Chapter 241

Chapter 241

Stories about him setting up camp at the edge of the forest to hunt monsters, who was responsible for the laundry at his household, who they had brought in to help due to the lack of manpower, and even how some boy had gone to the knight’s camp, wanting to become a knight himself—all these trivial details reached her ears.

People talked so much about Lucius that, even though Deatrice had only encountered him twice since that day, it always felt like he was right there with her.

Of course, those two encounters had been meaningless. They were pure coincidences, and both times, only Deatrice had noticed Lucius.

The only times Deatrice had seen Lucius were in passing—once when he was standing near the market, buying goods with his knights, and another time when he was receiving reports at a site where they were repairing collapsed houses.

Seeing Lucius adapt so naturally to his duties in this unfamiliar, cramped city made her wonder if their life together might have looked similar had they run away six years ago as he had suggested.

“Run away with me.”

“…”

“I have a small estate that’s already been passed down to me. Even if I lose in court, they can’t take it away. We could sell it, move to another country, and make a living doing anything. We could live without wanting for anything. So please…”

The image of him, broken and pleading, often haunted her dreams.

What if, instead of pushing him away with cold reason, she had agreed? What if she had let herself be swept away by the passion of wanting him so desperately and had come to live in a small, rural town like this? Caring for the home, waiting to greet him after a day’s work—wouldn’t that have been better than what she had now?

Looking back, she couldn’t understand what she had sacrificed for such trivial power and luxury. A part of her heart ached for the foolish choices of her past.

But now, there wasn’t much she could do. She could only lie here in the woods, listening to the slow trickle of the stream, the chirping of birds, and watching the branches sway in the wind, waiting for the occasional leaf to fall and brush against her face.

“Teacher!”

One of her students, who had been splashing in the water nearby despite an injured leg, spotted her and ran over.

The child had something hidden behind their back—probably a gift. Deatrice sat up and reached out to pat the child’s head. The braids in their hair felt like soft ropes slipping through her fingers.

“What is it?”

“Close your eyes, quickly!”

The child urged her breathlessly, excitement brightening their flushed cheeks. Deatrice smiled slowly, then closed her eyes. A moment later, the gift the child had prepared was placed on her head.

The rich scent of grass and flowers filled the air. When she opened her eyes again, she saw the child beaming with pride, hands clasped together in delight.

“A flower crown, Deborah?”

“Yes! I picked the prettiest flowers to make it. You showed me how last time, remember? Isn’t it beautiful?”

Though she couldn’t see the crown perched atop her own head, Deatrice nodded carefully.

“Yes, it’s very beautiful.”

“It is! You’re the prettiest, teacher, like a princess.”

“Did you make one for yourself too, Deborah?”

“Well… I ran out of flowers while I was making yours.”

The child’s face fell, her earlier excitement giving way to disappointment. Deatrice gently pinched Deborah’s cheek and told her to wait just a moment. She quickly gathered more flowers from nearby and crafted a small crown for the girl. When Deatrice placed it on her head, Deborah’s face lit up with joy as if it were the first gift she’d ever received.

They played together until the sky grew dark. Exhausted, Deborah nestled into Deatrice’s arms, who carried her back to the school with the flower crowns in hand.

The school was unusually bustling when they returned, but Deatrice thought little of it, assuming it had nothing to do with her. However, as she entered the sitting room to change Deborah’s soiled bandages, she saw a familiar figure standing with his back to the golden afternoon sunlight. Deatrice’s hand trembled, and the flower crown slipped from her grasp.

  *

The crown rolled to a stop at Lucius’s feet.

He bent down to pick it up. A few broken twigs and petals fell to the floor, and Deatrice watched them drop, feeling as if she were stepping into a dream. The setting sun framed Lucius in the window, and for a moment, he seemed like everything she had ever longed for, condensed into a single image. If he were to speak now, to tell her with that tender, enigmatic tone that none of this was her fault, she might run to him, crying, just as she had in her dreams.

But then Principal Anita burst into the sitting room with hurried movements, shattering the illusion.

Principal Anita took one look at Deatrice’s disheveled appearance and shot a half-pained, half-apologetic glance at Lucius.

“Where on earth have you been, Miss Fram? Sir Elliot has been waiting for you! Hand Deborah over to me.”