A mansion on the outskirts of Frogen.
At the end of a dark hallway, the maid and the Duke stood facing each other, measuring the time of silence. Molly, the maid, held captive by Noah, looked at him with bewildered eyes.
Trapped beneath the Duke's arms, who was leaning against the wall, Molly tried to look away, but his cold, fixed eyes, seemingly oblivious to the art of blinking, were staring down at her. His mouth was tightly shut, and his serious face cast a deep shadow.
It seemed like something big was about to happen. Molly, unable to endure the suffocating staring contest with the Duke, finally spoke first.
“Colonel, why are you doing this?”
"Don't get me wrong, Lieutenant Delphine. It's not a confession."
"I know. But it's still burdensome. And I'm discharged."
Molly tried to avoid Noah's gaze, her gray eyes darting around with a disgruntled expression.
“Did you go because you hate her?”
“Who is it?”
“The Princess.”
“I don’t know.”
The conversation between the two, who were usually short, was very brief, like a game of Twenty Questions, but Molly immediately understood Noah's condition.
Molly bent slightly and slipped out from under Noah's arm. She suppressed a grumble and absentmindedly brushed the skirt of her maid uniform.
Noah was still with his head bowed, his palms against the wall. He might bang his head against the wall at any moment.
That guy is so heartbroken. She wonders what kind of crazy thing he'll do.
A hint of sympathy appeared on Molly's indifferent face as she thought to herself.
“Are you asking if that’s true?”
“I've been thinking about this issue for a total of 366 hours. I can't come to a conclusion.”
“Yes. So what should I do for you...”
“Let’s make a plan together.”
Molly's face turned stern as Noah narrowed his eyes at her suggestion.
“I am just a maid.”
“Didn’t you sneak into my mansion pretending to be a mere maid? You’re a professional.”
"No, I'm not. I work because they pay me well. I just want to do something normal."
“Just think of it as an ordinary maid’s job.”
“What kind of spying is the maid doing?”
Noah was easily demanding, as if he were running a simple errand or ordering food. Molly, with a tired expression, shook her head from side to side and spoke firmly.
"Infiltration is difficult now. Bringing the young lady back then was a last chance, a stroke of luck. With negotiations in their final stages, border security is likely to be tighter. Seeing as the children's author is on hiatus, it seems like it'll be difficult."
Originally, it was a mission to kidnap the admiral's eldest daughter, but they brought back Lady Diana. She's also quite capable.
Molly looked down as she saw Noah's face turning increasingly sullen, fiddling with the duster in her hand.
"The military and the royal family won't turn a blind eye to this anymore. Back then, you were only disciplined for deserting your post, but if you go back, military law will at least punish you by execution. It would be better to formally request repatriation..."
“You know that won’t work. If you do that, you’ll die right away.”
Noah was staring intently at the wall. More precisely, he was looking at a painting of a ghostly white horse, ready to leap out at any moment.
The pale horse emerging from the pitch-black darkness has empty eyes, and its mane appears to be billowing like smoke. The picture is as chilling as its title, "Nightmare."
“Yes. Let’s find out if they’re alive or dead.”
“Means of communication.”
Noah bit his lip and spat out a curt, low, heavy voice.
Molly picked up the duster, watching the colonel walk down the hallway without even hearing her answer. She tapped the frame of a bizarre painting hanging on the hallway wall and sighed.
After the sound of departing footsteps faded away, she turned her head and stared down the hallway where Noah had disappeared. He seemed unusually impatient and anxious, even if it seemed he was simply trying to save someone important.
He was usually a person with complex thoughts and was difficult to understand, but now, at first glance, he could be judged simply.
It's because he wants to contact her and see her.
Lieutenant Colonel Groenendaal looked at me with a helpless expression. It's understandable to be bewildered when a woman with almost no expression sheds tears without warning.
“Did you have a heart?”
I didn't answer.
He pulled a handkerchief from his bosom and came over to me. I turned my head expressionlessly and refused to let him wipe my tears. The lieutenant colonel, running his hand through his jet-black hair, asked with pity.
“Do you hate me?”
“No, that’s not it.”
The lieutenant colonel sat low, looking up at me from his chair, while the people at the surrounding tables glanced at him. The combination of Belford's hero and the woman he rescued couldn't help but be romantic.
