The Elegant Sea of Savagery

Chapter 4

Ileanor was leaning by the door. A few of the students in the classroom broke into whispers as they cast glances his way, but he ignored them all, quietly waiting for Irina to notice him.

Irina made a puzzled face when she saw him jerk his head at her. Am I supposed to follow him out? But before she could even ask, he turned on the spot and disappeared.

“What the...”

She looked around in bewilderment, but everyone avoided her gaze, pretending not to have seen anything. Feeling a little deflated, she chased after him without a word. But the longer she followed him, the more her confusion deepened. Ileanor stopped at an empty yard behind the building. It was by a wall without windows, away from watching eyes.

Dead leaves tumbled around them, making the place look somewhat dreary and bleak.

“What happened to your face?”

Ileanor looked like he had something to say, but it was Irina who spoke first, her curiosity having gotten the better of her. For there was a large bruise across his cheek, even though she’d heard he had done most of the beating that day. It looked like the mark of abuse. The reddish blue color was a stark contrast against his pale face, a vivid and terrible sight to see.

His leg seemed a bit injured too—he had limped slightly the entire way here. And yet, he had walked patiently and calmly, even as he dragged his foot along. Ironically, his tottering steps were far more aristocratic than Irina’s chaotic run.

Before she could help it, Irina trailed her gaze over his face and legs. She stared at the knife-sharp creases on his neatly pressed pants, then asked in dismay, “Are you hurt?”

If she had gotten along just a little better with her classmates, she would have picked up the rumors on Ileanor’s appearance much earlier. Then she wouldn’t have had to bring up such an uncomfortable topic.

“Do you not want to talk about it?” she said hesitantly.

Ileanor gave a little smile. It was a faint smile, but still enough to freshen up his pale face. Whatever the case, wounds are traces of unhappiness, regardless of who has them. Which is why the sight of another person’s wound often prompts the imagination with vile, nasty thoughts—because some people have a tendency to relish in the unhappiness of others.

Ileanor peered into Irina’s golden eyes, wishing he could pry open her head and see what she was thinking. Her bright eyes looked full of imagination, but probably the kind that had never been used for anything dark or evil. She had no need to console herself with such wicked fantasies, for her life was already filled with so much sparkle and light. It was also probably why she had no interest in the misery of others.

Regarding those hopelessly innocent eyes, Ileanor said, “I fell down, that’s all.”

Irina blinked back at him. She was more surprised at his voice than his respectful tone and obvious lie. His voice was smooth and deep, like a fresh green leaf merrily floating along the water, comforting and pleasant to hear. That was when Irina realized that she had never actually heard him speak before.

“Oh, uh, right,” she said. “You should have been more careful. Who gets hurt after a fight?”

“That’s true,” Ileanor agreed.

“Does it hurt a lot?”

“I’m fine.”

“Hmm. It looks kind of artistic, with the red and blue and all that,” Irina remarked, returning to her usual eccentric self after determining that he was indeed fine.

Ileanor flashed her another smile. He smiles a lot more than I thought. Irina was watching his face in awe when he suddenly plunged his hand into his jacket pocket. Then he took something out and held it in front of her.

“Thank you for this.”

It was Irina’s white handkerchief.

Clearly, he had taken excellent care of it. Not only had he washed it, but he’d also ironed it to perfection. The handkerchief was clean and fragrant, folded into a neat little square with corners that almost looked obsessively sharp.

Taken aback at the state of her handkerchief, Irina awkwardly mumbled, “Uh, well... You didn’t have to give it back.”

“I needed an excuse to talk to you.”

Tilting her head at his somewhat bizarre response, Irina lifted her arm to take the handkerchief. But Ileanor reluctantly pulled his hand away, then asked in a cautious and respectful tone, “In that case, may I keep it?”

“Huh?”

If he had waited for an answer, Irina would have said yes. It was a luxurious handkerchief that she rather cherished, but she wasn’t heartless enough to humiliate him over something so insignificant. Though she would have certainly found him strange. However, Ileanor tucked away the handkerchief without waiting for her answer, so swiftly it was hard to imagine he’d ever hesitated.

Irina froze, her hand hovering awkwardly in front of her.

“Uh... Sure. Keep it,” she said after a pause. Following that was a suffocating silence that seemed to stretch on forever.

