After that, I couldn’t calm the turmoil in my heart at all.

“You look quite unwell.”

The young servant helping Griselda tidy Winfrid’s bedroom bowed towards her. Griselda raised her gaze, her back still bent from tending to the embers in the brazier. The boy’s eyes, though ignorant of the circumstances, held a pitying look as he stared at her. His clear eyes were as gentle as a cow’s. And his cheeks still retained their baby fat. Come to think of it, he was exactly the same age as Winfrid.

“Has something happened on such a joyous day?”

Though he must be dying of sleepiness, suddenly summoned for late-night chores, the boy who had just come of age kindly inquired about her situation. It was well past midnight.

“No.”

Griselda cut off her gaze. She inserted a slender poker into the reddened brazier and straightened her back. Then, as if whipping herself, she caressed one cheek. Though she couldn’t see her own complexion with her eyes, the temperature that touched her hand was clearly low, and her skin felt rough all over. She hadn’t realized. Had she been so absent-minded as to show her anxious state on her face? Would she greet him with such a careless mind? Griselda rubbed behind her ear as if to compose herself and turned around quietly.

“You must be tired. I’ll finish up here, so on your way back, please stop by the stables. Check carefully for any muddy spots, and if you find any, spread sand and hay widely to pack it down.”

“Pardon?”

The servant raised his voice as if pouncing, his eyelids lifting pitifully. Dark shadows lay under the boy’s eyes. Griselda, paying no heed, added casually:

“It’s not such a difficult task, is it? When the young master dismounts, he mustn’t step on even a speck of filth. You understand, don’t you? I’ll check it myself.”

The servant’s shoulders slumped. He tilted his face towards the ceiling and let out a deep sigh. He looked as if he’d been doused with a bucket of cold water in the middle of the night.

“Even on a day like this, do we really have to go that far?”

“You talk too much.”

“It’s Winfrid, isn’t it?”

“Do you want a beating?”

“I’m going! I’m going… Anyone would think it was Johannes’ homecoming day.”

As Griselda pretended to threaten him, the servant hurriedly reached for the lamp by the door and grumbled under his breath before quickly slipping out. In the closed inner room, not even the sound of the boy’s retreating footsteps remained. Griselda stood still like a pole. Not moving at all. For a very brief moment, a vacuum-like silence surrounded her as if no one was there.

That child was right. To her, it was no different from the heir’s return. Though it wasn’t a sentiment she could openly express.

Griselda crossed her arms as if embracing herself. She huddled up like someone with chills while standing. This night. Her longing for the son born of her heart was exceptionally fierce, like a vicious hornet in the darkness. It was a longing that resonated with a sharp high pitch inside her chest and ears. You… I miss you. I miss… your scent. I miss you. I miss… the image of myself… holding you… in my arms… and putting you to sleep.

Our mother and son….

Suddenly.

A hint of human color returned to Griselda’s forehead and shoulders. It was because she had unconsciously recalled a comforting method. There was no need to hold back. Without much delay, she went to Winfrid’s bed. Taking advantage of being alone, she intended to warm his bedding with her body heat, as she always did when the young master was a child.

With decisive movements, she fluffed up the blanket noisily and carefully crawled in. She curled up like a fetus in her child’s blanket. It felt a little better. If she could have her way, she wanted to run to the quarters right now and roll Winfrid’s baby teeth like rosary beads, but this was good enough. She exhaled a long, trembling breath. How did this happen to me….

It’s all because of those cursed siblings.

This fear that was so hard to shake off was all because of the singing voice she couldn’t erase from her ears and the scene she couldn’t erase from her mind. It was clear. That voice, though so clear, was uniquely like the empty breath flowing from a corpse’s lips this time. And how dark and moist was that dagger that stabbed into the shoulder blade, shameful for all to see. Oil. Yes. It was oil.

