Chapter 173

“Ah, that’s right. You said your appetite has been growing lately.” Rezette murmured, almost to himself. If only he had thought to bring along the head chef of Rotiara Castle—the man’s cooking was at least reliable. It was too late to regret that now. He shook off the thought and pressed Elise gently.

“And what else? Tell me whatever you like. If it’s something I can find, I’ll bring it to you.”

Elise hesitated, her lashes lowering as though embarrassed by the thought. “Last spring… during the festival, in the streets… there was cherry confit being sold.”

“Festival food?” Rezette’s brows lifted slightly.

“I also remember the roasted chicken legs they grilled beside it, but…” Her voice softened into wistfulness. “What I want most is the cherry confit. If I had known you would come, I might have given you some warning to bring it but—ah.”

Her words broke off. Elise’s expression shifted to astonishment as she pressed a hand near her navel. The baby had kicked, a sudden thump from within. She still found the sharp, insistent motion strange.

“…Is that all right?” Rezette asked quietly, searching her face.

“They say it’s a sign the child is growing well. You don’t need to worry,” Elise answered with a small smile, though her hand lingered on her abdomen. To think the sharp little stabs she had felt before had been her child’s movements—it was astonishing. The baby was already strong enough to stir. The realization left her in awe.

Rezette, however, felt a headache blooming. Festival food? Street delicacies? Of all things, she had to crave something impossible to obtain in their current isolation. No town lay within reach. Clearly, the baby would inherit a willful temperament.

He mouthed the words to himself. “Cherry confit… cherry, cherry.” A thoughtful murmur escaped him. “That will do.”

Elise blinked in confusion. “What will do?”

“The child’s nickname,” Rezette replied.

She stared at him, dumbfounded. Of all the words she had expected from his lips, the notion of a pet name for the unborn child was not one of them. But her surprise quickly melted away. Without a shadow of hesitation, her face bloomed into a radiant smile, brighter than any he had seen from her in recent days.

“I never even thought of giving the baby a nickname. Thank you,” she whispered. Her delight was so pure it left him unsteady.

As Rezette wrestled with the unexpected warmth in her gaze, Elise pressed further, her voice light with eagerness. “Then what about a real name?”

“If you have something in mind, anything at all, we can—”

“No.” Elise shook her head firmly. “I want you to choose. Even if it takes time, that’s fine. There’s still so long to go, but… I’d like it to be you who names our cherry.”

Her insistence left him speechless. Even as his expression faltered, she gave no ground.

“You promise, don’t you?” she pressed.

“…Yes. I’ll… I’ll give it some thought,” he said at last. It was not quite a vow, but it was the most she had ever wrung from him.

Compared to the days when his cold gaze had burned into her belly like a blade, even this effort was precious. Elise only hoped he might begin to feel some attachment to the life stirring inside her. She slipped her fingers through his, their hands a strange contrast—hers small and delicate, his broad enough to envelop hers whole. With care, she guided his palm to rest on the curve of her stomach.

“There,” she whispered, pressing lightly against the spot where she had felt the kick. They waited, breath caught. Then—thump. A faint flutter rose beneath his hand.

Rezette’s composure cracked; his eyes betrayed the tremor of his heart.

“How is it?” Elise asked, searching his face.

“…The child seems healthy,” he answered.

“Not that,” she chided softly, smiling. “What does it feel like to you?”

Rezette swallowed the words that came unbidden: As though the child does not much care for me. The movement under his palm had felt reluctant, almost begrudging, as if the baby had only stirred because forced to. But such a thought he buried deep. He would not crush Elise’s fragile joy. Instead, he offered her a faint, guarded smile.

If she craves sugared fruits, then we cannot remain in this wilderness forever. The conclusion settled in his mind with unease. He needed to find a way, somehow, to procure cherry preserves.

It was on the seventh day of their seclusion in the gorge—Elise waiting anxiously for the messenger pigeon that had yet to come—that an uninvited guest arrived instead.

