Chapter 109
Creak.
As the long-unoiled glass door opened, there was the quick scurrying sound of something small and light scattering away.
Nerys tried not to think about what could have made that sound as she walked toward the center of the greenhouse.
“Mmm…”
A muttering, like a grumble in sleep, came from beneath the tree at the center of the greenhouse.
In the dark of night, under the shadow of the tree, it was almost impossible to see. But Nerys carefully reached out and gathered the child into her arms.
Something dropped from the child’s hand as she picked her up. Judging by the faint sound, it was probably a toy.
The child’s warm, soft body first squirmed in protest, but soon snuggled into the adult holding her. Nerys couldn’t help but smile.
“Troublemaker.”
“You’re fearless, sleeping in a place like this.”
A voice replied in exasperation. Nerys jumped, shoulders twitching, and turned around.
Cledwyn stood there, dressed casually as if he’d just come from work.
Nerys’s eyes went wide.
“How did you know to come here?”
“This is my mother’s greenhouse—of course I know it.”
“No, I mean—how did you know Giverta was here? You were searching for her too, right?”
“I knew she’d been coming here. There was no record of her leaving the castle today, so she had to be inside. When you’re looking for someone, you check the places they go most often first.”
With thousands of people coming and going through the castle each day, it seemed Cledwyn kept track of them all. Nerys found herself admiring his capabilities once again—and guessed at what he hadn’t said.
She was glad she’d come herself, without sending anyone else. If Cledwyn hadn’t minded people going in and out of the late Grand Duchess’s greenhouse, he would’ve just tipped off Hilbrin instead of coming all the way here himself.
As Nerys, holding Giverta, headed for the entrance, Cledwyn motioned slightly toward the outside. There was a noisy rustle in the nearby trees, and someone jumped down from the bushes.
“Please.”
It was Talfrin. Nerys handed Giverta over to him.
Having never really carried a child before, Nerys’s movements had been awkward from the start. But Talfrin took the child skillfully and disappeared at once.
Silence fell over the now-empty greenhouse. Nerys looked at Cledwyn, a little embarrassed.
“Sorry. I came here with Giverta once before.”
“No need to apologize. This is the West Palace garden, so it’s yours too.”
“You told me not to fix it up before. So I thought you didn’t like anyone coming here. Since it belonged to the late Grand Duchess, I thought it must hold special memories for you.”
His secret place as a child—that’s what Nerys now suspected.
“It’s not really like that. Just…”
Cledwyn gave a bitter smile.
“…It was just pointless lingering sentiment. In fact, I was planning to have it cleaned up again next spring anyway.”
Lingering sentiment.
That brief hesitation, and his unnecessarily long answer, only made it clearer how much this greenhouse meant to him.
Nerys stepped closer to Cledwyn. Somehow, it felt like she should.
“…What do you mean, pointless lingering sentiment?”
Ruler of this vast land. Strong, kind, exceptional.
He carried a destiny he could share with no one else. The kind that no one could truly understand, so he had to shoulder it alone and suffer.
Could she share in that pain?
Nerys doubted it. Her own burdens were heavy enough. She’d been broken to the point where she could no longer truly care for another’s happiness.
But maybe—just once—she could ask.
She could manage that much.
Seeing his pained smile made her chest ache, like something might burst out of her throat.
“You…”
Rustle.
Just then, something small and light darted past Nerys’s foot. The sensation that came through the hem of her skirt told her immediately: it was a creature just bigger than a fist, crawling.
She knew all too well what that creature was.
A rat.
A chill ran up her spine and her whole body tensed. Nerys lowered her head, sucking in a breath—otherwise she might have screamed and jumped onto the nearest chair in disgrace.
“What’s wrong?”
Startled, Cledwyn strode toward her, grabbing her shoulders and peering into her face.
“…You’re pale. Are you unwell?”
“N-no. No, I’m fine.”
Even in the dark, the moonlight was enough to see how dazzlingly handsome Cledwyn’s face was up close.
Somehow, her heart fluttered. It had been happening a lot lately.
Nerys’s face turned bright red. She tried to step back, but Cledwyn didn’t let her go.
“Tell me. Are you feeling unwell? Should I call a doctor?”
“I told you, it’s nothing. There’s no need.”
Her face grew so hot it felt like it couldn’t get any hotter. But Cledwyn clearly wasn’t letting go until he got an answer.
In the end, Nerys gave in and muttered, almost spitting the words out.
“A rat. A rat just ran past. That’s all.”
“Oh.”
Cledwyn released her shoulders. His face, so close before, drew back a little—at least far enough that she could feel at ease.
He let out a sigh of a laugh.
“You’re afraid of rats?”
“I am.”
The answer came out much faster and firmer than he’d expected.
And it meant much more than what appeared on the surface.
Nerys lowered her eyes.
She hated rats. Part of it was because of Megara in her previous life, but there were plenty of other reasons.
She hated the dark. In her past life, she always felt trapped in a suffocating, endless darkness.
