The Grand Duchess's Sixth First Night — Chapter 6
She deliberately turned away from what Ervan was expecting and asked her question instead.
"There is surely no one in this Empire who doesn't know the swordsmanship of the viscount they call a war hero. But tell me—were you also skilled with a bow?"
"Is that what you wanted to ask?"
Ervan countered, still studying her. He had assumed, naturally, that she would bring up her refusal of the dawn hunt first. Whether it came as an excuse or an apology, he had intended to hear her out. Instead, she had raised something else entirely, as though that subject were the last one she wished to touch.
When she finished speaking, Laila averted her eyes slightly. His gaze felt as though it were trying to see straight through her.
After a brief silence, Ervan answered plainly.
"To survive on a battlefield, you had to be able to handle every weapon in sight. The bow was no exception."
Laila hesitated a moment before asking.
"……Then why, that day, did you call me a fine archer? You must have realized—I wasn't proficient with a bow before then."
"That sounds very much like someone who is proficient with one now."
Laila did not deny it. For some reason, she had no wish to be modest in front of him.
Ervan studied her reaction for a moment, then let out a low laugh. The short sound of it tickled the edge of Laila's ear.
He took a step closer. Laila instinctively stumbled back, but as if to make her retreat meaningless, he leaned his upper body down slightly and met her eyes.
Reflected in his vivid golden eyes, she looked like nothing so much as a herbivore before a great beast. Wanting to appear composed, Laila squared her shoulders.
"A fine archer, I believe, is not someone who shoots well, but someone who draws the string without hesitation. That day, Grand Duchess, you were exactly the fine archer I mean."
Ervan's face was still smiling, but his voice was entirely serious.
"Grand Duchess, is that all of your questions?"
"Ah—no. There's more I'm curious about. ……That is, I'd like to know how archers are actually deployed on a real battlefield. And what practical archery is like."
As she rambled, Laila absently drew and released the bowstring in her hand. The snapping string caught the raw blister on her index finger. She clenched her right fist on reflex.
Ugh, that stings.
Her face crumpled briefly at the sharp, throbbing pain before smoothing out again.
With her attention momentarily scattered by the sting, Laila realized just how incoherently she had been talking. In the stretch of silence, she had been certain Ervan would ask about that day.
But having seen her face twist, his topic was no longer some rejected hunting invitation.
His gaze fell on her tightly clenched right hand. Now it was Ervan whose brow was furrowing.
He caught her right wrist with a certain roughness.
"Ah……!"
Laila let out a small cry—more from surprise than pain.
"Let go of me, Viscount."
Startled, she twisted her hand to pull free, but Ervan did not release her wrist. His large hand, thick with calluses, held her gently—yet so firmly that no strength of hers could escape it.
He turned her palm lightly toward his own eyes.
In stark contrast to his sun-browned hand, her white, tender palm was covered in wounds. The knuckles of her index and middle fingers in particular bore blisters, red and burst, the skin peeled away and slowly seeping blood.
It was a shameful state for the hand of a noble lady raised in luxury. Laila flushed as though some private failing had been laid bare.
"Release my hand, Viscount. It's nothing."
"It's true that since becoming a noble, I know far more of what I don't know than what I do. But I do know that a lady's hand wounded like this is not 'nothing.'"
Finding no rebuttal, Laila quietly closed her mouth.
"Is it because I called you a fine archer? So you practiced, drawing the string over and over without even the fundamentals, until you grew proficient?"
A cool note of reproach ran beneath Ervan's voice.
"Don't misunderstand. That isn't all of it. His Majesty praised me, and he said I should become a good example for the Princess."
Ervan read the stubbornness written across her face. He gazed at her for a long moment, her expression full of things left unsaid, then finally exhaled and shut his mouth firmly.
"There's an ointment I carry with me."
As Ervan steered her toward the bench, Laila twisted her captured hand in small rebellion.
"Viscount, this is far too forward!"
"Please hold still. Before this becomes even more forward."
Left with no choice, Laila let herself be led to the bench and seated.
At last releasing her hand, Ervan drew a small tin of ointment and a clean handkerchief from the inner pocket of his uniform.
"Your hand, please."
Her small, wounded hand came to rest atop his large one.
Deftly scooping out ointment with one hand, he smoothed it gently over her wounds.
"Nngh……"
The cold ointment touching raw skin drew a small moan from her. Ervan's hand paused for an instant, then grew all the more careful. In the end, lest the sting trouble her, he parted his lips slightly and blew softly on the wound.
"V-Viscount……!"
His warm breath traveled past her fingertips, up her wrist, and tickled somewhere near her chest. At the sensation that curled her toes on its own, Laila had to stop breathing for a moment.
These days, it was fashionable for ladies fresh from their debut to court the young lords of similar houses freely. But in such matters, Laila was far behind the times.
It was the first time she had ever sat this close to a man, and this kind of intimate contact was more unprecedented still. To the innocent Grand Duchess, Ervan's every move was almost too much to bear.
She bowed her head deeply to hide a face burning red enough to burst, so afraid that even the sound of her own heartbeat might reach him.
"You should cut back on archery practice for a while. Calluses only form once the wounds have healed."
"That was my intention."
Laila answered meekly, her eyes fixed on the tip of his ear, thinking idle thoughts like, Were his ears always that quick to redden?
Ervan took out the handkerchief he'd brought with the ointment, tore it into thin strips, and began wrapping her wounds like a bandage.
A quiet stillness settled between them.
"There. All done."
Having finished binding her hand, Ervan lifted his head and looked up at her.
Laila did not offer her thanks. Instead, with her gaze slyly turned aside, she let the question slip out.
"……That day—did you wait long?"
She did not say which day she meant. Ervan did not ask.
Tucking away the ointment and the scraps of handkerchief, he answered flatly.
"I stood there until the sun rose."
"……"
"You didn't come."
Laila felt a flicker of guilt. But contrary to her heart, her answer came out sharp-edged.
"No noble lady would go into the forest at that hour to meet a man. Least of all on the strength of a single letter—not even a proper invitation."
"Is that so? I thought I made an offer interesting enough to catch your attention."
"In what way, exactly?"
The retort left her dumbfounded. Laila turned her head and looked him squarely in the eye.
"Setting interest aside, I would ask you to understand that the letter you sent was an improper, discourteous proposal—a breach of etiquette."
It was an elegant voice bristling with thorns. Ervan scratched his head and answered evenly.
"I didn't know. As you're aware, I've only recently been made a noble—I'm hardly versed in etiquette yet."
At his ready admission of fault, Laila's heart softened considerably. Only then did it truly register with her that he had kept standing there the whole time.
Sitting in the middle of the bench, she slid subtly to one side and gestured for him to sit.
Ervan dropped down beside her.
"Grand Duchess—if I were to propose a hunt properly this time, with all due formality, would you come?"
"I intend to cut back on archery practice for a while."
Laila declined with tact and was quietly pleased with herself. The advice to rest her hands had come from Ervan's own mouth, so he could hardly press the matter further. There could be no refusal more perfect, more graceful than this.
At her answer, Ervan fell into brief thought before speaking again.