Chapter 85

Blair, host of the evening’s banquet, showed his face only briefly before slipping away. Brief though it was, he had managed to introduce Odelliana as his kinswoman and official companion within the castle, to honor the knights for their service, and to urge everyone to take full delight in the week-long festivities ahead. Then he was gone, leaving a stir in his wake.

The nobles who had only half-believed the rumors about “the lord’s distant cousin” needed little effort to link this newly presented lady with the mysterious woman said to have received Matthias’s letter.

The banquet proper unfolded with speed and clamor. Dishes arrived by the dozens; servants bustled back and forth, balancing platters and refilling cups. The knights, hearty in appetite, set themselves to emptying plates and draining goblets with unembarrassed gusto.

Laughter swelled. Voices overlapped in a din. Men boasted of past feats, their tales growing taller the more wine they drank. Almost all of them had surely embroidered their stories beyond recognition. The one man whose presence had been most decisive in the beast hunt, Matthias, said nothing. He drank quietly, expression as still as carved stone.

While the men grew loud, their wives turned their attentions elsewhere.

“I knew the decorations were unusually fine the moment I stepped inside,” one lady whispered behind her hand.

“They say the Grüsewald bloodline produces striking beauty. It seems even the more distant branches are not exempt.”

Curiosity hung thick in the air. Most eyes sought Odelliana and, by extension, Matthias. A few, however, displayed obvious discomfort. Odelliana recognized those faces well enough—women who had once shamelessly fluttered lashes at Matthias himself. She narrowed her eyes, swallowing her distaste, and resolved not to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

It was then that a small group, bolder than the rest, approached. She did not refuse them but greeted them with a courteous smile. Her openness seemed to calm their nerves, and once they had introduced themselves, conversation began to flow with forced brightness.

“Is it true, my lady, that you brought Sir Matthias here yourself?” one of them asked eagerly.

“And we hear you are kin to Lord Blair. From which province do you hail?” another pressed.

“What brought you to seek shelter under the lord’s roof?” added a third.

Odelliana selected her answers with care. Yes, she had indeed brought Matthias with her. Her origins, however, were not for public disclosure; she claimed politely that she was unable to name her ancestral lands. As for the precise circumstances that had led her to Blair’s household, she left them shrouded in silence.

What they most longed to ask was plain enough—the rumor of Matthias’s Anatolian birth, and the true nature of Odelliana’s injured leg. But even these noblewomen knew the limits of etiquette, and so they kept their tongues still.

When the opening rounds of courtesy had been met, Odelliana allowed herself to withdraw. As the ball began in earnest and dancers moved to the floor, she turned without a word and stepped out onto the balcony. Matthias followed with the ease of someone who had already decided he belonged at her side.

She clicked her tongue softly at him. “So even here, you cling to my shadow.”

He looked at her steadily. “Does it displease you to have your pupil near?”

“…No. But this is a celebration. You should enjoy yourself. Standing guard at my elbow will only bore you. I have no intention of leaving this balcony, so go—mingle. There’s your friend over there, is it not? Liam?”

“Not a friend,” Matthias replied flatly.

“He’s always at your side.”

“That is his choice, not mine.”

He did not so much as glance toward the crowd, but planted himself firmly beside her, as though the throng of revelers did not exist.

“I arranged this night for your sake,” she told him. “Every detail was prepared so you might enjoy yourself. And here you are, rotting in the shadows with me?”

His gaze sharpened. “Was it really for me?”

“Who else?” She let out a short laugh. “I’m not as noble-minded as you think. This was meant as a welcome for my student who has suffered abroad.”

“For such a person to be called ‘saintly’…” His tone was skeptical, almost mocking.

She shrugged. “In a world where even Odette bears the title of saint, it hardly means anything.”

The name was enough to rouse old memories. The image of Odette, her cruel smile, pressed upon her mind. Jocelyn’s face followed, and then the looming shadow of the ducal couple and their heir, Hermann, who even now sought her life. Odelliana stiffened, arms folding over her own shoulders.

