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As the ash piled up in the ashtray, his dissatisfaction with himself and his thirst only grew.
Perhaps he simply needed to satisfy a biological urge for once. It wouldn't have been surprising if the time had finally come.
Ray was well aware that his desires in that regard were not as strong as those of other men his age.
For a while, he had even looked down on such things. To him, physical relations were nothing more than a waste of energy—something unnecessary unless the goal was production or reproduction.
To engage in such acts solely for pleasure was something only those lacking in intellect would do. Like beasts.
Since he had regarded such desires as trivial for so long, he could understand if his period of rut had simply arrived late, missing its proper timing.
Rutting wasn't exactly a selective process, so he supposed he should be grateful to feel this while legally married.
At the sound of the study door opening, he crushed his cigarette out in the ashtray.
It was Agatha.
"I have something to tell you, so I stopped by before bed. I heard you gave a congratulatory speech at the Royal Academy of Arts today?"
Agatha asked, glancing briefly at the ash-filled ashtray.
"What did you say? His Majesty the King seemed very pleased."
"I didn't say anything out of the ordinary."
"Really? He was delighted that you didn't oppose expanding the size of the orchestra."
"That doesn't mean I approved of it... Besides, my opinion isn't a matter of great importance."
"Well, hearing your opinion likely puts him at ease. Anyway, he seemed to be in a good mood; he mentioned in passing that Avery came to see him separately to talk about the war. It seems he keeps bringing up Queen Ladan. After all, the Queen is His Majesty's niece."
That lunatic.
Ray let out a short, dry laugh.
"It seems he still hasn't given up. Right?"
"I never thought he would. Lord Avery isn't exactly known for his quick judgment."
After replying nonchalantly, Ray looked at his mother with a sudden realization.
He had thought that he and his mother might differ in opinion regarding the war.
Agatha, resembling Ray's maternal grandfather who had been a general, was a bellicose person. To her, war was a tool to prove strength, a means to gain honor, and a challenge that should not be avoided.
Yet, judging by her current tone, even she seemed skeptical of the war.
"By the way, I saw you moved the piano."
Since it could be considered a memento of his father, it was natural for her to ask, as he had moved it as he pleased without telling her.
"Did Rose say she wanted to play it?"
"It's better for someone to play it than to let it sit and gather dust."
Agatha stared at her son for a long time with an unreadable expression before hesitantly speaking.
"Ray, you too..."
The words she struggled to utter remained unfinished even as time passed. Agatha opened her lips a few times but ultimately fell silent.
"Nothing."
Then, she ended the conversation with an awkward smile.
"I won't take any more of your time. Goodnight, Ray."
Watching Agatha's retreating figure as she quietly left the study, Ray felt as though he knew the words she couldn't bring herself to say.
Do you also think of your father when you look at that girl?
He thought that might be what she intended to say.
It was certainly a mad thing to foist that piano upon a woman who had never even said she wanted to play it, without even asking her.
"Perhaps it's because she wants to convey something that cannot be expressed in words."
He had thought it was nonsense, but the moment the woman played the piano, Ray understood what those words meant.
His wife always did this to him.
He wanted to simply scoff at the absurd things she said, but at some point, he would realize what they meant.
"How is it? Can you explain it simply in words?"
There were certainly things that could not be explained with words.
The emotion he felt while watching Rose play the piano could not be described. He had said the sound of the piano was 'pleasant,' but that wasn't all.
The sight of her completely immersed in the piano felt like a glimpse of something whole and true, and he felt he could watch her forever, yet at the same time, she felt excessively distant.
The piano seemed to make her happy, but it also seemed to make her infinitely sad.
Watching the woman caught in that gap, he felt as if she might disappear into a place he could never understand.
That was why Ray hoped she would continue to play.
Because as he watched her perform, he felt he might discover what these strange and unpleasant emotions he was currently feeling actually were.
How could he possibly express this irritating feeling he felt while looking at her in words?
The moment he realized that there are things in this world that language alone cannot explain, Ray thought of his father.
What was the meaning of the piano his father played so fervently in his final moments?
