Permission to Cry
“Anastasia.”
Mikhail called her in the softest voice he could manage. The green eyes that had been staring at him in dazed disbelief slowly filled with tears.
At the sight of Anastasia relaxing, Mikhail had to suppress a laugh. If she knew what he was thinking right now, would she really be able to feel at ease?
“Close your eyes and cover your ears.”
“…Yes. Yes!”
At Mikhail’s command, Anastasia did exactly as he ordered. She squeezed her eyes shut so tightly that wrinkles formed across her face, then covered her ears with her hands. Mikhail gazed with satisfaction at Anastasia, who obeyed his words without the slightest hesitation.
He liked things that submitted to him. Things that moved precisely as he directed. Wasn’t that why he had never wasted time taming the Lauderdales either? He had trained every last one of them to follow him.
Mikhail tolerated nothing that threatened to shake him. That was the first thing even Igor and Yury—who had long remained at his side—and everyone who worked under him remembered.
Others resisted and rebelled at first. Some never broke. Anastasia had been the same. Hadn’t she fled the moment she saw him? The relative kindness he had shown during her first stay at Edenhurst had been a kind of test. A test of how long it would take for someone who had fled so madly to fall obediently into his hands.
That test had ended boringly. The numerous gifts ordered from Ilenka for the Lauderdale household. While having Igor and Yury place moderate orders, Mikhail ordered one more thing: a single pair of shoes, sized by rough estimation from the white feet he had glimpsed in the forest.
It was nothing special. Of course, being from Ilenka it was of the highest quality, but compared to the gifts Elizabeth or Catherine received, it was truly insignificant.
Mikhail knew Anastasia feared other people—especially men. So after committing the rudeness of barging into her room uninvited, he had shown he meant her no harm by refusing to approach any closer.
It had all been deliberate. Sow confusion, then offer reassurance. Sure enough. Anastasia, who had looked torn between fear and trust, seemed to have decided to believe in him because of his gift. When he deliberately left and returned, he clearly saw the handprints left on the velvet lining of the gift box.
After that, it was really too easy. The frantic flight from their first meeting vanished, and she sat beside him and readily ate the food he offered. Then she even asked whether he would come back.
If she was going to be like this, why was she so wary at first?
The boundaries crumbling faster than expected made it boring for him. It would have been more fun if she had remained wary to the end. So after leaving Edenhurst, he hadn’t particularly thought about Anastasia. And yet, for some reason, the sight of the lush green of the central plains had suddenly brought these eyes to mind.
Mikhail stroked Anastasia’s hair as she diligently followed his instructions. She flinched hard but did not pull away from his hand. Mikhail liked that about her. Liked it enough to think he should reward this obedience once they returned to Edenhurst.
His gaze fell on her cheek, swollen red. A handprint left as clearly as if painted on her white skin. From behind came the sound of the merchant rising with a groan. Mikhail brushed Anastasia’s cheek once and stood. Something hideous dangled between the merchant’s legs. The moment he thought what would have happened if he had not passed this place today, at this hour—
Thud!
Mikhail’s long leg kicked mercilessly into the merchant’s crotch. Any other man would have hesitated, knowing that pain, but Mikhail possessed no such mercy.
“Aaaaargh!”
A terrible scream tore through the forest. From afar, as if hearing the sound, Igor’s voice calling for Mikhail drew nearer. Mikhail kicked the jaw of the merchant who was clutching his crotch and kneeling. The massive body flew through the air and crashed to the ground. His eyes rolled white, and foam poured from his mouth. But Mikhail still did not feel refreshed.
Approaching closer, Mikhail seized the merchant’s hair and lifted his head. The man did not even groan, as if completely unconscious. If he snapped the neck like this, would he feel a little better? The moment Mikhail gripped the merchant’s jaw, Igor burst through the underbrush and shouted.
“Stop! Stop it!”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why!”
Igor spoke as if questioning whether that even needed explaining.
“If you use that much force, your wounds will open again!”
“Ah. Right.”
Igor also worked under Mikhail. He had seen more than enough people die over the past decade or so. Moreover, the reason Igor rarely stopped him was that Mikhail did not kill people out of boredom.
Igor looked at Anastasia, who was still tightly closing her eyes and covering her ears a short distance from the man Mikhail held. Seeing the merchant’s state and Anastasia’s, it was not hard to guess why Mikhail was beating the man half to death. But Igor was puzzled.
He deserves to die, but…
Mikhail never moved for reasons like that alone.
Just then Mikhail kicked the merchant once more. The man’s jaw twisted grotesquely; broken teeth and blood sprayed from his mouth. With a heavy thud the massive body collapsed to the ground. Mikhail brushed the dust from his clothes, then checked inside his suit and frowned. Because of that, Igor abandoned every other thought and ran over.
