"When did she arrive?"
"Ten minutes ago, Your Highness. I told her you were in the middle of training for now."
"Well done. Now tell her I died while sparring."
"Pardon?"
"…Never mind. Give me a moment."
Tristan covered his face with both hands.
Dory Redfield.
A problem he hadn't resolved during the last hunting competition—or rather, a problem that began back then—had now come knocking at his door.
***
Two weeks ago.
After a moment of contact not allowed between "people who are nothing to each other," she had asked him:
"Your Highness, do you feel anything for me? Even a little?"
Tristan had answered logically:
"Not at all."
To Tristan, Dory Redfield was the symbol of a future he didn't want. He would remain polite to her, dance with her, escort her, occasionally visit her—but he could never feel anything for her.
And yet, the moment the words left his mouth, something like a stone rolled out from deep within his chest, prompting him to ask himself:
"Really?"
"There's no way… is there?"
His body had moved reflexively.
He had wanted, just once, to touch her soft cheek that he had only ever gazed at. To hear her breath from the closest distance possible.
But that was…
"Then, I'll take my leave, Your Highness."
"Wait. Let me walk you back."
"I'm fine!"
Dory Redfield had walked away, her footsteps heavy with clear irritation even from a distance.
It was a perfectly reasonable reaction, Tristan thought. His head rang with belated alarm bells.
Still dazed, he had hurried after her. At that point, the words echoing in his mind were still, "Surely not. There's no way."
But the moment she crossed paths with Rick, her face breaking into a bright smile, and Rick, far from being flustered, responded with a cheeky grin—
The answer cut through all his confusion.
"I definitely…"
Lo…
"Your Highness?"
A maid's voice brought Tristan back to the present. He hesitated briefly before answering.
"…Tell her I'll prepare and meet her in my drawing room. Ask her to wait ten minutes."
"Oh, of course! Right away, Your Highness!"
The maid's voice carried a hint of delight. She was probably relieved to stop sending away a kind guest with polite lies.
'Dory Redfield's face is so gentle that even telling her a small lie feels like committing a grave sin.'
Tristan felt like he was preparing for a courtroom trial as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror again.
Objectively speaking, his face was flawless, ready for any occasion. Still, it wouldn't hurt to double-check. Who knows if something had gotten on his face in the meantime?
"No need to shave again… nothing on my face… hair… should I style it? It's not a formal event, but still…"
She was here to visit him for his recovery, so a natural appearance should suffice.
"But have I ever appeared before Dory without tidying my hair? What if she's startled by how messy I look?"
He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling it all back, then half-back, then letting it fall naturally again, lost in indecision.
A knock on the bathroom door interrupted his spiraling thoughts.
"Your Highness, Lady Dorys Redfield has arrived."
"Ahem. Tell her I'll be out shortly."
"Understood."
"Has it already been ten minutes?"
He couldn't very well make her wait longer.
In the end, Tristan abandoned the idea of fixing his hair or carefully choosing his shirt and cufflinks. He threw on whatever was at hand.
The only thing he paid meticulous attention to was covering the scar on his neck.
So she wouldn't worry.
The mere thought of Dory noticing the scar, being shocked or concerned about it, made him feel like a criminal deserving of punishment.
***
"You haven't been waiting long, have you, Dory Redfield?"
Tristan stepped into his drawing room.
Dory, seated on the sofa, turned her head slightly. The pearl ornament in her updo swayed gently, momentarily obscuring her face.
'Why is she hiding her face? Does she think she needs to? Is she embarrassed to show it all to me?'
"Don't worry. I haven't waited long," she said.
Did her voice always sound like this?
It was a little lower and clearer than he remembered. A voice that would be lovely for singing, but most fitting for reciting poetry—especially lyrical poetry.
"…Your Highness? Are you all right?"
"Absolutely. No problem at all."
Tristan replied curtly, cutting off his words firmly. He then sat across from her as if nothing had happened.
Dory raised her face. Her eyes quickly scanned his complexion, and a glimmer of joy filled her gaze.
"Your Highness, you truly look healthy! I've been so worried since the hunting competition!"
Ah.
His heart began to pound.
For a moment, he felt like a patient again.
Tristan bit his lip nervously but quickly raised his teacup to cover it. He was confident the motion looked elegant—after all, it was second nature by now.