You'd probably expect a romance between the two without even knowing the hidden story.
I remembered the Duke who had kidnapped me, smiling as he placed a daffodil bud on my hand. The yellow of the daffodil he had placed on my palm. That scene vividly appeared, warmly covering me with fond memories.
That sight stirred a commotion in my still, still heart. When he bought me expensive jewelry, shoes, and dresses, I wasn't even impressed. I'd grown tired of those luxuries in my previous life.
Rather, the more I had, the more empty and futile I felt.
The romance I felt lay beyond a mere memory. A few ordinary flowers triumphed over a man who risked his life to rescue me from an enemy country. What I wanted, and what I didn't want. That's the difference.
The heart, like an impenetrable fortress, can crumble at the touch of a single feather. Noah was such a being.
"Miss Diana. I judged that the Duke was manipulating your feelings. I didn't want you to be hurt. He tried to trick Princess Medea into giving up her right to the throne. So, I had to prevent your marriage. You..."
He lowered his eyes and trailed off. He felt sorry for me, thinking I'd been naively fooled. I'm a woman in my twenties with a seventeen-year-old body. How could I be fooled?
Beneath the lieutenant colonel's jet-black hair, his clear blue eyes gazed at me with pity. How could they possess such contrasting hues? Clear, upright, and robust.
“I mean, use it.”
I rubbed my tear-stained face, mulling over his words. Perhaps we were using each other. After all, I had used his heart and betrayed him.
That's how it was at first. He may have changed since then. So, you need to ask yourself. Judging someone else's feelings alone is foolish and a common mistake.
How can we judge an invisible mind based on circumstances?
“I’ll be going back now.”
Back at the mansion, I locked myself in my room and pondered how to contact Noah.
“Why, it’s during the war.”
I sat down at my desk by the sunny window, piled up a few books, and started searching for something helpful.
Knock knock.
There was a cautious knock on the door, and the nanny entered. She looked to be in her fifties, her light apricot hair, perhaps red in her youth, neatly tied back, and she wore a neat, well-tailored outfit.
She's the woman who's worked in this mansion the longest and who raised Celine and me since we were babies. She, too, stood by and watched me be abused, so she's no different from the people in this mansion.
I turned my head with an uninterested expression and finished reading the book.
“You’re reading a difficult book.”
She spoke to me for the first time. Her words were elegant and calm, and I was even hearing her voice for the first time.
I was used to speaking informally to the servants of this mansion, but seeing the wrinkles around her eyes that showed the traces of time, I couldn't bring myself to speak informally to her.
"Yes."
She came closer to me as I answered dryly and looked through the books stacked neatly on the desk.
“Would you like to learn hand signals?”
“I just saw it.”
“Read military books secretly. You were just rescued from enemy territory.”
She offered unexpected advice on a topic she'd always overlooked. As I stared at her with a strange gaze, the nanny smiled faintly. A gentle wrinkle formed around her eyes. Her smile gave off the scent of freshly laundered laundry.
The nanny, who was writing in a book by hand, continued speaking.
"What kind of books do you like? I like books, too. I also like writing."
“I... like fairy tales.”
“Yes, Miss. Do you know that?”
I was looking at my nanny's face without answering.
“Literature and art transcend borders and time.”
I was lost in the silence, pondering her intentions and the meaning behind her message. With those words, she turned and left the room.
Was this person's name Janet?
Only after the nanny left did I turn toward the door and think about her. Then, suddenly, I remembered a fairy tale serialized in the newspaper.
How could I possibly contribute to the enemy newspaper, Frogen? And I'm not very good at writing.
What would Noah do? He doesn't display a pedantic attitude, but he's quite intelligent and his ideas are different from those of ordinary people.
I raised my head and stared out the window for a moment.
Beneath the swaying trees, the shadows of their branches stretched out, as if reaching out. I was reminded of the eerie paintings that hung in Noah's mansion.
I once asked him a question while looking at a grotesque painting of a demon looking down at a sleeping woman with a disturbingly lewd expression.
“Do you like paintings with this kind of gloomy atmosphere?”
“Pretty.”
“Where on earth is it...”