“See? I told you it would open!”
“Enough. Just clean that up.”
Mikhail waved a hand as if dismissing the matter and pushed Igor away. Igor sighed. He had thought he might rest a little upon arriving at Edenhurst, yet the moment they arrived he was stuck disposing of a corpse.
Just then the voices of the subordinates following them reached them, and Igor called them over to remove the merchant. The limp body was dragged away amid faint groans. Seeing the state of him, the men knew there was no need for gentleness; they seized the merchant’s legs and hauled him off like a slaughtered pig. Igor took one look at the twisted jaw and the clearly ruined crotch and guessed the rest.
That man would live a life that was no life at all, even if he survived.
“You go too. I’ll take Miss Anastasia.”
“But she seems very shocked. I think I should examine her.”
Igor looked at Anastasia with worried eyes. She still had her eyes tightly shut and her ears plugged, as if she had not even noticed his arrival.
“I’ll handle it. Hurry.”
“…Understood.”
Mikhail hated being told anything twice. Knowing his temperament well, Igor turned without lingering. Walking along the trail left by the dragged merchant, he thought about Mikhail’s actions.
What scheme is he plotting this time?
What was certain was that Mikhail had taken an interest in Anastasia. But Igor doubted that interest would do her any good.
Didn’t Mikhail’s interests rarely last even a few days? Even the lofty Elizabeth had been half-clinging to him within a week. If even a noble young lady like that could fall so far, a woman like Anastasia would truly give him her whole heart.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but take it easy. She’s a pitiful young lady…”
“Igor.”
“……”
Mikhail’s voice dropped.
“Go.”
“…Yes.”
Sensing that the cold gaze which had been directed at the merchant moments ago was now turned on him, Igor spun around at once. Thanks to long years of service, Mikhail overlooked him crossing the line a little—but beyond a certain point he was merciless. Not wanting to risk his life over Anastasia, Igor quickened his pace and vanished from the forest.
When the surroundings grew quiet again, Mikhail approached Anastasia, who was still covering her eyes and ears exactly as he had ordered. To signal that it was all over, he lightly tapped her forehead with a finger. Then Anastasia opened her eyes.
Transparent green irises slowly appeared beneath the lids. The moment his own reflection was fully contained in those round eyes, Mikhail felt a deep satisfaction. And that bewildered him. Had he ever been so satisfied by anything before?
Mikhail took the hands still covering her ears and slowly drew them away. Her hands moved like those of a limp doll, guided entirely by his.
“It’s all right now.”
At his words, Anastasia blinked slowly. She seemed to be understanding him only with great effort. The eye rims that had already been red grew wet again. The moment tears pooled in those large green pupils, Mikhail thought of a forest under pouring rain—the green that grew denser still in midsummer.
“Th-thank… y-you…”
Anastasia’s lips trembled as she tried to express gratitude. Then the tears suddenly poured out.
“Hic… uh…”
The merchant was gone, but the terror he had left behind still ruled her body.
I survived. Nothing happened. I didn’t commit any sin…
The harder she tried not to cry, the more her face contorted. Tears sliding down her cheeks gathered at her chin and fell to the earth in beads.
“Hic… uh…”
The desperately suppressed sobs leaked through her teeth.
I shouldn’t be like this.
She needed to properly thank the man who had saved her. She did not want to stand before him looking such a mess. But…
Then a large hand covered the top of Anastasia’s head. A low voice came from above her startled crown.
“Cry. As much as you were scared—just cry as loud as you need.”
At those words, Anastasia lifted her head. It was the first time in her life she had ever heard such a thing. From childhood, the words she had always been given were not to cry. From her father to the maids of the mansion—no one had ever told Anastasia it was all right to weep.
Was it because she lived in the paradise she had so longed for, yet remained an unpermitted existence? The only words Anastasia ever heard were “don’t.”
So she had never been able to cry.
There had been too many things too hard to endure. Cold. Hunger. Loneliness. Fear.
Even on the nights when she could no longer bear it after holding everything in, she had wiped her tears in silence, suppressing every sound lest she be discovered. But now… he said it was all right to cry. The new master of this paradise.
The hand covering her head carefully descended and drew her shoulders into an embrace. Anastasia fell limply into Mikhail’s arms. The embrace of a stranger—something she was experiencing for the first time in her life—was warm and smelled good. Warmer and better than the paradise that had never given her a place of her own.
“Huuuh…”
Given permission, Anastasia began to cry like a wounded animal. She cried and cried as if pouring out every last fear she had ever accumulated.