What had he wanted to say? His father had been speaking all along—had he simply failed to understand?
As unwelcome memories and thoughts flooded back, Ray sighed and closed his eyes.
Again. The woman who had become his wife was making him exhausted once more. She made him think of things he didn't want to think about.
Opening his eyes, Ray stared blankly at the divorce papers. As if they were a medicine that could cure him.
After staring at the documents for a long time, Ray carefully placed them in his desk drawer.
* * *
Ray did not visit Rose's bedroom for over a week.
Forget the bedroom; whether he was extremely busy or not, they didn't even cross paths in the mansion.
It almost felt as if he were avoiding her.
Once he no longer saw so much as a single strand of his hair, the kiss in the drawing room felt even more like a dream.
If it weren't for this article, Rose would have doubted that the events of that day had even happened.
<Foreign Minister Crawford Mentions Wife in Royal Academy of Arts Congratulatory Speech>
The newspaper printed the full text of the short speech he had given.
It was an event Rose had ultimately not attended. She was still afraid of going to events with large crowds.
<To be honest, I do not know much about art. I apologize to those who invited me, but I am not one to enjoy it. However, my wife plays the piano well.>
Ray mentioned Rose as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As if she were not a flaw to him in any way.
<My wife told me that when there are things that cannot be explained in words, music becomes the language.
I still do not fully understand what that means, but I am certain that when you all speak of peace instead of war, you are speaking the same language as I am.
I will stay in my place and say what I can.
And I hope that in one corner of Orturan, your language of peace continues forever, reaching even those places where my language does not reach, and the people who cannot hear it.>
The newspaper noted that Ray Crawford had expressed his opposition to the war in a subtle manner through his speech and was gaining support from the art world, where anti-war sentiment was dominant.
Only after seeing the words she had told him printed exactly as they were did Rose feel certain again that the kiss had been real.
Honestly, she hadn't expected him to take her words seriously, so it was surprising that he mentioned them in his speech.
He felt distant and cold, yet every now and then, he felt like a place where she could actually lean on.
"By the way, your brother sent all these flowers. Is it a special day?"
At the question from the maid, Joan, who was arranging flowers in a vase, Rose finally closed the newspaper and prepared to leave.
Today was the day she was to go see a performance by the Royal Orchestra with her brother, Ben.
Ben, in his kindness, had sent flowers to commemorate Rose's birthday.
"...He's just naturally affectionate."
Rose brushed it off without mentioning it was her birthday.
It was difficult to tell anyone in the Crawford mansion that today was her birthday.
She wasn't an important person, after all.
It was a relief that Agatha had permitted Rose's private outing. At least today, she could spend time with her real family.
As Rose was about to leave the mansion with a slightly fluttering heart, she was stopped by a commotion at the entrance.
"My Lady! My Lady! Please, forgive me just once!"
A servant with an unfamiliar face suddenly appeared and knelt before Rose.
Flustered, Rose lifted the hem of her dress and stepped away from him, and soon, the butler, Elton, rushed out with a visibly panicked expression.
It was the first time she had seen the usually expressionless butler look that way.
"Please ignore him, My Lady. I am sorry."
"No, what is happening...?"
"I spoke out of turn. I only said it because I was worried... If you forgive me just once, I will make sure this never happens again."
Two other servants practically dragged the servant, who was begging for an incomprehensible forgiveness, out of the mansion.
"He was dismissed for having a loose tongue, but he failed to accept it with dignity. It was my oversight," the butler said, wiping sweat with a handkerchief.
"Why is he asking me for forgiveness?"
Only after seeing the butler unable to answer easily did Rose guess the situation.
That servant must have said something negative about Rose.
Her fluttering heart sank as if doused in cold water.
From the servant's perspective, he probably hadn't said anything particularly malicious. Just the kind of ordinary gossip that all Orturans talk about.
If she forgave him, she would be looked down upon; if she didn't, people would say the Boltonian was heartless.
That a perfectly fine person lost their job because of a Boltonian.
"Did you see that woman? She didn't even think to stop Lord Crawford."
The words she had heard at the Royal Palace party came back to her.
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