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The woman was different than usual when entering the Royal Palace. The hand resting on his arm carried a weight it didn't normally have; it was clear that this space inspired fear in her.
What was unclear was why he couldn't simply be happy about that fact.
It was a change he had longed for.
And yet, why?
Ray looked at his wife, who sat quietly with a pale face. The sight did nothing to help him organize these cumbersome emotions.
He looked away from her and tried his best to understand himself. To calculate and create a reason.
His actions had not been excessive.
Having already decided on the conclusion, he continued to think in order to find a justification that fit.
Yes, they had dared to overstep their bounds.
No matter how lacking this woman might be, she was a Crawford, and thus, there was certainly a need to set an example for those who ignored her.
It wasn't a completely satisfying conclusion, but it wasn't unacceptable.
However, even after arriving at the mansion, an unwanted unpleasantness persisted. It was likely because of the woman, who continued to act like a sinner by his side.
Perhaps because of that unpleasantness, visiting her bedroom tonight was not on the scheduled agenda, but he headed there more by instinct than by calculation.
He needed to check on his wife's state, which had been strange throughout the day.
The moment he passed through the bedroom corridor, he saw the profile of the woman sitting blankly on the vanity chair.
Even while sitting in front of the mirror, she didn't seem to be looking at her own reflection.
Her gaze lingered awkwardly somewhere in the air, and a deep shadow cast over her still-pale face.
“How on earth do you breathe in a place like this?”
The image of her asking that in a voice that sounded as if it might extinguish overlapped in his mind.
As always, she had asked a strange question. An incomprehensible one.
This was the place where Ray was born and raised. Breathing was so natural he didn't even consciously think about it, and everyone was expected to do the same.
She spoke as if Orturan were underwater, devoid of air. Like someone who would die because they couldn't breathe.
Once again, a person came to mind—someone who found the things everyone else did naturally to be burdensome and eventually fled beyond life.
Erasing his father's shadow, he strode toward the woman who sat there like a flickering candle.
“……Ah, you're here?”
Her voice was faint as she greeted him upon noticing his presence, but at least her vacant gaze fixed on him.
That steady gaze was the only thing that made her look like someone still tethered to reality.
Rising from the vanity and heading toward the bed, Rose spoke hesitantly.
“About earlier.”
Ray glanced at the woman's fingers, which were needlessly fidgeting as if tidying a perfectly fine blanket.
“You didn't need to go that far. I would have stayed quiet even if you hadn't stepped in. I don't make the same mistake twice.”
Ray felt that unwelcome unpleasantness again. Not toward Rose, but toward himself.
Wasn't this the attitude he had always wanted? That she should remain silent no matter what insult she endured.
“I'm not saying I'm not grateful. I am, but I'm just worried….”
Then why was he not satisfied?
“You can remember one thing, but not two.”
Ignoring the questions that cluttered his mind, Ray entered the right side of the bed.
“I told you when I told you to stay quiet. I would take care of anyone who treats you carelessly.”
Ray thought to himself once more, as if persuading himself.
Regardless, this woman was currently his wife and his possession, so he had a responsibility to bear. Ray had never been negligent in his given responsibilities.
At his answer, Rose gave a faint smile. If such a thin thing could even be called a smile.
“You really are a man who keeps his promises,” she murmured as she got into bed.
“I can see why you're such a popular politician.”
She still seemed drained of energy, but her manner of joking wasn't much different from usual.
That fragile appearance in front of the vanity had been but a fleeting moment, and Ray thought it might have been his imagination.
Yes, this woman was not insane like his father.
However, when she turned her back to him to lie down, Ray remained awake for a long time, looking at her infinitely small silhouette.
* * *
The following afternoon, Rose was basking in the sunlight on a garden bench surrounded by bright yellow chrysanthemums.
Agatha had gone to attend a gathering, and Beth had gone to visit a newly opened department store downtown with a friend, so it was entirely her own free time.
The sense of insult and depression brought on by the previous day's terrible experience had faded somewhat after a night's sleep.