Matthias noticed. His hand rose, cupping her cheek with quiet certainty. She startled, looking up at him.

“I do not know what frightens you so much,” he said quietly.

“But while I am here, no one will lay a hand upon you.”

The words were disconcertingly precise, as though he had pierced the truth she had been struggling to conceal.

“Can you read minds now?” she asked, forcing flippancy.

He smiled faintly. “If I had such a gift, would I be enduring this life?”

“…What does that mean?”

“It means your thoughts show plainly on your face.”

She clicked her tongue. “Arrogant boy. If you think you’ve unraveled me, you’re mistaken.”

He laughed softly.

For a moment they stood with only the night air between them, the noise of the ballroom muted behind the glass doors. Then she asked, “So you truly mean to stay here with me?”

“Unless I am forbidden.”

“I only worry for you,” she said.

“Worry?”

“You need to learn how to be with others. What will you do without me one day?”

His gaze lowered, slow and deliberate. In his eyes lay a hollowness that made her breath catch. “I would not live,” he murmured.

“…What?”

“If I lived at all, it would not be living.”

The weight of the answer pressed against her chest. She had spoken lightly, but he had received her words with bleak gravity. His face bore a fleeting shadow of pain, quickly suppressed. She found herself wordless.

Independence was the natural course of life. He was of age, nearly a man grown. Yet from his words it seemed he had never once considered it. The thought of leaving her side was not even among his possibilities. Why?

“You too will marry one day,” she reminded him gently. “You’ll make a household of your own. You’ve yet to see much of the world, but with time, you’ll understand.”

He leaned on the railing, looking down at her with an odd smile, one edged with derision.

“Hearing you, I see I have been far too complacent,” he said softly.

“One day you will also marry. You will build a family, bear children. And in that life, I will have no place.”

“…That is the common way of things,” she admitted.

“And so my end is to be cast aside like refuse.”

Her eyes widened. “Cast aside? I would never do that!”

He looked every bit the wounded hound, eyes dark with betrayal. Words tangled in her throat. She knew what she ought to explain—that each person must live their own life, that parting was not abandonment but the natural course of things. Yet seeing his face, she faltered.

“I have never once imagined a life without you,” he said.

She could only stare.

“Nor do I wish for one.”

Pain flickered across his expression, then hardened into something sharper. Grief and yearning gave way to a colder edge, forged into steel. His voice, when it came again, was stripped of warmth.

“In your future, I do not exist.”

Odelliana remained silent.

“Yet in mine, you are always there.”

Her thoughts scattered. She had no answer.

“Too cruel,” he said, shaking his head. “You would use me, then discard me?”

“No. Never!”

“Then why am I absent from the life you imagine?”

“That’s not—”

“Why do you cut me away so easily?”

The truth struck her like a blow. She had indeed never pictured him beside her. She had always assumed Matthias would leave—why should a grown man remain tethered to a lame woman’s fading days? He was destined for greater things, for a world that would not welcome her.

“Master.” His voice softened, carrying the echo of a smile. “Do you recall our promise?”

She swallowed. “…Yes.”

“That you would guide my life.”

“I remember.”

“Good.”

He took her hand, entwining his fingers through hers with deliberate firmness. His grip allowed no space, no escape, as though binding her to him with invisible chains. His golden eyes bore into hers.

“Whether you will it or not, we will remain together. You gave your word, and you will answer for it. Even if you try to cast me off, I will hold fast. If being bound is the price, then bind me. If I must be the leash or the one leashed, it doesn’t matter—so long as we remain.”

Her lips parted, but whatever reply might have formed was lost, for at that very moment the balcony doors swung open.

Two young men entered, their faces familiar—Martin and Liam, Matthias’s fellow squires, the pair who dogged his steps like burrs clinging to cloth.

“My lady!” Martin called brightly. “Might we have the honor of paying our respects?”