Yuan stood dazed for a long time.

Her heart, which had been pounding so hard it felt like it would burst, slowly settled down.

Feeling a bit deflated, Yuan let out a small laugh.

For her, dying wasn’t particularly a problem. Even if she hurt enough to die, she didn’t actually die in the end.

“Yes.”

But Clard looked serious.

Yuan felt the full force of his tightly gripped shoulders again, then looked up at him with a pale smile.

“I promise.”

As if drawing out a light that seemed to flicker briefly in those eyes like an endless underground, Yuan answered very carefully but firmly.

“I absolutely won’t die in front of Your Highness.”

Clard’s hands tightened their grip even more.

The heat emanating from his body passed through his clothes and seeped into Yuan’s wet clothes, eventually piercing her skin and warming her heart.

The sound of approaching hoofbeats from afar grew closer.

A carriage bearing the Rocksenhart crest was coming through the rain.

Yuan gazed quietly at the falling rain again, wondering what this ticklish and warm feeling welling up for no reason could be.

She thought… that this moment of looking at the rain falling while in his embrace was happy.

The fact that she had a home to return to.

And the fact that there was someone by her side who said she could do anything as long as she didn’t die.

“What happened outside to make you so diligent, Your Highness? Did you perhaps get pelted with eggs?”

“Don’t be cheeky.”

“I’m saying this because you’re being cheeky now without even eating.”

Lancelot, who had come to the Black Mansion early in the morning to hear impressions of the first domain inspection, pointed to the sandwich left by the butler Gustav.

“Why won’t you eat me? Don’t you think I’ll taste good, mashed potatoes mixed with carrots and onions?”

“How preposterous.”

“Oh, that matches exactly how I see you right now!”

Lancelot swept back his neatly disheveled caramel-colored hair and tapped the top of the tower of documents.

Maksim’s report clearly stated that the commercial district was empty due to lack of manpower in spring, and Clard, the lord, seemed very displeased and flustered.

Moreover, it rained quite heavily in the middle, so the domain inspection was completely ruined.

Clard, who should have been sprawled in a rocking chair right after coming to work, had long disappeared from his bedroom, and as if he had become a different person, he was sitting alone in the dusty office where only the men of House Lev had entered for 10 years, pretending to be busy.

He was dumbfounded at the speed with which Clard was now handling all the political affairs he had been gradually touching bit by bit as his body improved.

“You’ve worked hard all this time, Lancelot. You brute who only used your body.”

“Is it time for me to die…?”

“Tell Eddie and Uncle too.”

“Eddie might be fine, but if you tell Father directly, he’ll cry his eyes out with joy−”

Sharp eyes and smooth eyes collided simultaneously.

Lancelot immediately realized that those keenly sparkling eyes were not the color he had faced for the past 10 years, but similar to when they first crossed swords more than 10 years ago.

The eyes from before the terrible curse.

That brilliant hue glimpsed in an instant brightened Lancelot’s heart after 10 years.

“So, what plans did our lord with land but no title have?”

Lancelot moved to Clard’s side, buried in a pile of documents, with an overwhelming feeling.

The densely scrawled handwriting was extraordinary.

“…Huh?”

“It’s supposed to be the central city of Rocksenhart. I need to make it glamorous and sparkling like before. With lots of attractions.”

“Don’t pretend to be so harmless. Read exactly what you wrote here.”

“…”

“You’ll use up all your personal funds to turn Central Rocksenhart into a commercial city?”

“It sounds like you’re telling me to perform a miracle. Do you think my parents loved this city simply because it had many forests? At the northwestern edge, with terrain devoid of mountains. A port with access to the sea beyond the northern forest, allowing advancement to other continents without the threat of monsters. If we pour in gold, it’s fully possible within 10 years.”

Lancelot silently stared at the pile of documents that had already been neatly processed, his lips moving slightly.

“You did this in one day? Didn’t you sleep?”

Lancelot opened his mouth in disbelief, then quickly closed it again.

…He did sleep.

Clard’s face, which didn’t look tired at all, had a vitality that seemed like even a fly would slip off if it landed.

“Is it because of your wife?”

The hand placing the last document on top of the pile paused irritably.

Lancelot, who caught that fleeting moment again, clicked his tongue.

“Did your wife seem disappointed after looking around the domain? Or were you embarrassed because you wanted to show her something nice but couldn’t? So you want to make it a wealthy and glittering city somehow. That’s it.”

“Who would do such an important task for such a ridiculous reason−”

“You are, Clard.”