“Fortunately, His Majesty the King and the Prince didn't think much of it.”
A few hours ago, while delivering those words over lunch, Agatha had let out a long sigh.
“What can be done. Not everything can be fixed by teaching. One must know what is lacking before teaching is even possible.”
She was saying she didn't blame her, but that only made Rose feel more guilty.
“It is a relief that Ray settled the situation, but….”
Seeing how she trailed off, it seemed Agatha wasn't entirely pleased with Ray's handling of the matter.
Was that to be expected? Over Agatha's displeased face, the image of the noblewomen whispering in the powder room at that day's party overlapped.
“Did you see that woman? She didn't even think to stop Duke Crawford. If the wife had stopped him, the Duke might have shown some generosity.”
“Who would dare say anything to that lady now, fearing Duke Crawford? To think she couldn't even say that much. I'm afraid to even greet her.”
“Because they brought in a Boltonian by mistake, we'll have to walk on eggshells every time….”
At that party, Rose confirmed that no matter what she did, the result was the same. Whether she stayed quiet or didn't, it was always Rose's fault.
Whether Ray ignored her or fought on her behalf, the result—guilt and discomfort—remained the same.
Even so….
“I would take care of anyone who treats you carelessly.”
The fact that he had gotten angry for her was quite comforting. That a man who seemed to live by cold reason had reacted emotionally to her situation.
Instead of calling her stupid, the man had called it a 'simple cultural difference.' She didn't know if he actually thought so.
There were times when that hardness, which seemed impervious to any wound, terrified her, but on that day, she was able to lean on it.
As she sat on the bench staring quietly at the ground, Rose felt a shadow fall over her and looked up.
Then, she blinked slowly.
Ray Crawford was standing before her, looking down at her. With the sunlight behind him, his face looked sharper than usual.
At first, she thought it might be a dream. It was too early for him to return to the mansion.
It seemed more like a dream because he stood there without the slightest movement. As he observed Rose, his expression looked somehow serious. Perhaps it was because he wasn't smiling.
“What brings you here at this hour?”
“……I had a moment of free time.”
The tone and voice—the same as always, without any inflection or rise and fall—informed her that his sudden presence was reality.
With an expressionless face, the man gave a cursory glance at the surrounding chrysanthemums and sat down beside her on the bench.
Though it had already been well over three months since they married, this was the first time they had sat together like this under the midday sun.
She remembered a morning when he had come to find her while she was sitting like this. She also remembered how much she had dreaded and disliked him then.
It had only been a few months, yet now she felt no discomfort at all with Ray sitting right next to her, and Rose was slightly bewildered by this change. It wasn't as if anything extraordinary had happened between them.
“His Majesty the King has invited us to a Royal Academy of Arts event. Do you have any intention of going?” the man asked, sitting with his long legs crossed.
“They invite you to such an event?”
At the question that escaped her unconsciously, Ray let out a short laugh.
“To think a time would come when your thoughts and mine align; it is surprising.”
Judging by his tone, he didn't particularly want to go either.
“The theme this time is the end of war and peace.”
Even though he was expressionless, his thoughts seemed transparent. He's probably thinking, I don't know what the Royal Academy of Arts has to do with war to hold an event with such a theme.
“Are you giving a congratulatory speech too?”
“Probably.”
Seeing his annoyance, Rose almost laughed, forgetting the depression she had been dwelling on from the previous day.
The sight of him now was so funny that she wanted to send a separate thank-you note to the Academy of Arts for inflicting such hardship on this arrogant man.
“What are you going to say? That you have no idea why art even exists?”
“Then why do you think such a thing exists?” the man asked back with a crooked smile.
“I don't know…. Perhaps because people want to convey things that cannot be expressed in words.”
“What is there that cannot be conveyed through language?”
Even while sitting in a chrysanthemum garden as beautiful as a painting, he denied all sensibility without a hint of hesitation.
Was it such arrogance that made this man so steadfast?
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