How many years had she spent in agony, alone in that stifling pain, waiting and foolishly hoping that someone would come, only to be disappointed again and again?
In those shadows, there were always rats. In the cold, tiny rooms of the Elandria family, in the filthy stable where she was abused as the crown princess, and in the prison at the top of the tower where she was tortured before her death.
Now, when she saw rats, she could order traps to be set. But even now, the memory would come back to her.
That helplessness, that inability to do anything.
Cledwyn couldn’t understand Nerys’s reaction.
People from farming villages hated rats, and her hometown of Rohez was rural. But at the same time, people from such places were used to rats—no one would be that terrified just because one scurried past.
‘She probably doesn’t realize what her face looks like right now.’
Even in the moonlight, her face was pale, and her expression looked close to panic… That wasn’t normal. No matter how kindly he tried to see it.
She was remembering something from her past.
But what on earth in her past could frighten her so much?
It had already been years since she’d first confided in him at the pharmacy library.
Yet he felt as though he understood her no better now than he had then.
He hated that realization.
“Nerys.”
He called her name and looked her straight in the eyes. Nerys blinked in confusion, some of the fear fading as curiosity about his thoughts replaced it.
That was better. Even if it was only suspicion, it was preferable for her mind to be occupied by him rather than her own fears.
Cledwyn smiled confidently, wanting to reassure her.
“Shall I carry you out?”
“Huh?”
So startled, Nerys forgot everything she’d been thinking about. She stared at Cledwyn, wide-eyed. Carry… what?
For some reason, Cledwyn found it very funny and laughed out loud.
“We need to leave here, don’t we?”
“That’s true.”
“Do you think there are no rats in those bushes?”
Of course there would be. She’d tried not to think about it, both when she first came and now, but that was impossible.
Cledwyn wasted no time. While Nerys’s mind was still blank, he reached out and lifted her small frame in his arms.
“Oh my!”
Her field of vision rose. Nerys nearly bit her tongue in shock.
Her whole body stiffened, but before she could decide whether to protest or not, Cledwyn began to walk.
It felt as if she were standing atop a stone pedestal—so unyielding and steady that it didn’t seem human. Despite his slender arms and chest, up close he felt strong and burning with heat.
Whoosh. The wind blew. As the two of them exited the greenhouse, the world brightened. It felt like she was noticing for the first time just how many stars there were in the sky.
With bated breath, Nerys looked up at Cledwyn’s face. The breeze swept gently past her ankles.
Those gray eyes pulled her gaze relentlessly.
She barely managed to speak.
“W-what are you doing?”
“Carrying my advisor so she doesn’t have to face something she hates.”
Her heart pounded so wildly in her chest she thought her ears would burst from the noise—it felt like her entire mind had been filled up by her racing heartbeat.
Or maybe it wasn’t just her mind. The whole world seemed to thrum. It was as if, beneath the sky, this ancient garden was the only place in the world, and only the two of them existed here.
Nerys covered her face with both hands, as if believing it would somehow clarify even one thing in this absurd situation.
Halfway across the garden, Cledwyn spoke lightly, as if carried on the wind.
“That lingering sentiment I mentioned—it wasn’t anything profound.”
“So what did it mean?”
“My mother died in that greenhouse.”
Nerys’s pounding heart went suddenly still. She lowered her hands from her face.
Cledwyn looked down and lifted the corner of his mouth. He looked almost the same as always, but she sensed there was something ‘too’ calm about him.
Like someone who didn’t know how to show his feelings, who had become too used to repressing them rather than letting them out.
“They moved her to her bedroom after she collapsed, and the doctors came, but she’d already died the moment she collapsed in the greenhouse. I said as much, but I don’t think anyone listened. I was so young, I don’t remember it well.”
If he was sure she’d died then and there… it meant he had seen the late Grand Duchess collapse and die.
“You…”
“No need to pity me. It was too long ago to be sad. I did love my mother, but the time we spent together was so short, she could only matter so much to me.”
A vague image formed in Nerys’s mind. The greenhouse, bright and well-kept, in contrast to now. The strong-looking woman from the portrait suddenly writhing in pain on the bench. And a young Cledwyn, startled and frightened beside her.
The image was blurry, but the shock the boy must have felt was painfully vivid. After all, Nerys herself had lost her mother suddenly as a child.
“After my mother died, no one could enter the greenhouse. No one went in, no one took care of it. The whole West Palace was the same. My father was so broken, he couldn’t take care of anything. He just couldn’t accept she was gone.”
That was why the West Palace was left empty.
That was why the late Grand Duchess’s bedroom was locked.
It wasn’t because she was an outsider and her traces were shunned.
It was because the Grand Duke missed his departed wife so much.
After she died, his time had simply stopped.
But… what about Cledwyn? He was just a child who still needed his mother.
Nerys realized he still hadn’t spoken a word about his own feelings.
Because Cledwyn spoke almost in a whisper, Nerys softly asked in turn, as if moonlight had settled on his hair.
“So, was your lingering sentiment because it hurt to go there too?”
“No.”
He smiled like starlight.
“It was just habit.”
