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Setting down her empty glass, Rose met their gazes with a bewildered expression. Shock was written across the faces of several people watching her.
“Did she just drink that?”
“I thought I was seeing things.”
“She drank it? The Holy Water? Who?”
Even as she heard the people whispering, Rose didn't quite understand what the problem was. In Bolton, it was customary to drink Holy Water once the bishop's consecration was complete.
Feeling flustered and embarrassed, she looked to her side to find Ray staring at her with a slightly surprised look.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“In Orturan, we do not drink Holy Water. Wait a moment, and a servant will take the glass away.”
“It wasn't like that in Bolton... I truly didn't know.”
Before she could even finish her sentence, Rose took a labored breath. Suddenly, breathing became difficult.
“Good heavens. Honestly...”
“What on earth was that just now?”
“As expected of a Boltonian...”
The whispering continued.
Everyone was glancing at her as if she were some hideous animal. Facing those stares, her head began to spin, and her heart started to race.
The secluded, cozy time on the balcony had clearly made her more fragile.
The gazes and whispers of the Orturan people felt beyond uncomfortable; it felt as if they were slashing at her body.
“As the protagonist, I suppose I should say something, shouldn't I?”
The whispering only subsided after the Prince drew everyone's attention with a loud voice, acting as if he hadn't noticed the commotion.
While the crowd focused on the Prince, Ray supported her lower back with his arm, discreetly bracing her. He acted like someone who knew she was on the verge of collapsing.
“You...”
Clutching his arm, Rose whispered unconsciously.
“How on earth do you breathe in a place like this?”
His blue eyes, as calm and ripple-less as ever, gazed at her. His arm was as steady as those eyes.
“How do you survive?”
Rose asked, gasping for air.
“Breathe with me.”
Instead of answering her question, he leaned in and gave a low command.
“One.”
Rose tried to breathe in time with his soft voice.
“Two.”
The slow, steady rhythm and the firm arm still supporting her provided a measure of stability.
By the time he counted to five, Rose had barely managed to regain her breath.
“Keep your wits about you. You are a Crawford now.”
Once he confirmed that strength had returned to Rose's legs, he whispered coldly.
“This is not a place where you can afford to be weak.”
With his warning, the Prince's toast ended. Before she knew it, the glasses that had held the Holy Water had all been tidily cleared away—including the one she had drunk from.
As the orchestra began a magnificent performance, the brief commotion seemed forgotten and the atmosphere of the hall became festive again, yet people still stole glances at Rose from time to time.
Whenever people gathered to converse, Rose was plagued by the anxious thought that they might be talking about her, making her constantly conscious of them.
Every time that happened, Ray's subtle touch brought her back to reality.
However, when the group led by the Prime Minister and Archibald Avery—the faces she dreaded most—appeared, it became difficult to maintain even a smile on her lips.
She was trying her best to force it, but she wasn't sure if a proper smile was actually forming.
The conversation was ordinary, no different from any other, but Rose realized something.
A man like Avery would not have published such an article in the newspaper on a day like today for no reason, nor would he have visited them without intent.
“By the way, I was truly surprised earlier. May I ask why on earth you drank the Holy Water?”
Sure enough, Count Dolby, who was clinging to Avery's side, broached the subject.
Since he wasn't a politician, this was the first time she had seen him, but she had heard a description of him from Agatha.
“Ah, in Bolton, drinking the Holy Water is included in the consecration rite...”
“What?”
He raised his voice as if he had heard something utterly absurd.
“It is in the sense of accepting the divine protection into one's body.”
“No, then isn't Bolton completely misinterpreting the scriptures? No matter how formal the rite, drinking Holy Water that has passed through the bishop is problematic.”
The man cut Rose off immediately.
His tone was highly academic, as if he were merely engaging in a debate rather than criticizing, but the artificial look of pity in his eyes was clearly insulting.
She couldn't understand why they made such a fuss when they treated the water as precious only to have a servant collect and throw it all away at once. Wouldn't it be better to just drink it?
However, Rose knew very well that she could not say that.
“I suppose you could think that.”
Giving a passive answer, Rose looked at Avery standing behind the Count. He wore a smile of utmost satisfaction.
