Chapter 10

“Because of me?”

“We indeed waited for you to wake up, but I don’t want you to blame yourself. Thanks to you, we had the opportunity to appreciate the value of food,” Victor said, having finally managed to squeeze in between Angela and Clara.

Isabella began to feel warm from the tips of her fingers down to her toes. She pursed her lips, unsure how to respond to the warmth of this fairytale family.

“Of course, we’d wait for you. It’s only natural.”

No, this wasn’t natural. She didn’t even have to think of House Helsington to know that.

“That’s enough, everyone. My wife-to-be needs time to adjust.”

My wife. Those words rang in Isabella’s ears when suddenly she was being lifted into Cleor’s arms. She looked up at the man in surprise, unable to blink. He had a masculine jawline and a chiseled nose. Just when he was about to look down, Isabella averted her gaze.

“Does this make you uncomfortable?” he asked.

On the contrary, his embrace was quite pleasant. The only uncomfortable thing was her heart.

“It’s just as we said, Isabella. We were waiting for you to wake up so we could eat together. I’m hungry, so I’m sure you must be too. And even if you’re not, you should eat anyway. Girls that are as light as feathers aren’t my type—”

The sound of a head being smacked interrupted Cleor’s sentence, his head jerking forward even though his body remained steady. Much to her embarrassment, Isabella had latched on to his shirt, thinking they would fall, but he didn’t budge.

“Mother!” Cleor shouted as he whirled around.

Angela glared at her son before looking down and locking eyes with Isabella, who was still in his arms. Her fierce glare vanished, replaced with a soft look. “Isabella, I know Cleor is my son, but he can be quite harsh and foul-mouthed. Please let me know if he’s ever rude to you. After all, it’s a mother’s duty to discipline her disrespectful children.”

Victor nodded in agreement, Clara put her hands on her hips and puffed up her chest as if she were about to fight her brother, and Isabella felt Cleor sigh.

This is an odd place. Everyone was so nice to her. She didn’t deserve such warm hospitality. There must have been a misunderstanding. Did they think she was Iona, the count’s beloved daughter? But they were calling her by name, so that couldn’t be it. This undeserved kindness made her feel afraid.

The thought of getting used to their generosity only to lose it later was horrifying. That was why she wanted to walk on her own, even if it was difficult. Come to think of it, walking at all was beginning to feel foreign to her.

Who kept moving me around? Just as quickly as the thought of Cleor flashed across her mind, she waved the thought away. Cleor was the young lord. He was an incredibly busy man, so she doubted he had time to spare for her.

Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t even make eye contact with him.

“Please put me down,” Isabella said.

“No!”

“Absolutely not!”

Four voices cried at once. The duke’s family had been bickering all day, but they spoke in unison now.

This is so strange.

***

After lunch, Cleor escorted Isabella back to her room and headed for his study. He let out a deep sigh the moment he sat in his chair. He’d had a hard time prying Clara away from Isabella.

Clearly, his golden-haired fiancée had a hard time saying no to people. She never told anyone when she was in pain, that much was certain. He just wanted her to rest. He wanted her to regain some energy, at least enough to walk around and eat on her own.

The girl he had seen today was weaker than he could have ever imagined. She turned pale from the slightest movement of the carriage and was easily bruised. And that wasn’t all.

She can’t even eat properly. Throughout the meal, Cleor had observed the frail girl. He was sure he saw her swallow when he cut his steak. The meat of the North was of exceptional quality, thanks to their winter storage methods. It was excellent in both taste and smell. Her reaction was only natural, but all she did was watch Cleor’s fork move around his plate, she didn’t touch her own.

Why? Upon closer inspection, he saw that she had cut the steak but not eaten it. Had she run out of energy while she was cutting? It was quite roughly done. Isabella had pushed the food this way and that with her fork.

“Is the steak not to your liking?” Angela had asked in a worried voice.

Isabella looked up with a start. “No, not at all. It’s delicious.”

A blatant lie, Cleor thought. She hadn’t eaten a single bite. As he made his observations, he noticed that she had one particular habit. She cut her food into tiny pieces before she put it into her mouth. Then she chewed for a very long time until it turned to porridge in her mouth. He could conclude only one thing from this: Isabella had trouble digesting food.

He set down his fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Betty, could you call the cook for me?”

“Is there a problem, my lord?” Betty quickly replied.

“Oh, I have an upset stomach, and the meat is very tough too.”

“Huh? You could chew through steel, but you think the meat is tough? Impossible! Good one, Cleor,” Clara said, bursting into laughter.

He scowled at his younger sister, but instead of scolding her, he turned back to Betty and revised his order. “Tell the cook to make something soft and easy to digest.”

“I understand, my lord.”

As Betty left for the kitchen, scratching her head in disbelief, Clara waved her steak in front of Cleor.