"The meaning is beautiful. It's a painting of a woman a priest secretly loved. He portrays his desires as a demon. He says he never told her his feelings until his death."
The woman probably didn't know the priest's intentions until she died. He didn't tell her. I made up my mind and pulled the bell to summon a maid. Soon, a brown-haired, freckled maid entered the room.
This is a new maid I hired recently, as the entire maid staff, including Vera, was replaced because of me.
“Could you bring me some paper and conte? Charcoal would be fine too.”
In my original life, I graduated from art school and majored in Western painting. I plan to utilize my talents by submitting my drawings to the Belford Newspaper's editorial column. Since Noah is likely to read the paper here, too, I'm sure he'll be able to.
It would be strange if a woman who was treated like a kitchen maid suddenly became skilled at painting with expensive oil paints or watercolors. I used the materials the maid gave me and painted something only Noah could recognize.
“How do I get an answer?”
I muttered under my breath, as if asking for advice, and then figured Noah would probably answer somehow. I placed the drawing in a paper envelope, sealed it with sealing wax, and sent it off, telling the brown-haired maid to bring it to the newspaper office.
The maid, who had just returned from the newspaper office, handed me a newspaper with a familiar face.
“Look at this. The lieutenant colonel who saved the young lady is likely to become the successor to the Duke’s family.”
I silently accepted the newspaper and read the part the maid pointed to.
"Belford's hero, Lieutenant Colonel Jeffrey Groenendaal.
If the rescue operation is successful, there is a high possibility that he will become the successor to the Duke of Groenendael.
The Prime Minister's approval rating is rising..."
“Look at this, too. There’s a story about Miss Celine.”
The maid, who was unaware of the situation where I was a kitchen maid and Celine had ignored me, took out another piece of gossip with a look of excitement on her face.
"Lt. Col. Jeffrey Groenendaal's life-threatening rescue mission was to win the heart of the Navy Admiral's eldest daughter?"
I chuckled and tossed the gossip paper aside. The question was the life-threatening rescue truly for my own good?—was transformed into a certainty.
Because it fits the circumstances.
Unlike Noah, the reason he judges based solely on circumstances is that he doesn't even care what their minds are like.
At the end of a dark hallway, the maid and the Duke stood facing each other, measuring the time of silence. Molly, the maid, held captive by Noah, looked at him with bewildered eyes.
Trapped beneath the Duke's arms, who was leaning against the wall, Molly tried to look away, but his cold, fixed eyes, seemingly oblivious to the art of blinking, were staring down at her. His mouth was tightly shut, and his serious face cast a deep shadow.
It seemed like something big was about to happen. Molly, unable to endure the suffocating staring contest with the Duke, finally spoke first.
“Colonel, why are you doing this?”
"Don't get me wrong, Lieutenant Delphine. It's not a confession."
"I know. But it's still burdensome. And I'm discharged."
Molly tried to avoid Noah's gaze, her gray eyes darting around with a disgruntled expression.
“Did you go because you hate her?”
“Who is it?”
“The Princess.”
“I don’t know.”
The conversation between the two, who were usually short, was very brief, like a game of Twenty Questions, but Molly immediately understood Noah's condition.
Molly bent slightly and slipped out from under Noah's arm. She suppressed a grumble and absentmindedly brushed the skirt of her maid uniform.
Noah was still with his head bowed, his palms against the wall. He might bang his head against the wall at any moment.
That guy is so heartbroken. She wonders what kind of crazy thing he'll do.
A hint of sympathy appeared on Molly's indifferent face as she thought to herself.
“Are you asking if that’s true?”
“I've been thinking about this issue for a total of 366 hours. I can't come to a conclusion.”
“Yes. So what should I do for you...”
“Let’s make a plan together.”
Molly's face turned stern as Noah narrowed his eyes at her suggestion.
“I am just a maid.”
“Didn’t you sneak into my mansion pretending to be a mere maid? You’re a professional.”
"No, I'm not. I work because they pay me well. I just want to do something normal."
“Just think of it as an ordinary maid’s job.”
“What kind of spying is the maid doing?”
Noah was easily demanding, as if he were running a simple errand or ordering food. Molly, with a tired expression, shook her head from side to side and spoke firmly.
