Episode 36
“I have something I wish to ask.”
“Your Grace certainly has many questions for me.”
As long as it wasn't something along the lines of asking whether she loved someone. That was the last thing she wanted to hear from Carlisle.
That day, if only Carlisle hadn't asked whether she loved Lucas, she wouldn't have fled his mansion in such haste.
“Perhaps, at my mansion…….”
“Ugh!”
Unfortunately, before Carlisle could even finish his question, pain shot through her ankle in full force. A sting as if thorns had sprouted along her back caused her brows to furrow. Her eyelids naturally closing was an afterthought.
Helen hid her ankle—surely swollen red even without looking—beneath the hem of her dress, and curved her eyes into a composed smile.
But that smile was, to anyone who saw it, unbearably awkward. She knew it must look strange to Carlisle as well, yet she was in no position to run away from him.
Helen pushed her disheveled red hair back over her shoulder and spoke.
“I’m sorry. What were you saying just now?”
She didn't delude herself into thinking he hadn't noticed her grimace of pain. Even so, she wished Carlisle would pretend not to see.
Even though she knew he was a man who would not overlook a single tear from a woman he had just met.
“Um, Your Grace?”
Ever since the moment she had let out that groan, Carlisle had been staring only at her pupils—no, it seemed more like he was looking at the space between her brows. Had a wrinkle formed there from when she had furrowed her brows earlier? Helen felt an urge to tap his shoulder.
Reading Carlisle's expression, Helen carefully raised her hand. She touched the space between her brows with her fingertips, but nothing had changed.
At this point, she wondered what on earth she was doing. Just as her brows narrowed for a different reason, Carlisle knelt down.
With a brief word of excuse, he gently lifted the hem of Helen's dress. Soon, her severely swollen ankle was revealed.
“Your ankle is swollen!”
Helen was not startled by the sudden scolding. The man who had suddenly come to mind had also been clumsy at showing concern for others.
“It’s fine. It’ll go down if I rest a bit.”
Then a groan escaped Helen's lips once more. It was because Carlisle had touched her swollen ankle.
“You’re not even a doctor. It won't go down, at least not today.”
Every spot on her ankle that his hand touched bloomed with fiery flowers. The skin had already turned red, so it wasn't visible to the eye, but the stinging sensation was much the same.
“Your Grace isn’t a doctor either, are you?”
“On the battlefield, sprained ankles are a common occurrence.”
“Ah…….”
Of course. Before meeting Violet, he had practically lived on the battlefield.
She imagined Carlisle leading an army in uniform must have looked not so different from now.
A shadow fell over Carlisle's face as he examined Helen's ankle with quite professional hands.
But Helen, not noticing this, did her utmost to extinguish the sparks blooming everywhere he touched like a firebrand. She tried turning her head away from Carlisle and dropping her gaze, but as long as his hand touched her skin, it was no use.
So she tried pulling her right foot back from Carlisle's touch. Of course, this too was futile. As Helen moved her foot, the large hand gently gripping her ankle was pulled along before firming and holding fast.
“I must ask your pardon for a moment.”
Though his expression was furious, his tone was quite lofty. And it wasn't just his tone. What need was there to even mention the way he gently lifted the hem of Helen's dress to inspect her ankle?
It was hard to believe he was someone who had tramped roughly across battlefields. Helen was realizing that it was no wonder he was the Duke of Everett.
“This won't do.”
Whether he was giving up playing doctor, Carlisle stood up, dusting off his spot. Of course, he did not forget to return the slightly crumpled hem of her dress to its original state before doing so.
“What won't?”
“There is nothing that can be done here.”
In her green eyes was reflected a man with a sturdy build. The man with jet-black eyes, unlike the woman's, took a step forward.
Helen flinched, her back meeting a pillar. In the biting cold, wearing a thin dress, the part of her flesh that struck the wall felt as though it might split.
To approach so suddenly!
It wasn't that she feared Carlisle, who had lifted the dress of a woman with whom he had 'no relationship at all.' She was simply startled, or so she thought, the moment his hand created space between her back and the wall pressed against it.
In the blink of an eye, she found herself in his embrace. To be precise, her cheek pressed against the rock-wall of his chest.
“Thus, I have no choice but to be a little more improper.”
His breath tickled the nape of her neck greatly before withdrawing. And before she could even gauge what sort of impropriety he meant, Helen felt a familiar touch along her spine.
Carlisle, having stepped back half a pace, bent his knee. His right hand lightly grasped Helen's right shoulder, while his remaining hand supported the back of her knee.
It was no longer simply being held in his arms—she was completely swept up into them. As her two feet left the ground, Helen reflexively wrapped both arms around Carlisle's neck.
“Your Grace!”
If anyone saw, it was an appearance that could easily give rise to strange rumors. Even so, Helen could take no action other than calling out to him.
Because she was happy. So happy she could cry that she was in Carlisle Everett's embrace, even like this. Because Carlisle Everett's heart was beating. Because he was alive, she was glad.