“Is eating things like snakes also due to such a difference in interpretation? I knew it, but Bolton really is... a peculiar country.”
Someone added their voice in agreement. 'Peculiar' was likely a polite way of saying 'primitive.'
“My lady, I understand that adjusting to a foreign country is difficult, but you must be careful. As you would know if you saw today's articles. Especially at a time when Duke Crawford's responsibilities are so heavy.”
Cunningly, the Count even masked his criticism as concern.
“Count Dolby. I am sure Mrs. Crawford is well aware. And Duke Crawford will surely take good care of her. Too much worry is not a good thing.”
Avery made a show of stopping his man, pretending to be a good person.
“...I'm sorry. I still have much to learn.”
Rose barely managed to answer, suppressing the surging shame, anger, and humiliation. Dealing with them would only result in the misfortune and pain of Boltonians.
However, the more Rose acted submissively, the more emboldened the Count seemed to become.
“Still, several months have passed. I wonder if you truly cannot adjust, or if you simply dislike Orturan because you are a Boltonian.”
It was then.
“Count Dolby.”
Ray Crawford, who had remained silent throughout, quietly called the Count.
The arm resting on Rose's back tightened, pulling her close to his side.
“I heard that you have recently been seeking to secure crop export routes to Antaka.”
Everyone focused their attention on Ray, who abruptly changed the subject with an effortless, relaxed demeanor. Rose thought that this might be his own way of helping her.
He was even smiling.
“Oh, that is correct.”
“Then you must know Antaka well.”
“Do you have some useful information?”
Despite having attacked his wife just moments ago, the Count showed no shame and did not hide his curiosity.
“In Antaka, unlike in Orturan, they do not fast on feast days; instead, they eat oats. I noticed Ambassador Antaka doing so recently.”
Seeing Ray mention such trivial information, the Count seemed slightly disappointed, but he at least maintained his politeness toward Ray.
“Ah, I am already aware of that. I heard there is a reason for such a tradition.”
“It's surprising that you call that a tradition.”
Taking a sip of wine, Ray tilted his head.
“I thought you would say that Antaka was in the wrong.”
“Pardon?”
“That is how you spoke to my wife.”
The moment he said those words, the smile vanished from Ray's face, and a strange silence fell over the group.
His statue-like face, staring blankly at the Count, looked colder than usual.
“Since you seem to wish for a profound discussion on the differences in scriptural interpretation between nations, I shall bring Ambassador Antaka to this spot.”
“No, no, that's not necessary.”
The Count, waving his hands in refusal, now looked visibly flustered.
He clearly hadn't expected Ray to bring up Antaka, which had no prior connection to the conversation.
“Please do not refuse. Since your patriotism is so great, I trust you can confidently assert to the Ambassador that Antaka is wrong and Orturan is right.”
Watching Ray speak slowly, Rose realized something.
Though he looked calm, he was currently angry.
This man tended to speak even more slowly than usual when he was enraged. His tone had been just as slow on the day she had thrown the comb.
“Should you not also ask Ambassador Antaka if he refrains from fasting on feast days because he dislikes Orturan?”
“Now, Ray, really. What kind of joke is that...”
“I am not sure which part of my words sounded like a joke.”
Despite the Prime Minister's roundabout attempt to dissuade him, he continued nonchalantly.
“Then was it also a joke to denounce a simple cultural difference as if it were a great mistake or an act of malice?”
As even the Prime Minister fell silent under that momentum, no one could defend the Count; they merely watched Ray's reaction.
As Ray's silence—simply staring at the Count—lengthened, the Count shifted his feet repeatedly in discomfort.
The party hall was so noisy, yet the silence flowing only around this spot was so peculiar that the sound of the Count's shoes scraping the floor sounded exceptionally loud.
That murderous silence was so threatening that even Rose began to feel uneasy. To think that all this awkward and uncomfortable situation was happening because of her.
She simply wanted to disappear from this place immediately.
“Count Dolby.”
Finally, at the low voice that flowed from Ray's lips, the man—who looked twenty years older than Ray—stiffened as if waiting for the impending criticism.
After a few seconds of silence, Ray Crawford gave a thin smile.
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