He clicked his tongue at his sister’s taunts and waited for the new food to arrive.

“Do you really have an upset stomach?” Angela asked in disbelief. She didn’t sound the least bit worried.

Then the cook arrived holding the new dish, which Cleor inspected for a moment before smiling.

“Actually, I’m starting to feel a lot better now. What do we do? It’d be a shame to let this go to waste.” Having said that, Cleor turned to Isabella. Her eyes widened with surprise as his gaze suddenly met hers. “I’m sorry, Isabella. But do you mind switching plates with me?”

He didn’t wait for a reply and immediately swapped their plates—her poorly cut steak for his specially made dish.

“Cleor! Are you a hog? How could you just take her food like that?” Clara cried in disbelief.

“I’m fine, but are you okay with eating the food my fork has touched?” Isabella asked cautiously.

Cleor smiled. “Of course.”

He didn’t tell her that he liked it even more because her fork had touched it.

***

A knock on the door shook Cleor out of his thoughts.

“Come in.”

“I heard you called for me, Commander,” Whitney said.

“You don’t have to call me that inside the castle, Whitney. I need to visit the central region.”

“By yourself, Commander?” Although Cleor had just told him not to call him by that title, it wasn’t easy for the butler to break the habit. He clasped his hand over his mouth, but Cleor didn’t seem to notice.

“Not me. You.”

Whitney had only recently returned from the central region.

I won’t go even if it kills me! He barely managed to keep from blurting that out. If he had said that, he’d have had a knife at his throat in an instant. “Yes, I understand. But please calm down. That menacing look in your eyes will scare off everyone.” Whitney felt his soul leaving his body as he accepted Cleor’s order. “But why the central lands, my lord?”

“I want you to investigate House Helsington,” Cleor muttered darkly, looking like a beast about to catch its prey.

***

It was late at night. The sound of the wind whistling by the windows was unusual. Despite the weather outside, Isabella didn’t feel cold at all. Thick blackout curtains covered the windows, and there were four fireplaces in her room. She knew large rooms often came with multiple fireplaces, but she’d never seen four lit at once before.

I suppose the North is different. She got into bed and pulled the blanket up to her neck. Maybe it was because she’d had a nap earlier, but she couldn’t fall asleep.

House Helsington must be busy with the knighting ceremony. All she could think about when she still lived there was getting out of that house. She didn’t look back on those days with nostalgia, but there were some natural emotions anyone would feel after leaving a familiar place behind. Although what she felt could hardly even be called an emotion.

She closed her eyes, determined not to stay awake all night just because she couldn’t fall asleep. One sheep, two sheep...

“Is she asleep?”

She heard a deep voice.

Cleor? It wasn’t a familiar one, but she immediately recognized it as his. The man’s voice was so deep that it echoed in Isabella’s ears. Husky and exhausted, his voice was captivating. It was a very charming voice that she wanted to hear more of. Isabella looked at the door with wide eyes.

What’s he doing here? What could be so important that he had to see her? She was already in her nightgown and was in no state to have guests. She didn’t respond, pretending to be asleep instead. Isabella closed her eyes and started counting sheep again.

Fourteen, fifteen... Cleor didn’t call her name, but the door creaked open.

Huh? Isabella tensed underneath her quilt.

***

Cleor hadn’t planned on coming to Isabella’s room. He had run into Joanne, Isabella’s maid, as he was going down the stairs back to his room. The maid quickly ducked her head as if she’d been caught doing something bad. He was just about to pass her when he realized he could ask her some questions.

“Why don’t we talk?”

Joanne followed Cleor back to his study. That was when he learned the truth. He learned that Isabella was weaker than they thought. And...

“Doesn’t she have any medicine?”

“It’s not an illness, my lord. It’s a curse. No medicine can fix what’s ailing her.”

Cleor didn’t understand how she could say so casually that Isabella was cursed. Trying his best to control his emotions, he said, “I didn’t ask if there was a cure. I’m talking about any medicine that can ease her condition.”

“Her symptoms seem to get better when she visits the temple, but that’s all I know,” Joanne replied. She had always accompanied Isabella to the temple but was never allowed inside. She had no idea what the girl talked about with the priest or even what kind of medicine she received.

“So you’re saying she does have medicine. One that only she knows,” Cleor said.

Joanne nodded with difficulty.

“I see. You’re dismissed.”

Cleor’s voice was cold and his eyes flashed like those of a hungry predator. Joanne had trembled but found it all rather attractive nonetheless. When she had first heard that Isabella was going to the North, she’d refused to make the journey—now she was starting to think that following the sickly girl was a stroke of good luck. Isabella wasn’t far from death, and Joanne was considered quite beautiful herself.

It’s only a matter of time. The maid ducked her head down, hiding a slight smile.