The composure I had fought so hard to maintain nearly crumbled. A strange impulse crept in without warning, whispering the temptation to press my lips softly to the skin just beneath her left eye.
Yet yielding to a momentary urge of that kind was the same as surrendering reason entirely.
I exhaled slowly, dispelling the remnants of tension that still lingered between us. That first experience had left too vivid an impression to be easily dismissed. Better to keep it sealed within memory.
My attention moved to the stack of documents upon the table, working through each page according to the markers Grace had prepared beforehand. She had given a firm warning that I was not to continue reading anything concerning Saintes. Whatever reason lay behind that prohibition, the report on the holy maiden could be read at another time. For now, the file I had just spread open before me was the priority.
A disaster.
That was the first thought that came to me the moment my eyes swept across the lines of ink on the page.
"This handwriting."
"Oh."
"Dieter's report."
"A fine guess. You recognised it immediately."
"His penmanship is far too distinctive."
"Distinctive?" Grace leaned her back against the cushion of the sofa beside me. Her lips touched the rim of her glass.
She had never been able to conceal her fondness for wine, least of all the finest imported vintage from the Adlerkrone Empire, whose soft fragrance now drifted through the whole of the room.
"Among all the senior members of the Guild, Dieter's hand is the worst by far."
I straightened the stack of papers before me.
"And yet you call it distinctive. I am made to suffer every time I must read one of his reports. Without Nana's assistance, making it through a single page is an exhausting ordeal."
"Nana?"
"She is a perceptive girl. Her aptitude for administrative matters ought not to be underestimated."
"Did I not once suggest you take on a proper assistant?"
"You did."
"By your own assessment, she meets every criterion. And yet you keep her as your personal attendant."
"I have given it thought, Ian. Nana is indeed the ideal candidate for the position. Only..."
"Hmm."
"That girl is liable to intrude upon our privacy whenever we are spending time together."
"Your thoughts have already stretched that far, even before our bond had properly begun? Your capacity for long-term foresight is truly remarkable."
A melodious laugh escaped Grace's lips. She set her empty glass upon the marble table, then deliberately nudged my arm.
"Never underestimate me. That warning stands for everyone, including you, my dear."
"I shall keep it well in mind."
Underestimating a woman whom even Father had acknowledged as stubbornly tenacious was a carelessness that could prove costly. Grace had already demonstrated precisely how sharp her claws were. She had tracked both my identity and Father's without rest, following every thread of intelligence until she finally uncovered the truth.
A person who refuses to stop before their ambition is satisfied is not someone to be regarded lightly.
Grace was a dangerous woman. All the more so should the day ever come when she stood in opposition.
I turned my focus back to the pages of the report, making an effort to overlook the portrait sketch affixed to the upper left corner of the document. The face in that sketch was rather startling.
Within the social hierarchy, that man perhaps had no standing to place himself alongside a Saintes. Yet where political dominance was concerned, his influence stood far above that of the holy maiden.
As I continued working through Dieter's taxing lines, the soft sound of liquid being poured into a glass reached me from beside.
Grace was refilling her wine.
The sight immediately called to mind the incident in which the woman had lost all composure under the influence of spirits. When intoxicated, Grace tended to become far wilder and far more forward than her usual self.
I could only hope that this time she still knew her limits.
A long silence settled over the room.
Grace no longer spoke. She simply continued wetting her throat, as though the red liquid in her glass had become the sole thing keeping her conscious.
Then a call broke through the quiet.
"Ian."
"What is it?"
I glanced over briefly. No answer came.
"Ian."
This time, her intonation had changed.
I set the pages down slowly. It appeared the wine had claimed her reason far sooner than I had anticipated.
Without hesitation, I reached over and took the bottle from her grasp. Its contents had already fallen by half. That was well past any reasonable measure. The midday hour had not yet arrived, and she had already surrendered herself to intoxication.
Her expression shifted at once.
"Give it back, darling."
Both her arms stretched out, attempting to reclaim the bottle. Before she could manage it, I closed my fingers around both her wrists.
"Enough."
One word.
A command that left no room for argument.
Grace's body gave a small start, then went still. That cold rebuke, which she had not anticipated in the least, seemed to shatter her composure in an instant.
I deliberately looked past the turmoil rising in her eyes. My attention had settled on something else.
The remnants of wine still clung to the corner of her lips, leaving a red sheen that stood in sharp contrast against her porcelain skin.
I reached into my trouser pocket, drew out a handkerchief, and wiped the trace away with careful movements.
Grace did not pull back.
On the contrary, she permitted my touch. She even answered it with a gaze so deep I was very nearly at a loss for where to look.
At the precise moment the fine cloth swept the corner of her lips, her eyes began to glisten.
Her composure gave way entirely.
The tears she had been holding back now trembled at the very edge.
"Do not be angry with me, darling."
"Grace."
"Please... do not be angry with me."
A moment later, a sob broke free. She lurched forward and held me tightly, as though afraid I might vanish the moment her arms released me.
My calculations had been wrong.
Under the influence of spirits, a single word of reproach from me had struck the most fragile part of her.
She was right.
At this moment, I was her beloved.
Perhaps, had I chosen to speak more gently before, Grace would not be weeping like this.
"Ian must not be angry with me."
"..."
"He must not."
In the end, I yielded.
I drew my arms around her back, offering the security she was reaching for. My palm moved in slow strokes across her back through the fabric of her gown, then worked gently through her red hair, which had begun to come undone.
"Grace, I am not angry."
I lowered my voice deliberately, ensuring every word came out as softly as possible.
"That is not true..." Her voice trembled.