"Infiltration is difficult now. Bringing the young lady back then was a last chance, a stroke of luck. With negotiations in their final stages, border security is likely to be tighter. Seeing as the children's author is on hiatus, it seems like it'll be difficult."
Originally, it was a mission to kidnap the admiral's eldest daughter, but they brought back Lady Diana. She's also quite capable.
Molly looked down as she saw Noah's face turning increasingly sullen, fiddling with the duster in her hand.
"The military and the royal family won't turn a blind eye to this anymore. Back then, you were only disciplined for deserting your post, but if you go back, military law will at least punish you by execution. It would be better to formally request repatriation..."
“You know that won’t work. If you do that, you’ll die right away.”
Noah was staring intently at the wall. More precisely, he was looking at a painting of a ghostly white horse, ready to leap out at any moment.
The pale horse emerging from the pitch-black darkness has empty eyes, and its mane appears to be billowing like smoke. The picture is as chilling as its title, "Nightmare."
“Yes. Let’s find out if they’re alive or dead.”
“Means of communication.”
Noah bit his lip and spat out a curt, low, heavy voice.
Molly picked up the duster, watching the colonel walk down the hallway without even hearing her answer. She tapped the frame of a bizarre painting hanging on the hallway wall and sighed.
After the sound of departing footsteps faded away, she turned her head and stared down the hallway where Noah had disappeared. He seemed unusually impatient and anxious, even if it seemed he was simply trying to save someone important.
He was usually a person with complex thoughts and was difficult to understand, but now, at first glance, he could be judged simply.
It's because he wants to contact her and see her.
***
Lieutenant Colonel Groenendaal looked at me with a helpless expression. It's understandable to be bewildered when a woman with almost no expression sheds tears without warning.
“Did you have a heart?”
I didn't answer.
He pulled a handkerchief from his bosom and came over to me. I turned my head expressionlessly and refused to let him wipe my tears. The lieutenant colonel, running his hand through his jet-black hair, asked with pity.
“Do you hate me?”
“No, that’s not it.”
The lieutenant colonel sat low, looking up at me from his chair, while the people at the surrounding tables glanced at him. The combination of Belford's hero and the woman he rescued couldn't help but be romantic.
You'd probably expect a romance between the two without even knowing the hidden story.
I remembered the Duke who had kidnapped me, smiling as he placed a daffodil bud on my hand. The yellow of the daffodil he had placed on my palm. That scene vividly appeared, warmly covering me with fond memories.
That sight stirred a commotion in my still, still heart. When he bought me expensive jewelry, shoes, and dresses, I wasn't even impressed. I'd grown tired of those luxuries in my previous life.
Rather, the more I had, the more empty and futile I felt.
The romance I felt lay beyond a mere memory. A few ordinary flowers triumphed over a man who risked his life to rescue me from an enemy country. What I wanted, and what I didn't want. That's the difference.
The heart, like an impenetrable fortress, can crumble at the touch of a single feather. Noah was such a being.
"Miss Diana. I judged that the Duke was manipulating your feelings. I didn't want you to be hurt. He tried to trick Princess Medea into giving up her right to the throne. So, I had to prevent your marriage. You..."
He lowered his eyes and trailed off. He felt sorry for me, thinking I'd been naively fooled. I'm a woman in my twenties with a seventeen-year-old body. How could I be fooled?
Beneath the lieutenant colonel's jet-black hair, his clear blue eyes gazed at me with pity. How could they possess such contrasting hues? Clear, upright, and robust.
“I mean, use it.”
I rubbed my tear-stained face, mulling over his words. Perhaps we were using each other. After all, I had used his heart and betrayed him.
That's how it was at first. He may have changed since then. So, you need to ask yourself. Judging someone else's feelings alone is foolish and a common mistake.
How can we judge an invisible mind based on circumstances?
“I’ll be going back now.”
Back at the mansion, I locked myself in my room and pondered how to contact Noah.
“Why, it’s during the war.”
I sat down at my desk by the sunny window, piled up a few books, and started searching for something helpful.
Knock knock.
There was a cautious knock on the door, and the nanny entered. She looked to be in her fifties, her light apricot hair, perhaps red in her youth, neatly tied back, and she wore a neat, well-tailored outfit.
