E&D 7

Chapter 7

****

"...You, of all people. Do you even know what a married couple is?"

Elain asked in a tone of disbelief, and Deckard, who had been mumbling for a moment, snapped his fingers sharply. His smirking face reminded her of a devil she’d once seen in a book—the kind that tempts children into mischief. His rain-soaked hair falling across his forehead only made it more so.

Elain found herself staring intently at his smiling face, his sharp nose crinkled in amusement, before snapping back to her senses at his reply.

“A married couple is a relationship where you can touch each other’s eyelashes whenever you want.”

Elain felt an urge to punch him but managed to lower her voice.

“So why should I be in that kind of relationship with you?”

“Huh? Why? You broke your arm because of me. I feel responsible...”

“I suppose you do.”

Deckard glanced at Elain’s right arm, which was wrapped in a cast. Elain gave a small, nervous cough, then spoke with a reluctant expression.

"...It wasn’t all your fault, was it?"

Strictly speaking, given Deckard’s athletic ability, he probably would have been safe even if she hadn’t run over. That was the conclusion she’d reached after coming to her senses. Elain had no intention of denying that she’d misjudged the situation.

“Why didn’t you just be honest?”

“Are you calling it a woman’s fault? How cowardly is that?”

Deckard looked at her in disbelief.

“A girl who ran to save me and ended up breaking her arm?”

“I—I didn’t exactly do it to save you. My foot just moved the wrong way.”

‘‘I’m Elain Berlois, daughter of the Marquis of Berlois. I’ll save you soon, so just shut up and stay put. Got it?’”

Deckard mimicked her words exactly, not missing a single syllable. Elain watched him, who stood with his arms crossed and a smug expression on his face, and her jaw dropped in disbelief.

“When did I ever talk like that?”

“Of course not. You’re a liar.”

Deckard’s eyes sparkled. His pupils, larger than the amber necklace in her mother’s jewelry box, stared straight at her. How could his eyes be that color? Taking advantage of her hesitation, Deckard continued.

“Anyway, I’m not like those irresponsible idiots who don’t take responsibility for their actions. Got it?”

“Oh, I got it, sure...”

“I was just mimicking your tone, you fool. And there’s a back page, too.”

Deckard left Elain behind and, without a servant in sight, walked out of the parlor alone, step by step. Elain stared blankly at his retreating figure for a moment, then snapped out of it and looked at the back of the letter.

As she read it, the bridge of her nose flushed red. She instinctively jerked her head up. There, she saw Deckard turning to look at her with a sly smile. Behind him, who had opened the door himself, a torrential downpour was pouring down.

“Well then, it’s a promise.”

“Ah, no…!”

Just then, her mother appeared holding a letter opener, and Elain automatically clamped her mouth shut. Then, in her suddenly sweaty hands, she crumpled the letter with a rustling sound. This was exactly the kind of letter she must never let her mother see. What if her mother told Duke Helkaiser about this? It was clear that Deckard’s punishment wouldn’t end with him being hung upside down from a tree.

“You shouldn’t treat an apology letter so carelessly, Elain.”

“Ah… it’s just that I’ve had a little trouble controlling my strength since I got hurt.”

“What did the letter say?”

“It was just a formal letter wishing me a speedy recovery.”

As Elain answered calmly, her mother glanced toward the door. Her gaze fell on the puddles of rainwater pooled on the floor, and she frowned. For her mother, who maintained a meticulously tidy environment, Deckard’s appearance must have been a shock. In a bad way, of course.

“Has Helkaiser’s second son left?”

“Yes. I suppose the wagon’s departure time is approaching.”

Her mother let out a faint sigh, then finally dismissed her.

“Go upstairs and rest.”

Elain hurried to her room, muffling her footsteps on the carpet.

“Ugh…”

As she gasped for breath and threw the window wide open, she saw Deckard running toward the main gate. The statue of an angel holding a harp, the beautiful fountain, and the neatly manicured garden were her mother’s pride and joy, but on a day like today, they just looked bleak. But...