"Your Highness, I haven't poured the tea yet…"
"…There seemed to be some dust in the cup."
While the teacup spun an unfair lap through the air, Dory accepted her own tea. Her eyes sparkled, even though it was just a cup of black tea.
"Thank you for the tea."
"Nothing to thank me for. Your interest lies more in tea food than the tea itself, doesn't it?"
"Well, that's… true…"
"No denial?"
Dory's face turned red.
"Ever since the day I got to eat the palace's special waffles, hasn't it been obvious? There's no use denying it now."
When the maid brought out a walnut caramel pound cake, Dory's eyes lit up. She glanced at Tristan with an expression akin to a puppy staring at a piece of meat. Though it was unclear why, it seemed she was silently asking for permission to start eating. Of course, Tristan nodded, and Dory smiled brightly before picking up her fork to cut the pound cake into small pieces.
Just watching all of this filled a void in his soul he hadn't even realized was there.
'Can someone smile so honestly?'
If it were Tristan, he would never let it show, even if a piece of cake made him genuinely happy.
…Just like now, where he instinctively pressed the smile creeping onto his lips behind his teacup.
After finishing five pieces of pound cake, Dory finally looked up, her expression one of pure satisfaction.
"Your Highness, are you going to keep holding that empty teacup?"
"…I already finished it."
"You drank it rather quickly. But really, are you sure you're okay? I don't think your wounds could have fully healed yet."
A long sentence circled Tristan's mind:
'This morning, I confirmed in the training yard that my stamina is back to normal. I even sparred with a few young men to test myself, and I was more than capable of defeating them. My body has completely recovered. Honestly, I'm more worried about how your concern for me might be taking a toll on your mind.'
But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a short, steady response.
"I'm fine. No issues."
"Really? Usually, when someone says, 'I'm fine. No issues!' they're hiding something and in worse shape than they admit."
Suspicion lingered in Dory's green eyes.
But there was nothing he could do; the words simply wouldn't come out.
"So, are we done here?"
"Pardon?"
"If your purpose was to check on my health, I believe your business here is concluded."
"…Technically, yes. Very well."
The green eyes that had sparkled with happiness moments ago sharpened as she looked at him.
"Your Highness, don't you have anything you're curious to ask your fiancée after two weeks apart?"
"Nothing."
"…"
He meant it. As long as she was smiling in front of him, there was nothing more he needed to know.
But faced with the lengthening silence, Tristan realized he might have answered poorly. Scrambling, he managed to come up with a question.
"Was five pieces of pound cake… enough for you?"
"Yes, it was plenty. Thank you. I'm glad you're healthy."
"…"
"I didn't bring a letter today because I thought I might be turned away again. I'll bring one next time—assuming, of course, I'm allowed inside."
With a faintly gritted tone in her polite farewell, Dory rose from her seat. Tristan offered her his arm out of courtesy, but she declined, saying it would look strange for someone visiting a patient to be escorted by them.
Beyond the hallway, her brown hair swayed as she walked away.
Once, he had thought brown hair had no charm compared to lustrous black, radiant red, or shining blonde.
But when that brown hair framed Dory Redfield's face, the situation changed entirely.
Tristan placed a hand over his chest. The rapid heartbeat that had raced like it did in the training yard began to slow—very, very gradually.
'She doesn't know, right? Dory Redfield hasn't realized my feelings yet?'
On the night of the hunting competition, less than ten minutes after declaring, "I feel nothing for you," Tristan Winter Albion had realized the truth.
He was in love with Dorys Redfield.
Even the tips of her fingers and strands of her hair made his heart pound like a drum.
…How much easier it would have been if he'd realized it just ten minutes earlier.
But it was too late. Dory Redfield had already returned to the role of a dutiful fiancée without expectations.
'There's no way I can confess my feelings now—not after everything I've said. Never!'
To avoid becoming a fickle liar, Tristan resolved on one course of action:
For the time they had left together—
'I'll pretend my feelings are slowly, naturally growing from now on…!'
***
I want to smack Tristan three times on his back.
I want to leave him in Maronie Park and scatter birdseed so he gets attacked by pigeons.
"You idiot! Do you really think I came just to check on your health? Or to eat pound cake?"
Who keeps someone waiting ten minutes only to send them away after another ten minutes?