She's the woman who's worked in this mansion the longest and who raised Celine and me since we were babies. She, too, stood by and watched me be abused, so she's no different from the people in this mansion.
I turned my head with an uninterested expression and finished reading the book.
“You’re reading a difficult book.”
She spoke to me for the first time. Her words were elegant and calm, and I was even hearing her voice for the first time.
I was used to speaking informally to the servants of this mansion, but seeing the wrinkles around her eyes that showed the traces of time, I couldn't bring myself to speak informally to her.
"Yes."
She came closer to me as I answered dryly and looked through the books stacked neatly on the desk.
“Would you like to learn hand signals?”
“I just saw it.”
“Read military books secretly. You were just rescued from enemy territory.”
She offered unexpected advice on a topic she'd always overlooked. As I stared at her with a strange gaze, the nanny smiled faintly. A gentle wrinkle formed around her eyes. Her smile gave off the scent of freshly laundered laundry.
The nanny, who was writing in a book by hand, continued speaking.
"What kind of books do you like? I like books, too. I also like writing."
“I... like fairy tales.”
“Yes, Miss. Do you know that?”
I was looking at my nanny's face without answering.
“Literature and art transcend borders and time.”
I was lost in the silence, pondering her intentions and the meaning behind her message. With those words, she turned and left the room.
Was this person's name Janet?
Only after the nanny left did I turn toward the door and think about her. Then, suddenly, I remembered a fairy tale serialized in the newspaper.
How could I possibly contribute to the enemy newspaper, Frogen? And I'm not very good at writing.
What would Noah do? He doesn't display a pedantic attitude, but he's quite intelligent and his ideas are different from those of ordinary people.
I raised my head and stared out the window for a moment.
Beneath the swaying trees, the shadows of their branches stretched out, as if reaching out. I was reminded of the eerie paintings that hung in Noah's mansion.
I once asked him a question while looking at a grotesque painting of a demon looking down at a sleeping woman with a disturbingly lewd expression.
“Do you like paintings with this kind of gloomy atmosphere?”
“Pretty.”
“Where on earth is it...”
"The meaning is beautiful. It's a painting of a woman a priest secretly loved. He portrays his desires as a demon. He says he never told her his feelings until his death."
The woman probably didn't know the priest's intentions until she died. He didn't tell her. I made up my mind and pulled the bell to summon a maid. Soon, a brown-haired, freckled maid entered the room.
This is a new maid I hired recently, as the entire maid staff, including Vera, was replaced because of me.
“Could you bring me some paper and conte? Charcoal would be fine too.”
In my original life, I graduated from art school and majored in Western painting. I plan to utilize my talents by submitting my drawings to the Belford Newspaper's editorial column. Since Noah is likely to read the paper here, too, I'm sure he'll be able to.
It would be strange if a woman who was treated like a kitchen maid suddenly became skilled at painting with expensive oil paints or watercolors. I used the materials the maid gave me and painted something only Noah could recognize.
“How do I get an answer?”
I muttered under my breath, as if asking for advice, and then figured Noah would probably answer somehow. I placed the drawing in a paper envelope, sealed it with sealing wax, and sent it off, telling the brown-haired maid to bring it to the newspaper office.
The maid, who had just returned from the newspaper office, handed me a newspaper with a familiar face.
“Look at this. The lieutenant colonel who saved the young lady is likely to become the successor to the Duke’s family.”
I silently accepted the newspaper and read the part the maid pointed to.
"Belford's hero, Lieutenant Colonel Jeffrey Groenendaal.
If the rescue operation is successful, there is a high possibility that he will become the successor to the Duke of Groenendael.
The Prime Minister's approval rating is rising..."
“Look at this, too. There’s a story about Miss Celine.”
The maid, who was unaware of the situation where I was a kitchen maid and Celine had ignored me, took out another piece of gossip with a look of excitement on her face.
"Lt. Col. Jeffrey Groenendaal's life-threatening rescue mission was to win the heart of the Navy Admiral's eldest daughter?"
I chuckled and tossed the gossip paper aside. The question was the life-threatening rescue truly for my own good?—was transformed into a certainty.
Because it fits the circumstances.
Unlike Noah, the reason he judges based solely on circumstances is that he doesn't even care what their minds are like.
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