The Butterfly That Swallowed the Fog

She had never told anyone.

Tilia’s gaze dropped to the floor, then rose again. Her eyes narrowed at the tense Elex, and she spoke with uncharacteristic bluntness.

“How many people have heard me say that so far?”

“None.”

Her declaration brought a flicker of interest into Tilia’s eyes, but it quickly twisted into irritation. Pathetic. She was already preparing to shove him away and walk out when Elex spoke urgently.

“It’s true. I swear on the gods.”

Even his solemn oath failed to sway her. The look of disbelief on her face only hardened his resolve. Elex took her hand and pressed it firmly against his chest. His heart thundered beneath her palm, sending violent vibrations through his muscular frame.

“If my words are false, I will enter the monastery and live there for the rest of my life as a celibate monk.”

Tilia still looked unconvinced. Elex’s voice dropped even lower, laced with raw desperation.

“If I lied, I will spend my entire life as a prisoner in the convent.”

She felt the fierce beat of his heart through his shirt. The words were deliberately crude, and Elex’s lips curved into a perfect, cool smile.

“I swear it.”

He crushed her hand harder against his chest and whispered against her ear. “You can trust me. Even the fear of breaking a divine oath will keep me true to my word.”

She gave a single, icy nod. The contract was sealed.

With a sharp flick of her wrist she tore her hand free. A few steps backward, she put distance between them, though the warning was clear in her eyes: Stay away.

Elex understood. He followed her deeper into the corner of the secondhand bookstore, where the shelves rose like a forest of forgotten volumes.

A moment later, the sound of sharp boots and a crisp salute echoed from the doorway.

Tilia stood before the packed bookshelves, glancing once toward the entrance, then back at him. Elex remained in an awkward pose, body bent slightly toward her, arms at his sides.

Why so lukewarm? If he’s caught, the agreement collapses.

Concerned that he might still betray her, Tilia seized the collar of his shirt. Even with so little force he was tugged forward. Yet his posture remained vague—elbow pressed to the shelf, torso leaning toward her only halfway.

What is he doing? She demanded with her gaze. Elex glanced down at the floor, then lifted his eyes to hers.

Almost at once, the hesitation vanished. His hand slid from her collar to the nape of her neck and the small of her back. The heat of his palm burned through her clothes. He leaned in, head tilting just enough to be ready for a kiss.

“Hmph!”

A crisp cough broke the silence from the aisle beyond the shelves. A young knight had entered the bookstore, searching for his master. He froze upon seeing them, then coughed again—thoroughly embarrassed, yet unable to tear his gaze away from the lovers.

His footsteps drew closer. Tilia lowered her eyes and bit her lip. He must not come this way. Not yet. Then I’ll have no way to silence him.

She did not notice how tightly the man behind her stood, as though barely breathing, every muscle locked in perfect stillness.

Unlike Tilia, Elex’s eyes never strayed. He stared straight ahead at the woman in his arms, tracking the delicate sweep of her long lashes, the rounded bridge of her nose, and the soft fullness of her lips. His Adam’s apple moved slowly as his tongue glided across his dry mouth, then retreated.

But Tilia’s attention was fixed solely on the knight. She missed every detail.

“Master, I don’t believe you’re here.”

The knight’s young voice carried clear and final. He turned to leave.

Thank the gods. Tilia exhaled in relief and quickly pulled away from Elex’s embrace. The lingering warmth on her lower back and waist felt strangely distasteful.

She swept her fingers along her neck, lifting her chin. Elex stood there with the same indifferent expression, as if the temperature she had left behind had never touched him.

“It’s over. The promise is kept.”

She snatched the book from his hand with a dismissive wave. Before he had arrived, she had been marking pages in her Ontaroa painting textbook.

One problem solved. With a sworn oath spoken into her own mouth, he could never dare break the agreement.

Tilia flipped through the pages, lost in thought. Whatever the reason, I’ve done everything I could. Now he’ll leave on his own.

Busy Tilia, unlike the idle young lord, turned her back on him and continued reading.

“……”

Elex Davenport did not leave the bookstore even as she finished the book. Tilia finally sighed softly, closed it with a soft thud, and looked up at him.

“Why aren’t you going?”

She had dismissed the idea that he was waiting for the knights to leave the street. Yet the prickling sensation between her shoulder blades told her otherwise.

She turned her head, hiding nothing of the irritation in her face.

Just as she was about to speak, a voice cut through the air in fluent Ontaroa.

Startled by the unexpected language, Tilia waited for an explanation. It came immediately.

Then it clicked. Duchess Seraphine Davenport’s maiden name had been Bardin. And Bardin was the royal family of Ontaroa.

Ontaroa, bordered by Archasis, was renowned for its culture and art. Nobles sent their children there to study precisely for that reason.

The second son of the Duke of Davenport, who had once been Ontaroan princess, belonged to that same category. His flawless accent proved he had studied there for years.

Elex, leaning against the wall, straightened and lightly ran his fingers along the Ontaroa painting shelves.

How much practice would it take to speak like a native?

While Tilia silently mimicked his accent, she could not open her mouth. Yet her hesitation was soon overcome by greed.

His words were correct. Written practice was one thing, but spoken conversation required real-time practice.

Elex was reluctant, but the opportunity to speak so fluently was rare.

Tilia finally spoke, voice stiff with caution.

Her eyes remained sharp, measuring him.

Yet the Ontaroan he spoke was not his mother tongue. It carried an unnatural rhythm.

She spoke in the archaic style of classical novels and turned away. But unlike before, she now stole glances at him.

She wanted to know how much her skill had improved.

Elex’s reaction registered in Tilia’s tense eyes. He had paused at the sound of her Ontaroa, then turned his head as if nothing had happened. But she had noticed the way he bit his lip just before turning—trying to hide a laugh.

She asked cautiously.

Elex turned his back to her and bent at the waist, shoulders shaking as he fought to contain his laughter.

Tilia’s lips curved downward.