. While I’m at it, I’ll also mention how you’re probably dying inside knowing she plays chess with Lancelot while you’re working. She’ll be so disgusted she’ll leave you alone for a while to focus.”

Clade’s shoulders began twitching involuntarily as Eddie, naturally gifted at sarcasm, kept needling him.

Clade had always been hypersensitive whenever Eddie said anything about Yuan, but now it was like pouring oil onto a blazing fire.

Eddie fell silent, giving him a moment to calm down.

But no beautiful scene unfolded where Clade quietly sat back down and refocused on his work.

Whether his overly sharp swordsman’s ears had heard something—or perhaps seen something—

Clade, who had still been pressing his face against the window, suddenly threw it open and leapt straight down from the second floor.

“Clade!”

Eddie Rev, now pale, lunged toward the window in shock.

So enraged he’d forgotten even the thought of opening the door and walking down the stairs, Clade landed lightly without lowering his stance and strode rapidly toward the entrance, where his wife and the uninvited guest had already disappeared inside.

“…That lunatic.”

In hindsight, the problem was never Yuan—it was always Clade.

The problem was this madman, whose normally coldest, most rational face would twist, crack, and shatter whenever anything involved his wife, charging out like a wrecked beast.

Regret for having spoken up was already too late.

“Do whatever you want. She won’t agree to invalidate the divorce until you come to your senses.”

Eddie Rev irritably dumped the thick stack of documents he’d carried under his arm onto Clade’s desk.

***

Eugene Kimfri, newly appointed as Imperial First Knight Captain following Solen Racha’s vacancy, stood at the entrance wearing his still-unfamiliar uniform.

This was his second visit to this estate.

The first time, the mansion had been desolate and gloomy beyond measure….

His eyes, the color of well-ripened gingko leaves, slowly scanned the outer walls.

Having heard that locals called it “the green mansion,” the ivy covering the building now stood out vividly to him.

He stared for a long while at the vines, brimming with spring’s vitality, whispering nature’s song—until he saw the face emerging from the entrance, opened by the butler Gustav, and immediately offered a precise, courteous bow.

“I received word you’d arrive around afternoon—didn’t expect you so early!”

“I must return quickly, so I hurried.”

He only came to his senses after having changed horses three times during his frantic ride.

He’d been terrified to see her, but once the urgent need to meet her arose, he had no time left for other thoughts.

His mouth, having tasted words too bitter to speak aloud, remained tightly shut.

It was a time when he should feel grateful merely to see Yuan’s pure, selfless face alive and moving.

When he heard Yuan had been struck by Igor’s sword and fallen off a cliff, he’d wanted to join the search party even dragging his half-dead body.

But he’d suddenly become the representative of the Kimfri Count’s house—and when he heard Clade had embraced Yuan and fallen with her, he had to swallow a defeat even more searing than when Clade had stabbed him in the chest.

He trembled with the crushing sense of loss—he’d completely missed the chance to protect her, to stay with her until the end.

He guarded the deposed Emperor Igor’s palace until the exile location was decided, watching nightly as the monster writhed in agony.

Like a fish impaled on a spear, thrashing and spitting boiling blood through his gagged mouth, the deposed emperor gradually extinguished his once-fierce gaze, unable even to beg for death.

Watching him, Eugene felt as if he himself had become Igor—bound, monstrous, trapped.

Where in his meticulously checked escape plan had the flaw appeared?

If only he hadn’t spoken so decisively to Yuan during their flight—might she have relented?

If only he’d expressed his clumsy, budding love a little more, promised a brighter future—might he have seen her eyes waver, even for a moment?

If only, when captured by the Emperor, he’d pretended to side with Solen Racha’s knights and climbed the gorge alongside the Emperor—if only he’d reached her before the sword struck, or even if struck, if he’d fallen protecting her alongside her….

Endlessly replaying the past, his heart grew ever darker—until he heard the news that Yuan and Clade’s divorce papers had been fully processed. Then, for a moment, it brightened.

The emotions he’d forcefully suppressed and deliberately ignored erupted like a violently boiling volcano.

He’d thought he could at least continue exchanging letters with her, using Frederic Pelliese as pretext.

But he realized Noel and Tasha could contact her easily—while he alone was denied that privilege.

He resented Clade for blocking all communication, for never giving him even a chance to apologize for failing to protect her back then.

Why had Clade given him that order, only to seal his lips now?

Why did he stubbornly keep Yuan confined in the estate all winter, refusing to release her?

Why did he cling to her without even invalidating the divorce?

He could barely endure the urge to demand answers.

It was just days ago that Noel, sensing his turmoil, had sent him to Roxenhart.

At first, he assumed it was a signal from Noel—who surely understood Yuan’s situation better than he did.

A silent plea: Rescue Yuan, trapped within these walls.

He was fully prepared to carry out that order, confident he wouldn’t yield even under pressure from Duke Roxenhart.

His heart, once rigidly devoted to the righteous path, now writhed and twisted under the weight of his first experience of love—and failure.

But now, seeing the cleansed estate, and then facing Yuan—

He finally understood why Noel had sent him instead of Federico Companni, his usual liaison.

“…You look healthy.”

“You’ve gained a bit of weight, haven’t you?”

“You look wonderful.”

Her once-sorrowful dark eyes now sparkled like stars toward her visitor.

Her cheeks, as fresh as just-harvested peaches, glowed sweetly; her gracefully curved lips carried the vitality fitting for spring.

Overwhelmed by the fierce life radiating from Yuan, he felt his pitch-black, twisted heart slowly begin to melt.

His hands, trembling inexplicably since moments ago, clenched into fists—then slowly reached toward hers.

He deeply kissed the hand she willingly offered.

“It’s been a long time, my Lady.”