Rezette had been lying still, watching Elise sleep with her head pillowed on his arm, when faint commotion drifted to his ears. Carefully, he eased his arm free and pulled the blankets snug up to her chin, tucking her in as though she were the most fragile treasure. Dressed only hastily in trousers, he stepped outside the tent.

There stood Rotiara knights, Barbin and Clava, saluting crisply.

“Good morning, Your Grace!” they chorused.

“What is it?” Rezette asked.

“Approaching forces, sire. It seems Duke Conrad himself has led his knights down into the valley,” Barbin reported.

“Tch.” Rezette clicked his tongue. His voice, however, was more languid than displeased. “I warned him he would not leave alive should we meet a third time. What a pleasant coincidence.”

The words were chilling, but his tone bore no irritation, no sign of the madness that once clung to him. The knights exchanged startled glances.

He’s calm.

Almost at peace, even.

To them, he had not seemed so steady in months. That he now appeared before his men in such unkempt attire—muscles taut beneath bare skin, hair falling wild—made him seem more human than lord, yet no less formidable. Leaning back against the tent pole, he tapped his forearm idly with one finger, weighing his choice.

I would rather not leave her yet. But what must be done…

It was nearly time to move regardless. In three to five days, Ruben would lead the coalition army to the borders of Riosa. Rezette would need to rejoin them, to prepare for open war with Ugel. Only a handful of days remained for him to linger here beside Elise.

First, drive off these intruders. Then move her somewhere safer.

His thoughts had barely settled when a soft voice startled him from behind.

“What did you say was a coincidence?”

Elise, roused the moment she sensed his absence, now peered out of the tent flap. Rezette instantly turned, shielding her from the men’s view with his body.

“Who is it?” she asked quickly. “Is it my brother, Baron Conrad? Is he here?”

“Elise. Go back inside. I’ll help you dress properly,” Rezette said firmly.

Too late. The plan to remove Conrad and move Elise to a new hiding place was ruined before it began. He ushered her gently back into the tent, then jerked his chin toward Barbin.

“I’ve heard enough. Five days from now, I’ll descend to the mouth of the gorge. Go ahead of me—tell Ruben to set our arrival for that day. Split the army into ten detachments. The last to arrive must seal the cliffside path.”

The knights stiffened at the clarity of his command. None but Rezette knew that perilous route along the cliff existed; he himself had climbed it. No rat, no man would ascend it once blocked. He intended the gorge to be sealed beyond reach.

“If Norella’s army has already joined Ugel, they will not fully trust the coalition either,” Rezette continued. “So before they plot anything, we gather and strike swiftly. Tell Ruben and Isaac to ration their men’s strength, but to be ready to fight the moment they arrive. They will understand.”

“Yes, sire!” the knights answered in unison.

Rezette’s strategies, splitting and merging his forces as needed, were second nature to his men. A decade under his command had taught them to follow without question.

Just as he turned to leave, he paused. “Ah. One more thing.”

“Yes, sire?” Barbin asked.

“…Is there anywhere nearby that grows cherries?”

The knight blinked. “Cherries? As in the fruit, Your Grace? Those only grow in spring and summer. Even in the south, it’s still too cold. You wouldn’t see fruit until May at the earliest.”

“So not at all?” Rezette’s frown deepened.

“Well… cherries can be dried or boiled into jam and kept, but fresh cherries in midwinter? Impossible.”

Rezette let out a long, heavy sigh. “Then where are they most abundant?”

“In fertile southern valleys, I suppose,” Barbin said uncertainly.

“…I see.” The task remained daunting. With a sharp gesture, Rezette dismissed them and slipped back into the tent.

Barbin scratched his head. “What’s with him asking about fruit? He hates anything sweet.”

“You fool, don’t you see?” Clava nudged him with a sheepish grin. “It must be for Her Highness. She’s craving cherries. Ah, do you hear it? That’s the sound of spring finally coming!”

***

When Rezette returned inside, Elise was waiting just by the entrance, her face pale from what she had overheard. She rushed toward him, words tumbling out.

“Five days. You said the coalition army will arrive in five days?”