Oil that had already covered her entire body and couldn’t be easily removed. The more she struggled to wash it off, the more it would transfer to her sleeves and apron. It would stick to her skin along her collar and eventually even soil her headdress and the hair underneath. What a sticky contamination this was. The premonition was so sinfully uneasy.

Griselda couldn’t even dare to predict. How long would the young lady continue to build walls and reject its affection? How long could that heir endure? With such… passion stabbed into his back like a knife. Ah.

Let them figure it out themselves.

Even if it’s a tragedy, it’s their tragedy. She was tired. All the world’s troubles seemed like things outside the window, and she had never missed the past decade or so when she felt like she was sitting alone with Winfrid in a sunny inner room as acutely as she did at this moment. She felt like summoning an ominous prophet like the former duchess and asking about the siblings’ future on their behalf. Kretzman. Kretzman. Answer me. Are those two estranged from each other….

And each unhappy?

Her eyelids were as heavy as stones.

In the midst of a not-so-clear dream.

“…like a child.”

Griselda heard someone bending their head deeply and chuckling softly. Their leisurely breath was touching her forehead. That warmth was familiar, yet strange.

“Lady… Lady Griselda!”

Following that, someone calling her name in a very flustered tone seemed to be the servant she had sent to the stables. She couldn’t understand why he had returned so quickly without doing the task she had assigned. Griselda’s brow unconsciously furrowed, though her eyes remained closed.

“Hush. The ancient saint said that wherever a weary sleeper rests their head is God’s embrace, thus holy ground. You’ll incur sin for waking someone in such a place, you.”

“Pardon?”

As the initial strange voice spoke rather kindly, the servant, who seemed to be standing nearby, responded in confusion.

“That’s news to me. Which saint…?”

“Let her sleep, you fool. Did someone donate you some tact?”

“No, but…”

“Get out.”

“Win…”

“Won’t you just disappear?”

Though they kept their voices down, they seemed to be bickering with their whole bodies, and finally even the growling sounds were quite low. Almost like whispers. Only after that commotion did Griselda’s eyelids open slightly.

Her focus wasn’t clear. Far from realizing that she had been deeply asleep, she couldn’t immediately judge where this was or what this situation was. Unconsciously, she pushed back the blanket and turned her head. The boy’s face, which had been turned away from the bed as if trying to drive away the uninvited guest with just his gaze, returned to the bed upon hearing her stirring. As if quite regretful.

“Oh my.”

And as if it was a bit amusing.

A smile twisting just one corner of his mouth was visible. Underneath the pulled-down cap, messy blonde hair and dark blue eyes cast subtle shadows. Is this face… truly the face I know? Though the cheeks were still thin and the lips were thin, that face with its unprecedented composure made it difficult for her emotions to reach it easily. Griselda blinked several times, unable to tear her gaze away from the boy’s. In the distance, there was a click as the bedroom door opened and closed. Griselda’s pupils dilated at that moment.

“Lord Winfrid…?”

It was unintentional.

“It looks good, why don’t you sleep more?”

The boy sitting on the edge of the bed stretched out both arms and propped up under her waist. He bent his upper body, pushing his forehead against her chest.

“Lord Winfrid…”

“It was tiring. Right?”

Tears flowed like lies. Was it because her mind was still hazy, not fully awake? Rather than grasping the situation, a tide of emotion closer to physical sensation welled up first. Griselda covered her mouth with both hands, held her breath like that, then tremblingly reached out her fingertips to touch the cheek of the boy looking down at her. Thud. It touched.

Winfrid’s dark eyes watched her actions with familiar mockery. He didn’t show the generosity to wipe away his nurse’s tears himself. But without any shield or wall. Eyes that allow a woman he hasn’t seen in a long time to freely caress his face to her heart’s content. Griselda’s touch was uninhibited. Simply because her whole mind was filled with Winfrid’s face and scent. He was here. The child. Her child.

Right here.

“Was there any hardship?”