* Sibello
Carlisle lifted Helen in both arms and headed for a doctor. However, the infirmary was empty. Only then did he realize that all the medical staff had gone to the wedding hall. It was the empire's state wedding, after all; not only Rosie, who was to become Empress, but also distinguished foreign guests from allied nations were gathered there, so naturally they had to be on hand to deal with even minor accidents.
At the threshold of the infirmary, empty of both doctors and patients, Helen still had her arms wrapped around Carlisle's neck.
While walking here, she realized how she had gotten to Everett Mansion that night when the last snow had piled up thickly. She had walked through that winter night, held in the arms of someone she longed for even in her dreams, wishing it would never end.
Now, it was a night she could never return to, no matter how much she regretted it.
Helen put more strength into her arms encircling Carlisle's neck and spoke words opposite to her actions.
“Please put me down now.”
“Can you not even walk?”
As he said, her ankle had swollen so much that she couldn't walk alone without another's help. She wanted to use this miraculous coincidence as an excuse to remain nestled deeply in his arms for hours.
Helen searched for a suitable excuse to suppress the desire that would trample Carlisle's kindness.
“Then please put me down over there.”
Carlisle did as she wished, setting her down on the simple patient bed located inside the room.
Seated on the bed, Helen lowered her arms from around his neck very slowly, as if leaving behind any lingering attachment.
She had been in his arms for several minutes, so she had hoped the scent of small violet flowers might transfer onto him. She desperately wished that something of hers would remain with Carlisle, even if only that. Yet what brushed the tip of her nose was the sumptuous fragrance of many expensive and rare flowers that filled the imperial palace. It was a scent that could be smelled from anyone walking through the palace right now, and for some reason, a smile mixed with sorrow spread across her lips.
Carlisle surveyed the medicines in the infirmary but gave up, faced with names he had never seen on the battlefield.
“Since there is no doctor, I shall at least fetch some ice.”
The doctors wouldn't return to the infirmary until after the state wedding ended, so it was to be used as a temporary measure.
However, Helen stopped Carlisle's steps as he tried to leave the infirmary.
“Um, Your Grace.”
Carlisle saw a smile that one could not tell was steeped in sorrow or joy. The dress, crumpled unsightly from being held, was gripped in Helen's hand.
“……Thank you.”
“This time, you owe me a debt.”
“I'll be sure to repay it.”
Carlisle nodded. He had to fetch ice before the patient's ankle worsened. Moreover, the wedding would begin soon. Just as he was at a loss for where to find ice nearby, Helen came up with a good solution.
“Liandor should be at the ceremony hall. That is, the white-haired, white-eyed mage…….”
Having stated Liandor's most distinguishing feature, nothing else particularly came to mind. The moniker “Great Mage” that Liandor always went on about was useless as well.
Contrary to Helen's worry, Carlisle raised the corner of his mouth and nodded.
“If his hair and eyes are both white, I shall find him at once.”
* Sibello
She wanted to see him. She desperately wished that the first person she saw upon opening her eyes would be Carlisle Everett. Miserably, she wanted to see him—even knowing that he, who still couldn't forget Violet, would never love Helen Platini.
Suddenly, a coldness was felt near her ankle. It was not the throbbing caused by the severe swelling, but a chill one would only feel in the depths of winter.
Helen furrowed the corners of her eyes twice, then slowly lifted her eyelids. The person she had wished for was not there.
“Liandor.”
The moment Helen's voice fell upon his ears, Liandor turned his head. He pushed his chair back and nearly rose to check on Helen's condition.
“Are you alright?”
Compared to moments ago, her condition had greatly improved. With Liandor's help, she raised her upper body and saw a wet towel placed on her ankle. On top of it lay a cloth pouch the size of a palm, and she was certain ice was inside it. This was the reason she had felt the cold near her ankle just now.
Helen nodded as she looked at the water droplets that had formed from condensation on the outside of the cloth pouch. Then, meeting Liandor's eyes, she asked.
“What about him?”
“You……!”
Liandor looked as though he had something to say, but bit his lower lip and let out a short breath. At the same time, he swallowed the words he wanted to speak.
*Even in this situation, you think of him. How many seasons must pass before you look back at me even once?*
A hollow laugh escaped him unwittingly at the incomparably miserable reality. Liandor swept his disheveled white hair back.
“I stopped him from coming with me.”
Indeed. It was hard to imagine the two of them, who resembled each other neither in appearance nor in personality, walking side by side.
If she had known this was her last meeting with Carlisle, she would have said something other than thank you. Moreover, the deadline to repay the debt incurred today was until she left the imperial palace. What could she possibly use to repay it in the half-day or so that remained?
Her heart throbbed with futile regret.
“The wedding hasn't started yet, right? I'll watch the ceremony and then leave.”
Liandor answered with a furrowed brow.
“How do you plan to walk with that foot?”
“By magic?”
“Who's going to help you?”
“Well, wouldn't a kind mage in the imperial palace help me? Of course, I don't mean you.”
A playfulness tinged Helen's eyes. As she grinned, her slightly pink-tinged cheeks rose upward, following the arc of her curved lips.
Liandor shook his head as if there was nothing to be done.