"Marin."
"Yes, Your Grace the Duke."
Her voice came out stiff, overly formal—tension straining every syllable.
*"Your Grace" again?*
His mood soured instantly, his tone sharpening.
"And what exactly are you doing here, I wonder?"
"What's wrong with it?" Surenn stepped in, sensing Marin's distress. "She was just drinking with me."
"The smell alone makes that perfectly clear."
"Hee-e-e-n." Marin swayed slightly. "Suren-n-n, do I smell *that* strong?"
Surenn's response was brutally honest:
"Yes, Lady Marin. Very much so."
"Well..." Marin sighed philosophically. "If it's strong, it's strong. Nothing to be done about it."
"Marin, it's time to return."
"Ehhhh." She deflated visibly. "Already? Just... just one more shot."
The classic line of a drunken fool, delivered with perfect sincerity.
"All right, all right. One more..." Surenn made a show of checking the bottle. "Oh dear. Lady Marin—it's all been drunk already."
"*Wha-a-at?*" Marin's voice rose to a wail of genuine devastation. "This can't be! Tell me it's not true! *Quickly!*"
She sounded as though the world had collapsed around her.
"Sorry. I'll make more next time."
Even Surenn's voice dimmed with regret—the party was clearly over.
Gerald stood with his arms crossed, watching their theatrical exchange with growing bewilderment.
"Fine." Marin sighed with the resignation of the doomed. "Next time we'll drink more."
She rose unsteadily to her feet.
"Surenn. How much did she drink?"
"Two bottles."
"And what kind of alcohol?"
"Hee-hee-hee." Surenn's chest puffed with pride. "Botkan. I brought it specially from the empire."
One of Gerald's eyebrows twitched with displeasure.
*Botkan.* Stronger than forty degrees.
Marin's usually light footsteps had grown heavy, dragging—each step sounding dangerously uncertain.
*She's about to fall.*
Gerald moved swiftly, catching her before she could topple. The faint floral scent he usually associated with her was now thoroughly masked by sharp alcohol fumes.
"Let's go."
"Yesss."
"Duke, Lady Marin—safe travels."
"Ooooh. Bye to you too, Suren-n-n."
Marin waved both hands enthusiastically—and promptly stumbled directly into his chest.
"Oh-oh! What a solid wall!"
"That's my chest, actually."
"Oh-oh! What firm breasts!"
"Ugh. This is disgusting to watch. Just *go* already."
Surenn gave Marin's back a hearty slap, sending her bouncing in place.
"*Ow!* That stings!"
The forge door slammed shut behind them.
---
Staggering slightly, Marin tilted her head back to look up at the Duke.
Something was strange. He seemed to be multiplying—first one, then two, then three overlapping figures.
*Shadow clone technique?*
"Lord Jera-a-ald, stand still. There keep being more and more of you."
"I've been standing still from the beginning."
"Kya-ha-ha-ha-ha! You're such a joker!"
Taking a steadying breath, Gerald gripped her shoulders—her body was still swaying—and guided her forward.
She kept missing her steps. Finally, he gave up, wrapped an arm around her waist, and practically carried her.
"Oh-oh-oh? Lord Jera-a-ald, my legs seem to be running very fast. I can't even see how they're moving. It's miraculous."
*She's being carried on one arm, but she's complaining about being tired.*
"Let's take a short break. My legs feel really heavy."
The Duke stopped.
"Legs, go slower." She addressed her own feet sternly. "When you run so fast, I can't see you."
"Are you finished?"
"Lord Jera-a-ald!"
"What?"
"Would you open your eyes? Just for a second?"
"For what purpose?"
"I just want to look at something beautiful." She giggled. "We've had drinks, the moon is bright... if I could also see some beautiful eyes... hee-hee-hee."
Gerald, as she requested, slowly raised his eyelids.
A black curtain seemed to hang before his vision. In the pitch darkness, there was only a slightly brighter spot—he still couldn't truly *see*, but he sensed she was standing very close.
"Oh?"
"What?"
"It's somehow strange."
"What is?"
"The eye color changed."
"That's impossible—"
He started to object and stopped short.
*Why am I seeing darkness instead of piercing white light? Is this another symptom? Or...*
"No, wait—they *were* silver. Really shining silver. But now they've become a little darker?"
