"Yes, if you don't mind."
"Of course I don't mind!" the girl exclaimed, her face brightening. "I truly enjoyed today's performance, and the view from this bell tower is simply **stunning**. Thank you for this wonderful day, Alexio."
Adelina beamed as she expressed her gratitude, the golden light of late afternoon catching in her eyes.
The man reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair that had escaped her hairstyle, his fingers grazing her cheek in the process. The gesture was unconscious—his hand had moved before his mind could intervene.
"Do I have something on my face?"
"Yes... I believe it was pollen." The lie came automatically. Alexio withdrew his hand and concealed it behind his back, clenching and unclenching his fist. He couldn't understand why his body had acted of its own accord.
"Really? Are there flowers growing nearby?" Adelina asked innocently, apparently having failed to detect her husband's deception.
"Perhaps... it's time for us to descend." The man changed the subject with practiced ease. They had departed the estate around noon, visited the theater, and climbed the bell tower—the sun was already beginning its slow descent toward the horizon. Had he been alone, he might have remained until well past nightfall.
"Yes, it will be dark soon, so we should return to the estate..." Adelina nodded in agreement, but before she could complete her sentence, her stomach announced its presence with a rather emphatic growl.
Their gazes met.
Realizing what had just occurred, the girl's cheeks flushed a deep crimson.
"Oh—the thing is, I completely forgot to eat breakfast this morning, so..." She had never felt quite so mortified. As she continued babbling a stream of increasingly frantic excuses, Alexio chuckled softly and extended his hand.
"Come. Thanks to you, I've remembered there's one more place I should visit before we return to the estate."
---
Descending from the bell tower and pushing open the iron gates, the couple discovered a man waiting for them. He was a monk, dressed in a simple dark cassock.
"Alexio—you're not alone today. How unusual to see you in someone's company." The pleasant-faced man blinked in evident surprise, his curious gaze studying Adelina with undisguised interest.
The Duke stepped smoothly in front of his wife, blocking her from the monk's direct view, and responded with characteristic composure.
"I was just about to visit the monastery."
"Yes, our young novice noticed the bell tower gates standing open and informed me. So I thought—if it were you—you'd probably be looking for **this**..." The monk extended a small wicker basket covered with white cloth. Alexio accepted it with the familiarity of long practice and drew back the covering.
The fragrant scent of freshly baked bread wafted upward, and Adelina couldn't resist peeking out from behind her husband's shoulder. Her lips parted slightly at the appetizing sight—golden-brown loaves still radiating warmth.
The monk smiled and offered a respectful bow.
"We heard you were married. News always reaches us eventually, even here. But I didn't expect to see you accompanied by the Duchess herself."
"Thank you for the warm welcome. Does Alexio visit often?"
"Of course—because the grave of the late Duchess is within our monastery grounds..."
"**Reverend**." Alexio's brief, decisive address silenced the man immediately. It was an unmistakable signal to abandon this particular topic.
"One way or another... he does visit us frequently, and each time he always takes this bread with him." Unfazed by the rebuke, the monk pivoted smoothly to safer ground.
Adelina found herself wondering why the late Duchess's grave resided here in the monastery rather than in the Pembroke family vault. But if Alexio preferred not to discuss the matter, she wouldn't press. Everyone possessed secrets—some buried deeper than others.
"This bread was baked fresh this morning. We add generous amounts of figs to the dough, which gives it a wonderful aroma and distinctive sweetness. This bread is the pride of our monastery. Alexio has always been fond of it—please, do try some."
"Thank you, I won't refuse." Since hunger had been making itself rather insistently known, Adelina gladly accepted the offering. She took a slice still radiating the warmth of the oven, broke it carefully in half, and watched the steam curl upward. Taking a small bite of the slightly cooled interior, she tasted the tender texture and the honeyed sweetness of figs melting against her tongue.
Her eyes widened.
"Do you like it?" the monk asked, a note of caution in his voice. Though he had offered the bread with evident pride, he clearly wasn't entirely certain whether such a noblewoman would appreciate simple monastery fare. Alexio, too, appeared to be observing his wife's reaction with particular attention.
"It's absolutely **delicious**!" the girl exclaimed without a moment's hesitation. Even she—who had been accustomed since childhood to the most exquisite dishes the royal kitchens could provide—found herself genuinely amazed by the flavor. The monk's pride was entirely justified. "I never imagined one could add fruit to bread like this."
"Yes, this method of preparation isn't widely known. Actually, the late Duchess shared this recipe with us..." The monk began explaining, then caught himself mid-sentence. The warm atmosphere between Alexio and Adelina had relaxed him, and without realizing it, he had ventured into forbidden territory once again.
When the situation threatened to grow even more awkward, Alexio intervened—though this time, he chose to elaborate rather than deflect.
"My late mother was the patron of this monastery. According to my maternal grandfather, she considered this place her spiritual refuge. That is why she was laid to rest here."
In truth, it wasn't even a secret—not really. Alexio barely remembered his mother; she had departed this world when he was still quite young. It had happened so long ago that deep grief no longer clouded his heart. However, he typically avoided the subject because he had no desire to fuel unnecessary conversation. His mother's story was **still** discussed in social circles, and he refused to provide fresh material for gossip.
Of course, he didn't believe Adelina would ever gossip about his late mother. If she possessed that kind of character, their marriage would never have come to pass.
"They say my maternal grandmother often baked this very bread. And since my mother couldn't simply return to her homeland whenever she wished, she began baking it here at the monastery instead."
"Yes—when I was a young novice, she would come here often and bake alongside us." After Alexio had broached the subject himself, the monk added a few words with evident relief. "And His Grace, following her wishes, continues to support our monastery to this day."
There was no need to elaborate further. The conversation found its natural end.
"If you enjoyed the bread, I'll bring you more so you can savor it at home."
"It truly is wonderful, but I couldn't possibly take so much food from you. What you've given me is more than generous enough."
Adelina declined politely, and the monk, accepting her refusal gracefully, turned his attention back to the Duke.
"Brother Hansen asked me to inform you that what you typically collect isn't ready yet. He apparently assumed that was why you'd come."
"Yes, I'm aware the promised deadline hasn't arrived. As usual, I'll send Simeon at month's end."
"Very well—I'll pass that along. And regarding the clothing you sent earlier..."
Standing near the bell tower, the two men continued their leisurely conversation, discussing various monastery affairs. Adelina, savoring the lingering sweetness of the bread, waited patiently for them to finish while drinking in the tranquility and beauty of her surroundings.
Vast fields stretched outward from the bell tower and monastery buildings, and a small orchard of fruit trees stood nearby, their branches heavy with the season's bounty. It was an **incredibly** peaceful place—the kind of setting that seemed to exist outside of time.
"Those are fig trees." The monk's voice came from behind her, and Adelina turned. It seemed the men's conversation had concluded. "The figs we put into our bread are harvested from those very trees. It's picking season now, so the branches are laden with fruit."