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When night fell and Ray came to Rose's bedroom, he slowly looked around the empty room. If she wasn't in the room, there was only one place she could be.
The balcony attached to the bedroom.
As he stepped out onto the balcony, the woman, who had been leaning against the railing with both arms resting on it, quietly taking in the breeze, turned around.
Since this was already his third time visiting her bedroom, she didn't seem surprised anymore.
“It was a bit hot. I’ll stay out here for a little longer.”
After saying only that, Rose turned her head back and exhaled slowly.
Perhaps she was happy to see her younger brother; the woman seemed to have had some alcohol. Unlike usual, there was a slight flush on her cheeks. Because of that, she looked much more human.
Standing beside the slightly tipsy woman, Ray took a cigarette from his gown pocket and put it in his mouth.
“I didn't think you'd take my words seriously.”
Rose's small voice reached him along with the clicking sound of a silver lighter.
Ray thought that this rare act of speaking first might also be due to the alcohol.
“Was that magazine actually helpful?”
Exhaling slowly with a cloud of grey smoke, Ray turned his head to face the woman, who looked somewhat anxious for some reason.
Even after offering a useful opinion, she seemed uneasy.
“Thanks to it, they won't be discussing war immediately.”
“Then... that's a good thing for you, right?”
Ray gave a short nod to Rose, who was double-checking even after hearing the answer.
“What a relief.”
He thought she might try to take credit for it, but that murmur was the end of it.
Finally looking relieved, Rose gazed up at the dark night sky and let out a long sigh.
The woman, who had been so quick to smile in front of her brother and the man who was her teacher, now wore only such an expression.
“My sister's personality is no joke. Be careful, Duke Crawford. Oh, maybe you don't know that yet?”
Those were the words of her brother, who had left after offering a greeting that was half-joke.
Ray wondered if she had thrown something other than a comb at him in front of her brother.
However, regardless of how Rose behaved toward Ben Davis or Marcel Garnier, she was not like that now.
As if they had conspired together, all of her men had told Ray, 'You don't know her'—presumptuously.
On the night balcony, where the sound of insects could be heard from somewhere, Ray continued to observe his wife.
Without even knowing what he was looking for.
As Rose stood with her eyes closed, feeling the wind, Ray recalled the image of her humming a song alone, and the way she had thrown a comb at him.
The few glimpses of this woman's true self that he knew.
As the wind blew, the golden hair flowing down the side of her forehead fluttered softly against her pale face.
Under Ray's relentless gaze, Rose suddenly opened her eyes and let out an exclamation as if she had remembered something.
“Ah, Mr. Marcel said that His Majesty King Catherine wants to expand the scale of the Royal Orchestra. But it seemed she was hesitating because of the war discussions...”
“It wouldn't be a good thing to worry about such unnecessary matters. She is one of the few remaining Monarchs.”
Ray paused for a moment after speaking.
He felt he had been too honest. It felt as if he had spat out the words he had been keeping inside without any packaging.
It was something he had thought every time the King mentioned such things, but he had never put it into words.
It was behavior unlike him. He was slightly bewildered, wondering if he had been influenced by his wife, who was so far removed from Orturan.
“Are you saying it's a waste of money?”
His wife, with her flushed cheeks, responded with words that were even rawer, as befitting a Boltonian.
Strangely, Ray felt much more at ease at that reaction. He nodded while flicking ash into the ashtray.
“Things like music and art are utterly meaningless. I don't know how they help one's life.”
The first time was difficult, but the second was easy. Once the words flowed comfortably, everything he thought continued to come out as it was.
Upon hearing his answer, a strange expression momentarily crossed Rose's face.
It was an ambiguous smile—too passive to be called a sneer, but too unsettled to be called agreement.
Ray let out a hollow laugh at that vaguely honest reaction.
“Say it.”
“Say what?”
Rose asked back, sounding puzzled by Ray's sudden command.
“What you just thought. I'm telling you to put it into words.”
Seeing her fall silent with a guilty look, it seemed she had indeed been thinking something. Seeing how easy it was to read her expression tonight, Rose was definitely drunk.
She was a woman who always appeared as cold as a doll.
