By the time evening settled in, Lia had stepped off at the next station and changed into simpler, plainer clothes—the kind ordinary people wore. The dress she'd had on during their stop at the village of Bellü, modest as it already was by her usual standards, had been unbearably uncomfortable.
Arriving in lighter clothes, she looked around and found that the town was in the middle of a festival that put the briefly glimpsed village of Beluru to shame. Wooden buildings that must have been quiet on any ordinary day were now strung with garlands of wildflowers along every windowsill, and blue and gold banners celebrating the occasion snapped and fluttered in the breeze against the rough grain of the timber walls.
Lia's eyes lit up—not at some glittering noble ball, but at the sheer, unguarded energy of the townspeople. There were no silk gowns fit for a grand manor or an imperial palace, yet the square was already a riot of color: linen shirts and aprons embroidered with clumsy, loving stitches, and bright flower crowns perched on every head, turning the whole plaza into one enormous garden.
"We're staying here tonight!"
"I had a feeling you'd say that."
The memory of leaving his lady to sleep outdoors back in Bellü had been quietly scorching Ed's pride as a butler ever since. The moment they'd boarded the morning train, he had researched every stop along the route. At one of the interim stations he'd caught word that the next town—Rowenhill—was hosting a major festival, and he'd known without a shadow of a doubt that Lia would want to stay.
*My wages as a butler are going to be gone before long,* he thought.
While Lia settled into a café near the square and happily sampled the locals' simple desserts, Ed slipped away and secured lodgings, paying well above the asking price to manage it.
Lia, blissfully unaware of any of this, beamed and said, "If we can't find a place to sleep again, we can just camp out like last time!"—which was, to Ed, a scenario too dreadful to entertain even once, let alone twice.
He was still shaking his head when Lia's eyes curved into a delighted smile and she cried out, "Ed, look over there! The musicians are starting to play!"
A band struck up a fast, driving rhythm on fiddles and drums, and the crowd—young and old, men and women—joined hands and formed a great spinning circle around them. When someone's feet tangled, it only drew a burst of gleeful shrieking. Nobody seemed to notice the dust rising in pale clouds from the cobblestones and grass as everyone stomped and whirled across the rough ground.
It was nothing like the polished, measured dances of the nobility, and something in Lia's blue eyes shifted with quiet wonder.
Just then, a young man she'd never seen before approached and held out his hand, asking her to dance. Lia reached for it eagerly, thrilled—*this* was perfect freedom: forgetting she was a noblewoman, losing herself among ordinary people, exactly the kind of moment she'd always dreamed of.
But in that same instant, Ed stepped smoothly between them, one arm curving around Lia's waist.
"My lady, the traditional steps here are quite treacherous. Without someone to lead you properly, I'm afraid you'll turn an ankle."
"Hm? It looks easy enough to me."
"Dancing on uneven ground like this puts considerable strain on the ankles. As someone whose first priority is your safety, I'm afraid I have no choice."
As he said it, he fixed the young man with a look that settled the matter without a word, and drew Lia into his arms. The scent of roses—the same deep red as her hair—drifted up to meet him.
Ed rested his chin lightly against the top of her head and smiled to himself. Lia had no way of seeing his expression from where she stood; she simply laughed and said, "Ed, you're such a good dancer! When did you learn?" But the hand at her waist tightened almost imperceptibly, and he kept her close, making absolutely certain no one else got the chance to take her hand.
The cool, unreadable look he wore—so different from the face he showed Lia—was enough. The men nearby drifted away, one by one.
When the musicians finally set down their instruments, someone touched a flame to the enormous bonfire stacked in the center of the square. The wood crackled and spat, sending sparks spiraling up into the dark. There were no streetlamps in a village like this, but the rough glass lanterns hanging from every branch and the torches the townspeople carried in their hands warmed the night sky with a soft, amber glow.
A woman from the village pressed a sparkler into Lia's hands—the clear highlight of the evening's festivities—and Lia's lips parted without her quite meaning them to.
"It's beautiful…"
The deep orange light crackled and bloomed, and its reflection played across her eyes. She had always watched elaborate fireworks paint the sky in every color imaginable. There was none of that splendor here—but there was warmth, and somehow that was more.
Lia turned to look at Ed, smiling so wide he could see the flash of her teeth.
"I'm so glad we came! Aren't you, Ed? Getting to see something this lovely."
Ed answered her smile with one of his own—quiet, unhurried. His gaze, though, had not moved to the sparkler.
It had stayed on her.
"…Yes," he said. "Truly beautiful."
By the time the fireworks were done and they'd made their way back to the inn, Lia was chattering away in high spirits about everything she'd seen and done. The clear favorite, it seemed, was the pork barbecue roasted right over the open fire.
"When we get back to the capital, I'm absolutely making the cook do this. I barely got any tonight because I was sharing with everyone, but next time I'm eating as much as I want."