Deckard ran out into the downpour without hesitation. Had the view of the garden from her window ever been as clear as it was today?

Just then, a flash of lightning split the sky, followed by a loud clap of thunder. Deckard, seemingly even more exhilarated, began splashing through the puddles. Splash. Splash. With every step he took, muddy water flew everywhere. Even from behind, it was clear he was laughing out loud.

Unable to take her eyes off him as he ran swiftly, heedless of getting wet, Elain watched him until he became a tiny speck in the distance, and only then did she finally snap back to her senses. She slammed the window shut, drew the curtains, and returned to her desk. Grabbing the first book she could find, Elain made up her mind.

I must never get involved with Deckard Helkaiser again.

It was Deckard Helkaiser who was running, yet her heart was pounding so fast it felt as if she were the one sprinting.

***

I must be crazy.

This series of events must have driven me out of my mind.

As she ran frantically through the rain-soaked Mudrow, Elain wiped the rain from her face with the palm of her hand. She hadn’t set out to find Deckard Helkaiser in the first place. No matter how cornered she was, it was reckless to play such an uncontrollable, dangerous card.

As she headed further out, the faint glow of the gas lamps faded, and thick darkness enveloped the night. This meant she had completely left the city limits. Goosebumps ran down her arms as rats that roamed the back alleys of the city scurried across her feet. But even if she were to suffer a fate worse than this, would it be any worse than what her family was enduring right now, locked up in a cold prison?

It was then, as she gazed up at the sky, that a stifled scream burst from her lips.

“Ugh… What the hell!”

The gypsy who had grabbed her ankle with his filthy hands grinned, baring his jet-black teeth.

“If you’re in my territory, you have to pay.”

Only then did Elain look around, taking a shaky, deep breath. Dozens of gypsies, she estimated, were silently watching her from the darkness of the thicket, their eyes glinting in the shadows.

North of the riverbank. The forest where the Gypsies lived.

Deckard’s voice, whispering in her ear just a few hours ago, came back to her vividly. At least he had given her the right information. Though he hadn’t told her how to get out of a situation like this.

Clop. Clop.

“Eek…”

Hearing the sound of hooves approaching the bridge over the river, the gypsy crouched down. It was the Royal Guard, carrying flags bearing the kingdom’s emblem. They were the ones tasked with monitoring the gypsy gangs, the troublemakers on the outskirts of the city. But the problem was that Elaine was in no position to welcome the Royal Guard right now.

“Heh heh. What crime did you commit to have to disguise yourself like this and come all the way out here, young lady?”

The gypsy exhaled a foul-smelling breath as he fiddled with Elain’s cloak, and Elain, with her head bowed low, tried to gauge the speed of the approaching hooves. It would take the guards roughly a hundred paces to cross the bridge. The area illuminated by their torches was limited. If she could hide among the gypsies, she could easily evade their gaze. To do that, she first had to silence the person right in front of her.

"...It seems you’re the one running from your own sins, too.”

As she whispered softly to the gypsy, the man’s face twisted in a grimace.

“What?”

A sharp reaction. Elain instinctively knew she was right. Though his clothes were worn, the distinctive pattern that had caught her eye was clearly from a renowned boutique in Lumière.

“What kind of nonsense are you spouting?”

His blue eyes, tinged with gray and looking all the more chilling for it, scanned the gypsy from head to toe. Judging by the thick calluses on every knuckle of the fingers fiddling with her cloak, he was clearly not a scholar or nobleman who spent his days rolling a pen between his fingers, and judging by his clumsy gait, he was certainly not a warrior.

A belly that hadn’t completely lost its roundness despite a life of begging. A hunched posture. Perhaps a skilled craftsman who spent long hours sitting at work. A watchmaker? No. If he were a skilled professional who could afford the expensive clothes that were in fashion years ago... a renowned jeweler?

“I suppose you were caught playing around with jewels entrusted to you by the nobility.”