“Do you think there would be any hardship in a monastery full of gentlemen?”

As she asked breathlessly through tears that showed no sign of stopping, lips carrying a sneer opened quietly and answered softly.

“And you weren’t injured anywhere?”

“What a ridiculous question. It would be stranger if this body wasn’t injured. There may be less rotten parts, but no unrotten parts in this body. Ask for what you can hope for.”

“…I should have…”

“…”

“So, I should have…”

“…”

“I should have served you…”

Griselda couldn’t finish her sentence. Only a sorrowful strength gripped her hands cupping Winfrid’s cheeks.

“Ah… you’re annoying. How long do you intend to cry?”

Suddenly grabbing Griselda’s wrist, Winfrid shook it off with an irritated air. Though it wasn’t an unexpected reaction, it was a sudden contact, so even Griselda was somewhat surprised.

Throughout her crying, Griselda had continually caressed Winfrid’s eye corners and mouth, but the boy never responded by covering her hand or reciprocating in any way. His hands remained casually placed on one raised knee. On this night, the only part of the boy’s body fixed on her was his profound gaze.

“You’re really determined to ruin the good mood.”

Winfrid clicked his tongue while adjusting his collar. His delicate brow was contorted as if looking down on her. Soon he thrust one hand into his cap, roughly combing through the back of his hair. Then, plop.

Without any warning, he collapsed onto her chest.

Griselda couldn’t make a sound. She had to brace herself with her hands behind her back to support both their upper bodies. With eyes widened like oil lamps, she only felt Winfrid’s arms recklessly digging into both sides of her waist beyond her clothes. Looking down with a dazed expression, she saw the crown of Winfrid’s head, who had fallen like a child. The cap had come off at some point.

“It was you.”

Winfrid, cradled in Griselda’s arms, asked. Griselda’s mouth gaped.

“What do you mean?”

“The one who tidied the stables.”

“I didn’t do it personally…”

“But you gave the order, didn’t you?”

“Yes… yes.”

Silence descended upon the two. Griselda remained motionless in an awkward position, neither lying down nor sitting up. It was because Winfrid was strangely quiet.

But she dared to know with her waist. She knew with her eyes. The arm strength squeezing so faintly as if it didn’t exist in this world, and the boy’s nape reddening distinctly even in the dim light. All of that was a back starved for affection. Daring to assert, it was the tender back of a son that only a mother’s eyes could see. Her throat immediately choked up again. Lord Winfrid.

“…Let’s sleep like this for a while.”

Griselda’s swollen heart shrank a little at that moment. It was because Winfrid, who had pressed his temple below her collarbone, finally rubbed his cheek against her chest as if pressing it directly. No matter how much he was her child, he was past the age of majority, yet still acting like this. She couldn’t help but smile a little. It was an awkward yet truly heartwarming feeling.

“Lord Winfrid.”

With a wet smile covering her face, Griselda raised one hand to cradle the back of Winfrid’s head. She stroked it gently as if soothing him. It was a gesture suggesting he should restrain himself.

“What.”

However, Winfrid didn’t stop rubbing despite her request. Instead, he turned his face, burrowing between Griselda’s breasts. He rubbed his nose bridge up and down along the cleavage where her chest began. Griselda’s shoulders jolted then. From between Winfrid’s lips… moist.

Breath.

“Lord Winfrid.”

“What.”

“Winf…”

“You, what do you think I came back for?”

With that question, sharply raised teeth gently bit into her breast flesh. A dull pain shot through from the bitten flesh to her waist. A shallow moan escaped from between Griselda’s startled lips. Strange. It was strange. Something… an improper feeling… If there was a tragedy in her inability to completely erase her puzzled smile even amidst the creepy situation, it was indeed a tragedy. Winfrid laughed softly from inside Griselda’s collar that had opened at some point.

“Do you remember? Today… is the ominous day I had foretold.”

Chomp.

He bit the bitten breast again.