He wondered if the temperature of her flushed cheeks had actually risen as much as the color suggested. If she would be warm, like a human.
Finding that brief curiosity absurd, Ray let out a short laugh and exhaled cigarette smoke.
“Forget it. My thoughts aren't that important anyway.”
The woman, who seemed to struggle for a moment, eventually shook her head.
“Then hide your expression better.”
“No, what expression did I even make...?”
She seemed to be protesting, but her voice was incredibly faint. Perhaps she had a conscience, as she didn't actively deny it.
“I won't say anything, so just tell me.”
Rose, observing Ray's mood as if suspicious, hesitated before opening her mouth.
“It's just... it's funny that you're saying things like that.”
Funny. Me.
Ray had never heard such words in his entire life.
And for the woman who did the funniest things among the people around him to say such a thing.
“People like you are the type who think the less meaning something has, the more elegant it is. Parties held out of boredom, hunting all day, occasional shopping...”
The woman questioned the way of life that he had acquired as naturally as breathing.
“Is there a great meaning to things like that?”
Her expression was simply innocent and honest, rather than accusatory.
Through several months of marriage, Ray had become well-acquainted with the tone Rose used when she was criticizing or being sarcastic.
This was clearly not that kind of attitude, and Ray unconsciously became serious.
“They can be venues for interacting with people. And spending money, dining, and sharing information are at least more realistic tasks than playing an instrument. Because at least something is being consumed or produced.”
“No, that's not being realistic; that's being materialistic.”
A soft-voiced rebuttal followed immediately after he finished speaking.
The hesitation she showed at first was gone, and she sounded like someone who had been waiting for the day to say these words.
Ray looked at Rose with a strange feeling, a mix of absurdity and interest.
He had felt it last night as well, but whenever she said what she wanted to say, her green eyes regained their light.
“Something doesn't have to be visible to the eye or touchable by hand to be real.”
His wife spoke in riddles. Isn't it real only if there is a physical entity?
She denied what Ray believed to be an absolute fact.
“Above all, don't you people consider it vulgar to try too hard to live in reality? When I said I made money, Agatha looked like she was about to faint.”
This point was quite sharp.
People who labor were those who did something visible and received payment for it. On the other hand, people like him...
Ray stopped thinking, feeling as if he had been thrown back into a battlefield. It was meaningless anyway.
“I'm not saying the King must expand the orchestra... Such things should be avoided if the situation doesn't permit.”
Rose added, perhaps noticing Ray's lack of response.
“I just thought it was strange that Orturan nobles, of all people, treat artists as idle aesthetes.”
However, her directness did not stop.
“Why, because we are no different from useless loafers?”
Extinguishing his cigarette, Ray asked her using the same manner of speech.
“When did I ever go that far...?”
“My wife truly only says things that would get her stoned in Orturan.”
He had merely stated the facts as they were, but Rose immediately opened her mouth with an aggrieved face.
“That's why I only talk like this in front of you. At least you won't go to the newspaper and tattle on me. You'll probably just think of me as a crazy woman on your own.”
Only in front of me.
Ray, taking out another cigarette, repeated those words to himself.
He liked those words quite a bit.
And it was not a bad thought.
Ray had never rejected something that only he knew, or something that only he could possess.
“You're clever.”
He spoke sincerely, but seeing Rose frown, she seemed to think he was mocking her.
Ray looked down at the cigarette in his hand.
Handing it to Rose instead of bringing it to his own lips was an unplanned action.
“...Are you giving this to me?”
Looking at Rose, who asked with a face full of suspicion, Ray quickly filled in the missing reason.
“Don't go causing trouble elsewhere; do it in front of me.”
Yes, this was not an impulse. Rather than having problems arise elsewhere, it was better for her to do it where he could see, where he could control.
“If you only smoke in front of me, no problems will arise.”
“...This isn't some kind of test, is it?”
“A test?”
“I thought if I took it readily, you'd say you knew I'd do that, and that I still have a long way to go...”
The woman, whose cheeks were still flushed, muttered in a voice full of distrust.
Watching her, Ray let out a chuckle, finding it absurd.
Did this woman think of him as some teenage boy? To actually do something so childish.
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