Lancelot shook his head as if he couldn’t believe this situation at all.

He had expected some change when he saw the western annex becoming clean and vines similar to those he saw in childhood gradually starting to entwine its outer walls, but he hadn’t thought it would change so urgently.

He looked with numb eyes at the sunlight flowing along Clard’s slender and clean facial lines.

He always scoffed at Duke Mosan Lev, Clard’s father, as sentimental for tearing up first no matter what Clard did, but it was very difficult for him to suppress the emotion welling up as well.

Right there in that seat, the image of the late Emperor Alexei, sitting like a massive mountain with little Clard on his knee, soothing and coaxing them not to fight with Lancelot, appeared like an illusion and then faded away.

The tiny child seemed to have turned into pitch-black ashes in that place, imprisoning himself, sinking into pain and darkness, about to die.

He was always precarious and always hurt.

He was always sensitive and always twisted.

But since Yuan Peliesse entered the Black Mansion, Clard changed dramatically, like bamboo sprouting above ground after using the pain he had accumulated for 10 years as nourishment.

“It’s the land… that Mother and Father loved. So much that they wanted to be buried in the backyard of this mansion rather than the imperial cemetery. Since my physical condition is good enough to sign these papers a few times, of course I’m taking care of it. Don’t jump to conclusions. Useless thoughts too.”

Clard.

Is it really a useless thought? Is it really a premature conclusion?

The sunlight clinging to Clard reflected intensely in Lancelot’s caramel-colored eyes as well.

He held the question he couldn’t bring himself to ask Clard in his mouth, unable to swallow it.

‘Do you really not love your wife?’

Finally, the western annex was completely clean.

The wagon that had gone out to fetch water and came back hesitated at the first floor entrance where it always unloaded, then eventually rushed to the front of the western annex.

Several servants who jumped off the wagon walked around the entrance fence of the annex, exclaiming in admiration.

The western annex, revealing its original red flesh, sparkled like dew on a fully bloomed rose in the sunlight.

Young maids started chattering about how fresh the various flowering trees planted in the yard looked, as well as the vines that had somehow grown vigorously to wrap around the corners.

Yuan awkwardly held a broom with its bristles splayed out in various directions as she greeted them, then smiled sheepishly at Mr. Mazarin, the driver who had brought the wagon.

The old coachman smiled back, waving identical new brooms in both hands to show it was alright.

“My lady, shouldn’t you show this to the master right away?”

“He hasn’t been coming out again lately, I wonder if he’s sick?”

Yuan glanced at butler Gustav, who had hurriedly followed the wagon to greet it, at the sound of the young maids chattering.

Gustav tactfully suggested.

“Why don’t you tell him yourself? I think His Highness should have some rest time by now−”

Yuan, who had taken off her apron and arm covers with Henna’s help, nodded vigorously.

Yuan knocked on the office door with snacks that chef Ralph had prepared for her.

The door to the office on the third floor boasted a massive and heavy volume no less than Clard’s bedroom door on the second floor.

When there was no answer after knocking several times, Yuan looked up anxiously at Gustav standing beside her.

Butler Gustav opened the door for Yuan, who didn’t have enough hands, with a faint smile.

“I said not to disturb−”

“It’s me.”

Along with the sound of the door closing, Clard’s face, which had been ordering the visitor away without even looking towards the door, snapped up.

Beneath the carelessly swept back golden hair, his pale and slender face and languidly raised eyes met hers directly.

Yuan approached him with a bright smile and set down the refreshments.

Clard rubbed his bleary eyes and glanced at the clock on the wall.

“It’s almost mealtime, why bother?”

“Would you like to go for a walk to the western annex together?”

Clard, who had been tapping the quill pen on the desk, looked into Yuan’s expectant eyes and soon put down the pen with a light sigh.

Yuan hesitantly watched him, then quietly placed the notebook she had tucked under her arm next to the refreshments.

“This is the formula for the that made the western annex clean.”

One of Clard’s eyebrows quickly rose.

Clard, who had been just looking down at the notebook covered in fingerprints, crossed his arms and turned his gaze to her.

“The medicine was made by me, but the idea came from Hille. She says if we commercialize this, we’ll make a fortune.”

“…Do you want to make money? Is the budget allocated to you not enough?”

The first thing Clard did when he started working directly was to raise Yuan’s allocated budget to the maximum.

Yuan quickly shook her head and pushed the notebook he was just looking at between his tightly locked arms. Clard, who received it reflexively, opened it.

The formula for the was densely recorded in neat handwriting along with crooked drawings.