She was already drifting into a happy daydream about it, her expression going soft and faraway. Ed set her shoes aside neatly and said, without looking up:
"I do hope you won't complain to me later that none of your dresses fit."
"I would *never*!"
Lia bristled. Ed tucked the blanket up to her chin and continued calmly:
"Either way, if you don't want to miss the morning train, you'd best start sleeping now. Carrying you on my back *and* managing the luggage is beyond even my abilities."
"Fine, fine."
She must have already been tired, because she yawned enormously right after saying it. She stretched her arms above her head, then turned to Ed with a bright, open smile.
"Good night, then!"
"Good night, my lady. Sleep well."
Ed pulled the door shut behind him and exhaled.
He'd spent so much securing her room—paying over the rate to guarantee it—that he hadn't arranged anything for himself. If Lia knew, she would have said something like, *We slept outside together, so sharing a room is nothing!*—but that was precisely the problem. It wasn't nothing. Not to him.
He wanted to brush the hair from her cheek. He wanted to press his lips to her forehead. But the thought of her waking, of her looking at him the way someone looks at something monstrous and wrong—that thought kept his hands at his sides. Even the small gesture of tucking a stray strand of hair away from her face had cost him an enormous effort of restraint, terrified of breaking something, terrified of being seen. He'd made himself leave the room before the urge to kiss her sleeping face could take hold, and now he stood in the corridor feeling faintly ridiculous about it.
"Ha."
The pale curve of her nape in the moonlight kept surfacing in his mind. The impulse rose in him—sharp and unwelcome—to reach out, to take hold of that slender neck, to make her understand that there was no one else in his world but her. But he pushed it down. Show his hand too soon, and the rose would break.
"…My lady," he murmured to the closed door. "Please—enjoy your 'kind butler' a little while longer."
He straightened his jacket, smoothed the front of his coat, and lowered himself to sit against the wall of the corridor. By morning, she would wake up knowing nothing, and she would smile at him as if the world were simple and good. He needed to have the right mask ready for her by then.
Their next destination was the crown jewel of the journey—the place Lia had been looking forward to most: the southern coastal city.
"This is *perfect*!"
The smile that broke across her face was enormous.
Faded red-brick rooftops, worn smooth by years of sea wind, clustered together along a gentle slope above walls of whitewashed stone. From nearly every window, small clay pots dangled in cheerful rows, spilling over with red and yellow blooms.
Down a steep flight of stone steps, the sea opened up—clear sapphire water foaming white as it lapped at the shore. Small, round-bottomed wooden boats rocked at anchor along the pier, and beside them, sun-bronzed fishermen shook out salt-stiff nets and traded loud, easy laughter.
Every time you turned a corner, the smell of rye bread baking and fresh herbs drifted in on the breeze, catching you off guard. It was a town of almost unbearable peace.
"Ed, hurry up!"
"I would appreciate some consideration for the fact that I am carrying all of your luggage. And if I recall correctly, the first item on our agenda here is purchasing a pearl necklace…"
"The sea is *calling* to me right now. Who cares about some pearl necklace?"
"I care, very much…"
At the deflated note in his voice, Lia magnanimously offered him a concession, crossing her arms with the air of someone doing a great favor.
"All right. I'll give you exactly ten minutes to drop the bags at the inn."
"How generous."
"If you don't want to, I'll just go by myself."
Lia's ulterior motive—escaping her fussing butler, even briefly—was perfectly transparent. Ed smiled.
"I'll be right back."
"Ten minutes! That's it!"
She called after his retreating back.
He'd known from the very first day of the trip that this city would be their final stop, so this was the one place he'd thought to send a telegram ahead and book rooms in advance.
He was back in under ten minutes. Lia pursed her lips at the sight of him—but a promise was a promise, and she grabbed his hand and pulled him along.
She was looking straight ahead, eyes full of the blue sea, so she didn't notice. She didn't see the faint flush creeping up to the tips of Ed's ears.
At the beach, Lia ran along the sand with abandon, watching the water rush up and swirl around her ankles—until one of her shoes flew off mid-stride. She stood there for a moment, then pressed her bare foot into the soft sand and immediately forgot all about the shoe.
"I'll just go barefoot! The sand feels *amazing*!"
White sand sifting between her toes, softer than her own skin. Lia felt a sudden, powerful urge to drop down and play in it like a child.
Ed did not allow it.
He crouched down, took out his handkerchief—clean and pressed, as always—and carefully brushed every grain of sand from her foot. Then he stood, and swept her up into his arms.
"What are you *doing*?!"
"Going barefoot is dangerous, my lady. What if there's a sharp shell? Broken glass?"
"…I suppose that's true."
Lia tilted her head, considered this, and decided he had a point. Within moments she had fully accepted being carried and was craning her neck to look out over the water. "Oh, wow—I can see so much more from up here!"
Ed said nothing. He held her close and let himself feel the weight of her in his arms.
*I hope this journey never ends.*