Irina raised her eyes to the sky in anguish. Several times, she sighed loudly in an attempt to get him to speak. Then, unable to stand it anymore, she glared at him pointedly. But Ileanor didn’t seem to find this silence uncomfortable. He kept his composure as he observed her closely, watching the frequent changes in her expression.

Irina, on the other hand, was anything but calm. She found awkward situations like this unbearable, and was usually the one to break the silence. She wasn’t exactly thrilled about being alone with a boy in a secluded place either. The marchioness would have given her a good smack on the back for being so careless if she’d ever found out.

In the end, it was Irina who initiated the conversation again. She assumed he had brought her out here to talk about that day. Thinking he was struggling to find the right words, Irina thoughtfully decided to save him the trouble.

“Uh, by the way, you don’t have to thank me for helping you that day. I just have a bit of a temper.”

“I wasn’t going to thank you,” Ileanor said. He covered his mouth when he saw Irina’s expression, though he couldn’t keep the laughter out of his eyes. His face was almost infuriatingly beautiful. Furrowing his brow to keep a straight face, he then said, “I’d like to begin a courtship.”

Irina widened her eyes, her annoyance forgotten.

“With... who?” she asked.

Ileanor didn’t answer.

“With me?” Irina said, pointing at herself.

This was the first time in her short life a boy had confessed feelings for her. Even with her current boyfriend, she had been the one to tell him she liked him first. Her relationship status aside, it should have been a rather pleasant surprise, but Irina was too dazed. It was just too unexpected.

“Why, all of a sudden?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“Because I’m interested in you,” Ileanor said unabashedly. Then he added, “And I think about you sometimes.”

It sounded a bit insincere, but Ileanor was truthfully expressing himself. Though unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to persuade the young lady on the listening end.

Irina sourly stared back at him, failing to keep her expression under control. “Just tell me I’m pretty like a normal person,” she snapped.

“You’re pretty. I want to court you because you’re pretty, Irina,” Ileanor replied, responding immediately to her feedback. But he couldn’t stop himself from laughing as he said it, and this offended her.

Irina’s face twisted into a deeper scowl this time. Ileanor was friendly and courteous all throughout their exchange, but she still felt something sinister about him.

“Are you serious?” she said. “That’s insulting. Why would you laugh while telling me I’m pretty?”

“Well, you are... But actually, I laughed because you’re cute.”

“Hmm.”

Being called pretty and cute by a boy who was much, much prettier was unpleasant in its own way. It wasn’t convincing at all. Irina pouted, her pride a bit wounded, but she soon decided to forget about it. None of this mattered anyway. And so, she stopped beating around the bush and officially rejected him.

“I’m already with someone else. You know Ludwig, the one in our year? He’s my boyfriend.”

“Ludwig... Fontern?”

“Yup. Do you know him?” Irina said, splitting into a grin at the mention of her beau.

Ileanor gave her a quizzical look. Respectfully as ever, he asked, “Is he the son of Viscount Fontern?”

There were layers to this question.

As an aristocrat, Irina understood perfectly well what he was trying to say. He was wondering whether it was right for her to be with the son of a viscount, and the marquess’s vassal at that. It felt to Irina like her lover was being attacked for his social class, and although she’d managed a civil conversation up until now, she finally flared up in anger.

“That’s right. You have a problem with that?” she said hotly.

If he did, she planned to bite him hard on the shoulder, or any other part that would hurt. Wait, but can I do that to an injured person? Irina was now lost in violent thoughts that would have given anyone else the shivers. Meanwhile, Ileanor was still watching Irina, his expression inscrutable. Several emotions flitted across his dark blue eyes and disappeared, over and over again. And Irina couldn’t understand a single one of those emotions. Why isn’t he answering?

Just as she began to feel uncomfortable in his presence, a faint smile slowly spread across his face. It was a kind and natural smile, one that made all his other smiles seem artificial.

“No, I don’t have a problem,” he said. Apparently Irina still looked suspicious, for he repeated, “Truly... I truly don’t have a problem, Irina.”

Irina couldn’t understand why he sounded so desperate, why he looked even more sincere than when he’d asked to court her. What was he thinking? Could it be a simple impulse?

When Ileanor made to come forward and approach her, Irina instinctively took a step back. He stopped in his tracks and stood still, but there was a strange fire in his eyes that even Irina could feel this time.

It wasn’t intentional, but Irina kept provoking Ileanor in ways she didn’t know.