LRAB Chapter 55
Chapter 55
"When did she arrive?"
"Ten minutes ago, Your Highness. I informed her you were in the middle of sparring."
"Well done. Now tell her I died sparring."
"Pardon?"
"...Never mind. Just give me a moment."
Tristan buried his face in his hands.
Doris Redfield.
The unresolved issue from the hunting tournament—or, more accurately, the issue that had started back then—had come knocking on his door.
Two weeks earlier.
After a moment that shouldn't have happened between people with “nothing between them,” she had asked:
"Your Highness, do you... have even a small feeling for me?"
He had answered with cold logic:
"Of course not."
To Tristan, Doris represented an unwanted future. He could treat her with courtesy, dance with her, escort her, and visit her occasionally. But feel something for her? Impossible.
Yet the moment he answered, it was as if a stone had rolled loose inside him, and a voice in his head asked:
Really?
"There's no way... is there?"
His body had moved on its own.
He had wanted to touch her soft cheek, to hear her breath from the closest possible distance.
But that wasn’t...
"Well then, I’ll take my leave."
"Wait. Let me accompany you."
"No, thank you!"
Doris had stormed off, her steps heavy and her anger palpable even from a distance.
And rightly so. He’d given her every reason to be upset. Late warnings were blaring in his mind like alarms.
Tristan had stared after her retreating figure, still dazed, the same answer looping in his head: “There’s no way. No way.”
But then, as he watched Doris meet Rick, her anger melting into a bright smile, and as Rick grinned back at her without hesitation—
The truth cut through his doubts like a blade.
"I... I clearly..."
Lo...
"Your Highness?"
The maid’s voice snapped Tristan out of his thoughts. He hesitated before answering.
"...Prepare me to meet her. Bring her to my parlor and tell her to wait ten minutes."
"Oh! Ah, I mean, yes, Your Highness. Right away!"
The maid's tone betrayed her relief. She was likely tired of coming up with polite excuses to turn Doris away.
“Doris Redfield has such an innocent face that lying to her feels like committing a crime.”
With a sigh, Tristan returned to the bathroom mirror, feeling like a defendant preparing for trial.
His reflection offered no reassurance. Objectively, it was a face that lacked for nothing. But he checked again, just in case. What if there was a blemish he hadn’t noticed?
“No need to shave again. Nothing on my face. Hair... Should I style it? There’s no event today...”
But then, when had he ever gone before Doris without tidying his hair? Would she be unsettled if he appeared too disheveled?
He combed his hair back, then partially let it down, only to sweep it back again as he debated. He was in the middle of this self-imposed crisis when a knock came at the door.
"...I already drank it."
"You drank it rather quickly. By the way, are you truly all right? I imagine your injury hasn’t fully healed yet."
Tristan’s mind swirled with responses like: “I confirmed my strength at the training grounds this morning. Sparring with a few young knights proved I’m fully recovered. I’m more worried about how your concern might wear on your mind.”
But when he opened his mouth, the words came out far simpler.
"I’m fine. No issues."
"Are you sure? People who say, ‘I’m fine!’ are often worse off than they let on."
Doris’s eyes betrayed her skepticism.
But he couldn’t say any more. It was impossible.
"Is your business here done, then?"
"Pardon?"
"If confirming my health was your purpose, your business here is concluded, isn’t it?"
"...Technically, yes. Very well."
The warmth in her emerald eyes cooled into something sharp as she stared at him.
"Your Highness, is there nothing you’re curious about regarding your fiancée after two weeks apart?"
"Nothing."
"..."
He meant it. As long as she was here, smiling, there was nothing else to know.
But as the silence stretched on, Tristan realized he might have answered poorly. He fumbled for a follow-up question.
"Was five pieces of pound cake enough?"
"It was plenty, thank you. I’m glad to see you’re healthy."
"..."
"I didn’t bring a letter today because I was worried you might turn me away again, but I’ll bring one next time. That is, if I’m allowed inside."
With a sharp curtsy that felt more like a challenge than courtesy, Doris rose. Tristan, mindful of etiquette, offered her his arm, but she declined with a polite smile, saying it would look strange to be escorted by the patient she had come to visit.
As her chestnut hair swayed down the hallway, Tristan placed a hand over his chest. His heart, which had raced like mad while she was there, was only now beginning to calm.
“She doesn’t know... does she?”
The answer, very clearly, was no.
That night of the hunting tournament, barely ten minutes after Tristan had coldly told her he felt nothing for her, he had realized the truth.
Tristan Winter Albion was in love with Doris Redfield.
Her every movement, her every smile, made his heart thunder like a drum.
...If only he could have told her ten minutes earlier.
But the moment had passed, and Doris had dutifully returned to her role as his fiancée, without expectations.
“There’s no way I can confess now—not in this situation!”
To avoid coming off as a fickle liar, Tristan reached one conclusion:
“From now on, I’ll show my feelings gradually. Naturally. Let her believe my heart is only now beginning to turn toward her...!”
***
I want to slap Tristan on the back three times.
I want to leave him in Maronnier Park, scatter rice around him, and let the pigeons attack.
“You idiot! Do you really think I came here just to check on your health? Huh? Or do you think I came here just for pound cake?”
Who makes someone wait ten minutes and then sends them away after ten minutes?!