"Ian is lying. You just scolded me."
Grace...
Whatever vision of her boldness I had entertained before vanished entirely.
The woman trembling in my arms was simply someone far too sensitive, someone who craved assurance above all else.
Novaria would certainly allow herself a cold laugh if she could see the Guild Master's weakness laid bare like this.
Then Grace's palm pressed against my chest, pushing me gently back to create distance between us.
I obliged.
Our eyes met once more.
She looked guarded, while the faint traces of tears still marked both her cheeks.
Yet my attention had been drawn to her eyelids, which were growing heavier by the moment.
She was fighting to hold on to consciousness.
Slumber had descended upon her without mercy.
It would not be long before she was asleep.
"Promise me... Ian must not be angry with me."
Her voice rose briefly before falling away again, as though she had gathered every last remnant of her strength simply to speak that one request.
"Say it, Ian... you must promise."
"I promise, Grace."
Both her hands rose slowly, then came to cup either side of my jaw with a tenderness that very nearly held me motionless.
Her eyes said there was still something she wished to tell me, before they finally surrendered to sleep.
I chose to remain silent.
Waiting.
I could not say when it was that the scent of wine clinging to her had ceased to feel so sharp.
In its place, another fragrance altogether, far softer, filled my senses, stirring a warmth that spread through me slowly and from no origin I could name.
The words I had been waiting for finally came.
"Ian... is a fool."
All I could manage was a quiet laugh.
She truly was a remarkable woman.
"Ian."
"..."
"A fool."
"..."
"Ian is such a terrible fool."
And then...
Every part of me went rigid without warning.
I lost all command of myself, as though some binding magic of the highest order had seized every joint and nerve in my body at once.
Warm.
Soft.
And faintlysweet.
That was all I was able to comprehend.
Without any warning, Grace's lips met mine for the briefest moment, before all strength left her body and she slipped into my arms.
She was asleep.
And I remained exactly where I was, without the faintest idea of what to say.
•••
I laid Grace down upon the sofa with care. My hands moved to unfasten my black cloak, then spread it slowly until it covered her.
"Rest now."
The trace of that kiss still lingered with startling clarity. The softness of her lips and the faint sweetness of wine continued to turn over in my mind, as though testing the very limits of my composure.
I let the silence take hold, keeping intact the line of honour I could not cross.
Slowly, I leaned down until our faces were only a short distance apart. The small dark mark beneath her left eye seemed all the more captivating beneath the glow of the magic crystals.
The tip of my finger brushed it with the lightest possible touch.
"Thank you."
Even if that unexpected act had come under the influence of the wine, this memory would never fade from my mind.
An experience beyond measure.
Because...
"That was my first kiss. And you were right. The first will always hold the most particular place."
I drew my fingers through her red hair, smoothing the strands that had come loose.
At this closeness, Grace possessed a charm that was endearing in a way entirely unlike anything before. Unlike Charlotte, the vulnerability Grace let show stirred something unfamiliar within my chest, something I had never felt when looking at my elder sister.
That thought lingered only for a moment before I set it aside along with whatever else was still pressing against my ribs.
I straightened, leaving Grace to sleep in comfort.
Yet there was still one thing to be done.
My steps carried me toward the door. The hinges made almost no sound as I drew it open. Just as I crossed the threshold, my gaze moved to the corridor.
Nana was leaning against the wall outside Grace's study.
"Nana."
The young attendant gave a small start. A flicker of surprise crossed her face before she quickly lowered her head and stepped forward.
"Mister Raven. Please give your instructions."
Her manner was still far too stiff. I had asked more than once that she set aside the formalities when we spoke without anyone else present.
"Do not allow anyone to enter this room."
"The My Lady room?"
"That is correct. Simply tell them the Guild Master is attending to a matter of considerable importance and cannot receive anyone."
Nana hesitated.
"That order will be difficult to carry out, Mister Raven."
I understood her concern. As Grace's personal attendant, restricting the senior members of the Guild was no small thing.
Novaria and Hagen in particular.
While the other members might still accept a refusal with some grace, those two were not easily dealt with.
But I knew their weaknesses.
"There is no need for concern. Simply inform them that anyone who forces entry without leave will be assigned to a mission beyond the Empire's borders at once."
"That is..."
"Simple enough, is it not?"
Nana smiled.
"I understand, Mister Raven."
She was well acquainted with instructions of that nature. Grace had on more than one occasion made use of her authority to discipline Guild members who had displeased her.
Observing her competence, her character, and her loyalty, Nana was very well suited to the position of assistant.
I had very nearly forgotten the other reason I had called her.
"Nana, bring the midday meal to my lady's office later."
"For Mister Raven, or for the My Lady?"
I considered briefly.
"Both. Add a bowl of restorative soup as well."
"Understood, Mister Raven."
Without needing to ask further, she grasped at once for whom the soup was intended. Years spent at Grace's side had made Nana thoroughly familiar with her mistress's habits and way of life.
After that, I left the girl and stepped back into the room.
My gaze came to rest once more on Grace, lying at ease upon the sofa.
Her red hair spread in loose disarray across the cushion. Her breath rose and fell in steady rhythm, calm, as though she had no idea what she had done to the composure I had worked so long to preserve.
But therein lay the very heart of it.
She truly had no idea.
Without a weapon, without words carefully prepared in advance, without a single calculated strategy, Grace had worn away at my defences layer by layer, until all that remained was me, standing here, looking at her like someone who had understood something far too late.
Far later than he should have.
"Grace."
My voice fell softly into the stillness of the room, not nearly enough to wake her.
"You win."