The mansion of Duke Decaraznan, in front of Sarah’s room.
Instead of entering the room, Cain and Sarah stood facing each other outside the door.
Cain wore only a shirt, while Sarah’s clothes were drenched from the rain. To avoid exposing her in such a state, he had taken off his cloak and draped it around her shoulders.
‘…Cain.’
Sarah couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that she was now wrapped in Cain’s cloak. More than being soaked by the rain, what preoccupied her was the subtle scent lingering on the fabric—his scent.
‘…Do I smell strange? What if he notices something odd from me?’
There was no doubt this cloak belonged to Cain.
When she returned it to him later, he might ask: ‘Sarah, why does this coat smell so strange?’
If he did, she might faint on the spot. So Sarah had no choice but to wrap herself up tighter in the cloak.
Since it was already soaked, she made an excuse to wash it before returning it—just so she wouldn’t have to give it back today.
Whether he was aware of Sarah’s thoughts or not, Cain simply gazed at her with genuine concern. He couldn’t help but worry when a delicately raised noblewoman like her had been caught in a torrential downpour.
“Sarah, get some rest. Don’t pretend you’re fine or try to act like nothing’s wrong. If you do, you might end up falling sick. Just take it easy today.”
“…Cain. Are you my mother? No, I don’t think even my mother meddled this much.”
Sarah replied with a pout, her voice laced with exasperation.
Cain let out a soft sigh and looked over her from head to toe.
“…W-What are you looking at?”
Sarah instinctively folded her arms across her chest, but Cain wasn’t looking at her curves—which, thanks to her soaked clothes, were clearly visible.
His gaze landed briefly on her face.
Her lips were pale blue, and her complexion had lost all color. Only her cheeks and forehead held a slight flush—a sign that, to him, clearly indicated the early stages of hypothermia.
‘This is bad.’
Cain knew firsthand how terrifying hypothermia could be.
During an expedition to subdue the Witch of Winter, he had suffered a severe case of it himself. As their party crossed from the island region to the Duchy of Estel, the snowstorms grew worse with each passing day. Fist-sized hail fell from the sky, and record-breaking snow blocked their path, rising taller than any man.
If Bianca hadn’t stabilized their body temperatures with magic, or if Ariel hadn’t healed them with divine power, Cain might have lost all his fingers and toes to frostbite before even reaching the Duchy—he wouldn’t have been able to lift a spoon afterward.
Everyone on that expedition had experienced hypothermia.
Even Bianca, with her fragile body, and the Princess, whose strength was nearly monstrous, had fallen ill at times. That winter had been truly merciless.
Because of his painful memories, Cain was sincerely worried about Sarah.
After all, she had once been his fiancée. Seeing someone he had loved suffering like this made him feel helpless.
“…Anyway, take care of yourself. I don’t want to hear that you’re sick later.”
With those words, Cain turned to leave, but Sarah instinctively reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt.
“…Ca-Cain…!”
“What is it? Do you still have something to say?”
Though she had stopped him, Sarah quickly realized she didn’t actually have anything meaningful to say.
“…This coat. Should I really keep it? Is that okay?”
Even as she said it, she realized how silly it sounded.
“You can return it later. That’s fine. Just go to your room and get some rest.”
Leaving behind only a few final words of concern, Cain walked away.
“…What am I doing…”
Frustrated with herself, Sarah stood there, lost in thought. If things continued like this, she felt like she might end up circling around Cain until the day she died.
***
”Kiik—”
Sarah opened the door and stepped into the room, looking weary. She had hoped to finally rest without drawing anyone’s attention, but unfortunately, someone had already made himself at home.
“Where have you been, and what were you doing until now?”
“…Uncle.”
In the middle of the room sat her uncle, Gail Cernard, lounging in a chair with the arrogance of someone who owned the place.
“Really, this is ridiculous. Are you mad? Or just stupid? Did you think we came here to play?”
Though he had entered his niece’s room without a word, all that came out of his mouth were harsh criticisms. The only thing that mattered to him was that he had something to say to her—and that he’d had to wait.
He didn’t care that her clothes were drenched, her lips pale, or that she was shivering from the cold.
All that mattered to him was ‘Sarah Cernard the tool’, not ‘Sarah Cernard the person’.
“…I’m sorry, Uncle.”
Despite his cruel and arrogant words, Sarah could only bow her head in silence, her lips trembling.
It was humiliating to show submission to someone like him—but right now, she had no other choice.
Because in his hands was—
“Well, whatever. I’ve always known you were a foolish girl who relied too much on your pretty face. If it weren’t for that smooth, convenient appearance, I wouldn’t have brought you to such an important occasion.”