"...It's nighttime."
"Aha!" Marin practically bounced with delight. "Lord Jera-a-ald, you're so smart! Praise to you!"
She stepped right up to him, rose onto her toes, and—just as Perido liked to do when offering praise—lightly patted her fingers through his hair.
Gerald froze for a moment at her audacity.
Then he couldn't help but laugh.
*I'm genuinely curious how she'll behave when she sobers up.*
"There we go—that's how you should smile. You look so handsome when you smile."
"I'm handsome?"
"Didn't you know?" She sounded genuinely surprised. "The main character is *always* handsome and beautiful."
"I'm the main character? Then who's the heroine?"
"Oh, come on, you didn't know? Of course it's—*ow!*"
Leaning toward him to deliver her answer, she stepped on something uneven and face-planted directly into his chest.
"This is how they build roads around here? Why is there another solid wall?!"
"That's my chest, by the way."
"Oh, is that you, Mister Chest?" She patted the surface experimentally. "Mister Chest is really firm. How do you train?"
She began poking him with one finger, testing the muscle beneath his clothes.
For the first time in his life, Gerald felt a strange, tickling sensation—something almost like excitement—and tensed involuntarily.
"Oh-oh-oh? Mister Chest got even harder! What kind of magic is this?"
He frowned at her increasingly dangerous investigations.
"Marin."
"Yea-e-es? Just a moment—I'm busy."
Now she wasn't poking but stroking—gentle, curious touches that tracked across his torso.
"And how exactly are you planning to look me in the eye tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow will have tomorrow's sun."
Gerald chuckled at the random but oddly apt philosophy.
To prevent further exploration, he simply scooped her up into his arms.
"*Wow!* Is this a princess carry?"
"Is this how princesses are carried?"
"Yes! This is how they do it in many novels."
"Then tonight, you're the heroine."
"Huh? *I'm* the heroine?"
She considered this for a moment, head tilting. Then she buried her face against his chest.
"A firm chest-pillow is the best..."
One final piece of nonsense—and then she went quiet.
Finally asleep.
The moment her cheerful chatter died away, the world fell instantly, profoundly silent.
She felt too light in his arms. Still too thin, despite months of proper meals.
"When will you finally grow up?"
"Won't grow up. Won't grow up."
Even in sleep, she answered appropriately.
Gerald chuckled softly and walked on.
He barely felt the cold. But with her warm weight pressed against his chest, he felt surprisingly comfortable.
---
## — The Next Morning —
"Water... water..."
"Yes. Here, my lady."
"Thank you."
Marin raised her head just enough to sip from the glass Julia held out, then collapsed back into the pillow.
Her skull was splitting. Even that tiny movement sent waves of nausea rolling through her stomach.
"Julia..."
"Yes, my lady?"
"If I die... will you look after my mother?"
"Oh, what a heroine we have—no longer embarrassed even in front of her own mother."
A reproachful voice sounded directly beside the bed.
"Mom?"
"Yes. I heard my daughter drank quite a lot last night, so I came to check on her."
"Ooooh..."
The word *drank* alone sent her stomach lurching.
"Mom, please—that word is forbidden right now."
"What word? '*Drink*'?"
"*Mo-o-om...*"
She couldn't even muster the strength to raise her voice.
Roenna laughed gently and held out a fresh glass.
"Water with honey. Your father used to save himself the same way."
"Ah-h-h. Honey. Good."
Marin forced herself to drain the glass. She'd drink anything right now to settle her stomach.
*Except alcohol.*
"Lady Daya asked me to convey that you shouldn't worry about young Master Perido," Julia reported. "She read him a story yesterday, and he slept well. She'll be with him all day today as well."
"And Ruby will keep me company," Roenna added, running her hand gently over her daughter's pale face. "So rest easy."
Marin's eyes narrowed as she attempted a grateful smile.
"Yes. Thank you all for taking care of—"
*Memory returned.*
The walk home. The poking. The stroking. *Mister Chest.*
"HIS GRACE THE DUKE!!!" She bolted upright in bed. "*A-A-A-A-A!*"
And immediately dove headfirst under the blanket, screaming into the fabric.